Our Lives Will Never Be The Same

“Where there is love there is life.” – Mahatma Ghandi

I had a genuinely amazing weekend. It started the morning I finally got matching his and hers pendants in the mail. I was supposed to save them for Valentine’s, but I couldn’t help myself – because The One was there and I also really wanted to sport around a new sparkly thing that would remind me of him. Happy Valentine’s Day!  . . . . To me!

Pretty, aren't they? I 

I hadn’t been feeling particularly well for a couple of weeks, so my appetite was nonexistent. I made a green smoothie for him for breakfast, we took the dogs on a walk, and ran errands that must be done on the weekend when one is an adult. Then we got to my favorite part . . . tango!

Look at those cute little buggars . . . in a dog bed on a mattress I haven't tossed because the hound likes the set up so much. 

We only visited briefly. I had sent an email prior asking if I could pick up some cards to distribute among coworkers and friends because I do get a good deal of people that ask me about dancing and a card just seems more efficient than me scribbling the name of the dance studio on a piece of paper. And, if you’re wondering, the name of the studio is Dance With Joy. The owner is ray of sunshine and the environment is encouraging and welcoming.

We've been talking about taking lessons in a few months.

I nearly burst into tears when the instructor came out and hugged me. I was genuinely happy to see her. She did ask if we wanted to join in, but I opted not to because I had been feeling so poorly. My symptoms were what I assumed to be a severe case of PMS. In fact, I was growing increasingly suspicious that I might have PMDD.

A hug that was something like this, but also tearful. 

The One wasn’t convinced. At his urging, I picked up a pregnancy test that morning on one of our planned stops. He’d seen my mood swings, incessant exhaustion and constant trips to the bathroom. And, that morning he’d witnessed me gag nearly to the point of puking when I picked up dog poo and came pretty damn close to crying like the baby at the sight of someone I love and miss.

I was a bit nervous even taking the test out when I closed the bathroom door behind me. I followed the instructions and watched the line grow more and more prominent as it sat there on my bathroom sink.

It was definitely positive.

The proof is in the lines. And also the urine. 

I didn’t know what to say to The One. I literally had no words when I walked out of the bathroom. I had the test clutched in my hand. I looked at him nervously and nodded my head. He asked me if it was mine and told me to take another test. Silly man. HCG didn’t get into my system on its own. To be on the safe side, I took another test yesterday.

I'm still pregnant

He told me a while ago that I should work on our soundtrack: songs that would tell our love story. Our journey definitely does have the makings of a movie, and I don’t say that braggingly. I don’t say it to brag because it has been an epic and heart wrenching experience – and that was only from my end of working through my own issues before I could be whole enough to love another person.

I have indeed been working on a soundtrack. I’ve been working on the order before I make some finalized version. Basically it would start off with love songs of having just met and being happy, and then breaking up, and then getting back together, and then breaking up and missing the other person and being envious of whomever they’re with, and then getting back together again. Ha!

Maybe someday I'll write it. Maybe someday I'll make a music video. Maybe someday I'll write my own song. 

 But I need to add a new element to it. We’re going to be f*cking parents! I’m somewhere between 5-6 weeks. My emotions sway from being elated, to terrified, to talking to the wee being growing inside me and saying, “Grow baby, grow! I can’t wait to meet you.” I can’t wait to see this beautiful thing that he and I have created together.

September 2016

The terrified part comes when I worry if I know what I’m doing, how the increasingly grumpy hound is going to respond, and how money is going to pan out. We’re moving in together, which will make saving a bit easier. I won’t bore you with logistics of FMLA or what disability insurance will work to my benefit.

The One is elated. I wanted to wait until at least the first doctor’s visit to say anything, but ended up calling my folks over the weekend – because he’s so excited to tell people I was worried about something getting back to them without me having said a word to them first. I’m glad he’s so happy. We’d planned on this eventually, we just didn’t expect it to happen right away without any planning. The best things in life happen sporadically and without warning.

So, we’re kicking it into high gear right now. I need to get moved to his place in a little over 2 months. I’m not elated about the location, which will significantly increase my commute time, but it makes sense for now. He just moved in and his master bedroom is pretty much the size of my tiny little apartment. Before I knew we had a baby on board, I was super stoked to have my lengthy bike ride back – but I’m now realizing that’s probably not going to happen. I won’t forfeit entirely until I get final word from the doctor.

I’m taking this one stride at a time. And I know he and I will look back on that Saturday together and I’ll ask him, “Remember when we were younger and I gave you a matching necklace and then we found out we were having a baby?” 

Our first photo in October 2008. Who would have thought this is where we'd be today? 

The Starved Soul

"I hope you will go out and let stories, that is life, happen to you, and that you will work with these stories from your life - not someone else's life - water them with your blood and tears and your laughter till they bloom, till you yourself burst into bloom. That is the work. The only work."  - Clarissa Pinkola Estes, Women Who Run With the Wolves

I was quite sick last week. Looking at the silver lining, being unable to do much of anything allowed me some time for reflection. Admittedly, I don't permit myself much time for such things, if any at all. Clarissa Pinkola Estes write a good deal about the starved soul and our need to return home to the Wild, even if only briefly, to recover from the demands of our modern and disconnected lives. We've forgotten how to howl. We've forgotten to sing. We've forgotten to nourish ourselves in what connects us with the Divine to the point that we're starved so much that we can look for anything to fill the inexplicable void we're feeling. We hear the voices in the distance calling us, pleading to come back to our roots. It's far too easy to cast them away with the excuses we often make for ourselves. I will when winter is over. I will as soon as I've finished . . . . I would, but . . . 

Bring the unfinished novel to a climatic end, dance, complete the poem that was never quite good enough, laugh, sing and cry. Mostly, keep dancing. 

I am a master of excuses. Having made two moves within 6 months while simultaneously performing the juggling act of my life, getting the hound settled and grappling with Truths that I've finally acknowledged I need to accept - I've become accustomed to casting away what nourishes the essence of who I am because of everything else I've told myself should take precedent: the hound (he always comes first) and the constant barrage from others asking me why I'm still not completely unpacked, why haven't I done this or that and why has it been so long since we've seen each other? If the hound is not walked immediately he won't hold it against me for long and everything else that the world tells me I should be doing will still be there. The dishes in the sink will still be there, my un-vacuumed floor will still exist and the three small unpacked boxes remaining in my studio will still be waiting for me. Those things aren't going anywhere. I've been hearing the beating drums in the distance for a while now. I'm starting to hear the howls, beckoning me back home to rest for a while. I'll be heading to my emotional retreat shortly. 

I hear your call. I'm coming home soon.

I'm still physically recovering from an illness that lasted a little over 5 days. I'd wager it's not in my best interest to jump into dancing, running or gymnastics right away. I've decided my starting point will be the relationships I've allowed to exist in my life. I can't always spot the bad applies right away, and in spite of the red flags that are apparent to everyone else in the beginning I tend to be entirely oblivious to the early warning signs. There are several reasons for this; I've been working on them. I've heard from more than one source that I'm too trusting of a person. This is part of the Truth. The other is my tendency to want to see the good in everyone. My therapist compares me to someone drawn to a hot stove: even though I've been burned countless times, I am hoping that I'll be proved wrong and the world isn't as ugly as most of my experiences have been. On that note, I have forged meaningful friendships with amazing people with whom I may not have otherwise connected if it weren't for my trusting, open nature. I have no regrets for these and they are precious to me. However, there are some relationships from which I have decided I need to step back from or eliminate entirely. 

I need time - so much time to process what took place in a highly dysfunctional household. 

It was rare that I spoke about my relationship with my adoptive mother (I'll call her Morgan) outside of therapy. I'm sure most people thought our strained relationship was normal and that I was simply overreacting. Based on the assumptions of most, I didn't know any better because I hadn't been indoctrinated into a family unit since I was a very young girl. To those people and also to Morgan, I was the source of the problem: I was too sensitive, too angry and had too many issues that needed to be dealt with. Also, I was the only one in therapy and that makes for solid scapegoat material. Lastly, I've been prone to depression for a very long time and any feelings of sadness obviously couldn't have been correlated to how I was treated, but instead resulted from my own weakness as a sensitive human being. I'm not even sure my therapist found my stories believable - not only because Morgan's actions were outlandish and irrational, but also not the actions of a person of sound mind. 

Morgan has some very deep rooted control issues, particularly when it comes to finances. Morgan offered to help with my student loans (making sure her friends and relatives knew that her intentions were to save me from student debt) and regularly asked me about my loans. When I finally forwarded the information to her, what I received in response was one of the most condescending e-mails I've ever seen because she was astonished by the total amount (I'm far lower than the national average) and how could they be so high if I wasn't paying for rent or utilities? Sure, I didn't pay for rent or utilities, but I did my best to carry my own weight. I paid for my food, cell phone, car and care for my dogs. Additionally, because I wasn't paying rent I was the live-in house keeper. I worked hard to keep that place up to Morgan's standards and that has been more than one occasion when I had to cancel my plans because she wanted me to do extra in-depth cleaning projects. Her e-mail was offensive and troublesome to me. 

Because I couldn't make sense of Morgan's words, I chose not to respond. Morgan then began calling and texting. I still didn't respond. After only a week of silence on my end Morgan showed up at my office on a clinic day completely unannounced. My co-workers got a sense of what's been bothering me, as they interacted with her briefly and saw me go from a 0-10 within a second. I was very worked up, but it was only noticeable to the handful of people that know me fairly well. For the record, Morgan does not fall under that category. 

Morgan has never really seen me. I'm fine with that, only irritated that she pretends to know me. 

Several days later I asked Morgan not to come into my workplace unannounced. It's not professional and an invasion of my space. Naturally Morgan was defensive. She always let her subordinates visit with friends and family. What was the problem?! 

Recently I told Morgan she needn't be concerned with my student loans; I can handle it myself. Since then, she's made a point of fishing for information regarding my finances. I find it irritating and pathetic. There's not a doubt in my mind that she knows I need to distance myself from her because something is very wrong and she's known for a while - she just lacks the level of self-awareness to ever see herself as a contributing factor to the issue. I'm not saying it's entirely her fault our relationship is on thin ice. I'm searching myself as well and will deal with the Truth's as they come. I think my first mistake was moving to Portland in the first place. I was so desperate to be wanted and loved. It's not like the signs weren't there - I just chose to overlook them and I still don't know why. Morgan has wanted ultimate control of my life since the moment I began living under her roof. 

Regarding Morgan's finances, the truth is that she could have easily afforded to send me to college without me accruing any debt at all. Currently, she can afford to pay off my students loans like she promised. That's not really the issue though, is it? My issue is her attempt to manipulate and control me at every turn and her blatant use of my presence in her life to make herself seem like a compassionate, caring, and giving person. 

I'm tired of the facade and the feigned bond of a mother and daughter relationship that doesn't exist. 

No one likes being used. I've been struggling with this particularly long and drawn out chapter in my life because so much of my childhood was spent under similar circumstances: being used to make someone else look better or charitable, being used for services or money, and the caregiver (Morgan included) making a point to let me know that I wasn't wanted. It hurts. I'm working on letting it go. I'm reminding myself that I'm loved and am blessed to have wonderful and loving people in my life. They're not blood related. None of them have legally adopted me. They've chosen to be a part of my life and offer me unending support, guidance and unconditional love. This is what I'll be holding on to while I'm focusing on letting go. 

Online Dating: A Perspective From The Irish Lass

"Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it." - Rumi

I tried my hand at online dating. I decided I was ready for something wonderful and genuine and thought actively pursuing it was an excellent idea. In hindsight, that was a horrible idea and this has turned into one of the experiences in life that I've looked back on and asked myself, "What the hell was I thinking?!"

I went the wrong way at the crossroads. 

I developed my online profile as something sweet and simple with a generalization about my life and interests. My photos were flattering, tactful, and not provocative in any way, shape or form. No cleavage, no sultry poses; just a lot of smiling and a few photos of the hound. 

My inbox blew up. It was overwhelming when I'd log in every other day or so and have 50+ messages to sift through. I was beginning to turn into a shallow person. I started deleting messages without reading them because I couldn't possibly read all of that (and some of them were sickening, anyway). Anyone that looked like someone I wouldn't be friends with in real life was ignored. Pity. 

I ignored the shallow people and became one myself. 

I initially thought the process was brilliant because it allowed me to sift through men that came across as creepy, said inappropriate things, or were just too pushy. Why would I want to give you my number after an exchange of five messages?! I've never met you. I don't want to text you and I don't want you calling me, either. 

There's something wrong with my generation. We're all in a rush to the finish line. We want to connect. We want to love; but we don't want to make ourselves vulnerable. My own observation is that we're hungry for a genuine connection with someone, but still remain isolated and lonely. One of the major contributing factors is the veneer, the facade, the veil and all of the emotional barriers we put up in self defense. The internet perpetuates this problem. 

I see it more often than I'd like. A photo of some random and unsuspecting person goes viral and the rest of the world rips the person apart for being (by societal standards) unattractive, obese, fake, and my personal favorites: slut and whore. Because we're not stairng someone directly in the face there is no filter and the most judgmental, condescending and hateful words are spewed into the cyber world. Just because it can be done; just because we have something to hide behind so we feel emboldened to say whatever we want to knock someone down only to make ourselves feel better about our own insecurities and mundane lives. What the hell is wrong with us?! 

Either grow a pair or be kind to others. That's all I have to say. 

Considering that this trait seems to be tailored to my generation specifically, I've come across a lot of unfiltered words. The men with whom I've exchanged dialogue thus far don't handle rejection well. I've been called a snob, someone with major wounds to heal because I wasn't interested in sex, a flake, a bitch and someone deserving of rape because I have a bad attitude. I feel as if I've been introduced to the worst side of humanity and it was beginning to make me a very jaded person. I don't want that for myself. 

It's not just the harshness and cruelty; it's the misrepresentation of oneself and a blatant disregard for the feelings of another human being. I still can't wrap my mind around how we've evolved to be this way. 

Oh yes . . . crying because I felt unlovable, flawed and wondered what the hell was wrong with me. The answer? Nothing. Nothing at all. 

I eventually dreaded even checking my inbox, so I shut it down. I'd rather keep my sanity, thanks. A friend asked me last night why I don't just meet someone the old fashioned way. Does that even happen anymore?! So . . . meet someone at work? Granted, it's a very large organization, but I'm generally running from one thing to the next and don't have time to look into the dating field while I'm working. It just strikes me as wrong and a bad idea. 

The other option would be tango. There are currently a few issues with that. I won't be able to afford those outings for a while because money is too tight and that's what happens when one moves twice in less than 6 months and puts her dog first (he will always come first). My current hours don't really allow for me to have much of a night life because I have to be up so early. Lastly, I don't want to be a part of the polyamorous sect. That's just not in me. I'm not saying every tango dancer lives that kind of life, but I do know it's prevalent in a few crowds and I want no part of it. 

Polyandry aside, tango is pretty awesome. I look forward to returning when I can. 

It's even been suggested that I look for someone with money. I sincerely hope they were joking. In fact, I've even had a few propositions along those lines when I was a bombshell in my early 20's. For the love of all that is sacred and holy, that is the most shallow bullsh*t I've ever heard. I know people do it. I can't. I'd resent the guy. I'd resent myself. I'd personally rather live in a van down by the river, or under a bridge, or pitch a tent or something. I won't be bought or owned. 

Where do these people come from?

The darker side of humanity I've witnessed lately hasn't just been in the dating world, either. I purchased a dog house off of craigslist. I had no means to pick it up and the guy was kind enough to deliver it for me. Over e-mail exchanges he sent me boudoir photos. I'm no longer thinking that was an accident. I've been trying to pin him down to pay him and he only responds with e-mails about him being in the hot tub and sipping wine. Just let me pay you, guy!! I'll admit I'm slightly concerned because he knows where I live. What creeps me out is that he's never met me in person because I wasn't at home when the dog house was delivers. The only photo he's seen of me is on my gmail profile . . . and I'm wearing Minnie Mouse ears and huge cat like sunglasses. There is nothing provocative about that photo. 

I've been asking myself lately what the hell is wrong with the world and why everything in my life is broken, chaotic, or bizarre. I've been hearing a lot about Mercury in retrograde. Mercury is wrecking my life!! I was out with friends last night and one of them told me (regarding my recent interactions with the male population) it's just because I'm young and beautiful. I thanked him for the compliment and he laughed over my dread of turning 30. I know I'm not seeing the bigger picture right now. I know I shouldn't be so harsh on myself. I have to go back to repeating my mantras of saying positive things about me until I believe them. 

My therapist has some good insight on this recurring phenomenon in my life: I'm too trusting and there's something about the type of trauma I've experienced that is buried deep in my unconscious on a level that I'm not aware. It's like a freaking radar to others who have experienced harsh blows in life. Unfortunately, these just happen to be people that aren't trying to deal with their issues and instead project them on others. 

I'm gradually getting back into my ritualistic form of spirituality. I finally put my alter together last night. Falling asleep to my candles burning was comforting and being back in nature on a regular basis is soothing. Making room in my studio apartment for belly dancing is my next task. I'm still semi-living out of boxes. I still can't find things. It's still chaotic, but I'm beginning to feel a sense of peace; and I'm reminding myself I'm exactly where I should be. 

Playing with scarves and glittery things?! You betcha. I'll move like no one is watching (because no one will be watching - this is mine). 

Remember, Remember The Month of September

“When you get into a tight place and everything goes against you, till it seems as though you could not hold on a minute longer, never give up then, for that is just the place and time that the time will turn.” – Harriet Beecher Stowe.

There are times in life when it’s just plain hard to look up, despite how much you desperately want to. Sometimes it’s just not easy to see the positive or the good. I think that would about sum up the events of this last month. I feel as though I’m hanging on by a thread and so help me if one more thing goes wrong I may crack. Seriously. This month has given me a royal beating. 

Okay, September. I surrender. I raise my white flag to you.

My car broke again. My bike broke on me like three times in the span of three weeks. It’s still broken because I had so many other extra expenses pertaining to the hound, my own medical bills, etc. I’m also f*cking turning 30 in like 3 days and admittedly having a bit of a meltdown about it. I’m asking myself why I don’t have my act together. What’s wrong with me? Why did I never accomplish what I thought I would at this juncture in life?

Then the wonderful guy I was dating realized he just wasn’t emotionally ready for anything beyond friendship. His timing is horrid, but that’s just life, isn’t it? I’m very sad about it – because I thought finally someone good had come into my life and it’s been a very long time since I’ve had a good and kind person by my side. I understand where he’s coming from but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. In fact, I think it hurts more because he’s so wonderful. Heck, I’ve been there before as well. I initiated something and realized emotionally I just wasn’t in it and I probably hurt him. I think he was a much bigger person than I was when it happened to me. I broke my moral compass regarding speaking out of anger and said a lot of terrible things. He didn’t deserve that. No one deserves that. I can admit when I’m wrong and have done as much. He doesn’t think any less of me and I’m certain that’s more than I deserve. I think the next time something like this happens I need to flee into the wilderness and cut off any form of communication from the world so I don’t lash out.  I think dating needs to be tabled for a while. I have too many other stressors in life and I think I need to let my wounds heal from this experience.

He was chivalrous, kind, intelligent and witty. His smile embodied that warmth he gave to others. 

Again I have to remind myself what got me here where I am now: just plain not thinking things through. I thought I could handle a place with no kitchen. It’s not just about that anymore, but my own personal safety. There is no sense of boundaries, really. Just over the weekend I had my landlord’s daughter simply walk into my apartment with four of her friends. I am not amused. My landlord was practically frothing at the mouth because I was talking to the neighbors, who have been a huge help to me and given me endless moral support. I don’t even want to be there right now, but I have to go back to pack. I admit I’m a little bit afraid because the landlord strikes me as a ticking bomb.

I want to be as far removed from this dysfunction as possible.

My happy ending this month is that I found a place that’s better and closer to work.  It has a kitchen! OMG! I’m moving on up in the world. The neighborhood doesn’t scare me. I’d be perfectly fine walking around with the hound when the sun is not out. In this scenario, however, the hound will have to take one for the team until I can sort out a dog door – which means he’ll be outside while I’m at work. The landlord happens to work for the same organization that I work for. I think that was a big help to me in being chosen out of all of the other applicants . . . because renting in Portland is tough and I magically beat out 85 other applicants – with a hound dog.

The dynamic duo triumphs in the end. 

For now I’m reminding myself to just focus on one thing at a time and not try to look so far ahead into the future. Sure, I need to sort out a dog door and find a dog house in the interim. I need to get pots and pans because I have none, I need a kitchen table. I need a lot of things. Whatever. For now I’ll just be focusing on getting the hell out of there. One thing at a time, Lass. One thing at a time.

I’ve been talking to a guy I know from tango. He’s going through a breakup, too – but he’s been with this gal for 7 years. Our solution to our woes? Smashing things. We have tentative plans to wail on pumpkins and make a huge mess. Because we can and something about completely laying waste to things is therapeutically gratifying. We’re both fairly stressed out and experiencing sleepless nights. I confessed to him last night that I was disappointed upon learning that he had a girlfriend when I first met him – but I left it at that. Neither one of us are in that kind of mind frame right now. We’re slightly embittered about the dating process, why people treat one another like garbage and that feeling that life has somehow turned against you. While working through my stress and rage I’ll have a companion to talk with regarding the things in life I just don’t understand. I guess it’s comforting that someone else is experiencing the same emotions, so he knows exactly where I’m coming from.

I am very much looking forward to this. 

While outletting my rage on unsuspecting perishables, I’ll be making an extra effort to find the good things in life, even though it’s difficult to see them right now and smile even though I feel like I’m breaking. I’ll make more of an effort to surround myself with the people that make me happy and make an honest attempt to not freak out over the fact that I’m turning 30. I make no guarantees that I won’t cry over my ice cream cake or something. 

Just keep looking up. It can't rain forever. 

Paying the Piper

I’ve been tired lately . . . really tired. I feel like I have 8 balls up in the air and have to learn to juggle all of them. Simultaneously. Right now. I recently gave myself a reality check and pep talk just to be reminded of these things: not everything falls into place overnight, there really are no ‘perfect’ conditions for anything and we all have to pay our dues to get what we want in life.

Sometimes frustrations arise when I see what I perceive as biased treatment between my brother and me. Every time I catch myself in that pattern of thinking I remind myself that the world doesn’t owe me anything. Perseverance has always been my trade mark. I’m tough. I’m resilient. Resorting to envy and resentment is pointless. It benefits no one and is harmful to me most of all.

Since I’ve started dating I’m feeling pressure from some for not finding ‘the one’ yet and from others to take my time. It’s the former that manages to get into my head. Damn. It. I still have my reservations about the whole other-person-completing-me idea. I know I believed in it once and I’d like to think my current approach is a more practical one. When I meet someone the question at the forefront of my mind is how dedicated he will be in the long run. Is he willing to try to work it out when things aren’t going smoothly or will he be quick to draw just for the sake of outshooting me? Personally, I’m not one to speak when I’m hurt or angry. Once something has been said, that’s it . . . . and it feels like that has the potential to do more much harm than a physical act of harming someone  - like theft or something along those lines. It’s almost always the words someone has spoken to me and my emotional reaction to those words that I remember. I try to take care when I speak to others.

I went off on a tangent there for a minute. That’s an example of how my mind is running in circles lately. I go from worrying about my current living situation, to my lack of a social life because of my living situation, to Merlin and telling myself that he’s worth it all (because he so very much is), to dating, to telling my inner mind to shut the hell up and be quiet for once.

On the topic of dating: I feel like I haven’t the slightest fucking clue. On the rare occasion that I meet someone with whom I feel a connection or someone that merits a few outings because I think they might be worth my while, I’m often consumed with thoughts along the lines of: Am I going to get hurt? Will I somehow hurt him? What the hell am I doing here?! Then I catch myself in borderline freak out mode, tell myself I’m awesome about 50 times the same way one would recite a Hail Mary as a form of penance, and take a mental time out to remind myself that this isn’t the end of the line for me. Not even close. In fact, there is no end of the line. That’s just an illusion.

I was telling a friend about someone I met recently. Her response was this: you don’t sound very enthused. Truth be told, I was pleasantly surprised by him. I almost stood him up. I’m glad I didn’t because so far he’s been very different from anyone else I’ve met.  I was skeptical because of his age. I have a long history of dating older men and it never bodes well for me. Then I met him. He’s kind, attractive, he's witty, he's chivalrous, and we have the chemistry to carry on meaningful conversations. While I’ve been extremely self-conscious about my appearance lately, I always feel lovely when I’m with him. On some level I’d wager I’m thrilled. My problem is that I keep telling myself it’s not going to work. For the love of all that is holy, I really need to quit thinking along those lines. I can’t keep focusing on what’s not working, what’s not ideal, and what’s not where I want it to be. Instead, I should be looking forward to something else entirely and remind myself that we pay our dues in nearly every aspect of life. My friends have their fair share of dating gone wrong stories. They found the right fit eventually.

This about sums up who I've met so far with the exception of the guy I almost stood up. 

Everyone has to pay their dues when it comes to a career. While I’m not where I had hoped to be in terms of finances, I know that will come later and emotionally my work is pretty damn rewarding. I helped a patient from another clinic yesterday. She had so many things going on in her life that were overwhelming her physically and mentally and all she needed right at that moment was for someone to give her a sincere and listening ear and get her the help she needed instead of passing her off to the next person. I was able to provide that. These one-on-one interactions make a world of difference to someone else and are precisely why I love my job. I remind myself of this when I think that something as silly as money is more important to my overall well-being. I manage to get by with what I have.

Connecting with complete strangers in their moment of emotional need. THIS is why I love my job. 

When I’m stressed out I remind myself of the things that really matter. I am lucky enough to have a position that is rewarding more often than not. My doctor appreciates me and his gratitude means the world to me. I’ve been surrounded by academia long enough to know the vast majority who make a career out of it have over-inflated egos.

Most importantly, Merlin is a happy dog. He has access to a small yard. I purchased a small AC to run on days when it’s hot and muggy so he’ll be comfortable while I’m away and he is adored by everyone who meets him. I’ve been complimented a lot lately regarding his sweet temperament. That gives me the warm fuzzies because that was entirely my doing and even though finances are tight most of the time I can still afford his grain free good, treats, an occasional toy and lots of love.

The lack of a kitchen has created a whole other set of issues: the time spent actually making food, cleaning my apartment and still trying to find a more efficient way to survive in there have severely cut into my social life. That’s upsetting to me from time to time. I do miss dancing and I am annoyed by the fact that my apartment was probably built on top of an ant graveyard and that’s why those stupid little creatures never go away. I've been browsing. I've learned fairly quickly that Portland is a renter's nightmare. I have stories. I think I'll save those for another entry because they deserve to be showcased! 

He's worth every single aspect of being a hound mom. 

When I’m frustrated I remind myself why I did it at all in the first place: the hound. He’s worth every frustration and inconvenience. I keep that thought in mind every time I look for a new apartment or (as I’m considering lately) roommate scenario. Merlin’s happiness comes first, so I’m staying put for a while. 

These Boots Are Made For Walking

“Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes. Because for those who love with heart and soul there is no such thing as separation.” – Rumi

I’ve been working on my own emotional well-being lately. It’s hard to move past resentment when people keep adding to it. Rather than shroud my thoughts with a mask of vague statements I’ll speak as plainly as possible. My family has a knack for nagging or guilting me into doing things . . . this time around it has to do with visiting my mother who is recovering from a back surgery. I can’t stand much to be around her, there’s too much bad blood between us and there’s been more than one occasion in which I’ve wanted to throw up my hands and ask why we even bother with this charade anymore. She wants the privilege of saying she has a daughter, but she doesn’t really want a daughter. I simply want to be as far removed from the situation as possible and they want to pull me back in. Why?!

On a side note, I'm off of medications entirely. I only managed to do that when I was finally out of that house. She hasn't made the connection between the two yet. 

You've managed to free yourself of the burden of me. You can quit exuding a forced maternal-like instinct.

When I’m frustrated with the double standards, mixed messages and feeling of never being good enough, I remind myself that there was a time in my life when I was loved unconditionally. I try to remember their faces, their voices, what it felt like to have that solid foundation of patience and understanding and tell myself that they’re still with me, even if I don’t always feel at one with the Universe. They’re in my DNA – they pulse through my veins and perhaps I’m with them now in some other dimension in time.

" . . . and death was his road to awe." I'll see you in the next life if not again in this one.

Aside from the hound (that goes without saying, really), I put myself first. When it comes to friendships, activities and this amusing process of dating I refuse to be around someone who is a vortex of anger, negativity and resentment. This is not the outlook in life I want. It’s not that I’ve never had my moments, because I have. I just choose not to live in those moments . . . forever. I’ve set high standards for myself and I fully intend to stick to them. In hindsight, this has led to some amusing scenarios.

Meet my online dating inbox. 

If a guy says he’s going to call and doesn’t that’s it. Seriously. I’ve had a few try to contact me after pulling something like that and I let my silence speak for me. I refuse to put up with that kind of nonsense. I refuse to put up with degrading behavior.  I was out for sushi with someone and he couldn’t take his eyes off my chest. I get it. I have boobs. They’re pretty amazing . . . . but there’s more to me than that. Thanks for the seaweed salad, guy. I won’t miss you.

Something like that. 

I met someone for coffee over the weekend. His nervousness made me feel badly for him; he was visibly shaky. I told him lets skip coffee and have a glass of wine at my place instead. He calmed down a little and started to open up a bit after my constant reassurance that this isn’t a competition and I’d really like to know who he is as a human being, not how much money he makes or the amount of success he’s had in life. He had potential . . . . and then he corrected a grammatical typo on one of my text messages last night. Alright Mr. Grammar Nazi, meet my Doc Marten boots. I will gladly take out my boots for the men that insist that I operate around their schedule to meet them in person (no thank you), the men who feel the need to point out my inferiorities to feel better about themselves, the flaky men, the untruthful men and also the ones who can’t quite manage to pull their gaze away from my cleavage . . . My boots are ready, gentlemen!

Actually . . . it was Autocorrect's fault. 

I’ve had only a couple of people tell me I’m being too picky. I very much disagree with that statement. I just have standards and I refuse to compromise. There’s nothing wrong with seeing my own value. Also, it took me a long time to see my worth in this life. I’ll be holding onto that rather than letting some random idiot wreck it completely just because someone thinks I should be in a relationship and am *still* single because I’m just plain too picky. I think those people should meet my boots as well. While I’m on a roll, I think my faux maternal figure can meet my Doc Martens, too. There. I said it. I feel better. 

Obviously not my Doc Martens . . . . . but I'm really crushing on these boots right now. 

"I was dead, then alive. Weeping, then laughing. The power of love came into me, and I became fierce like a lion, then tender like the evening star." - Rumi

Spaniard

“Alice came to a fork in the road. ‘Which road do I take?’ she asked.

‘Where do you want to go?’ responded the Cheshire Cat.

‘I don’t know,’ Alice answered.

‘Then, said the Cat, ‘it doesn’t matter.’ “– Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

So many changes have been taking place. I know it’s all mostly for the best, but it has certainly pushed me out of my comfort zone a good deal. I’m managing to stay grounded and persevere to keep myself that way when I catch my thoughts racing to every possibility that could go wrong. Even though I’m stressed out and stretched too thin, I’m doing okay.

I’m about 99% moved. I still have a few odds and ends in my former house – but nothing that I desperately need. Ideally, I would have had the time to sort through things and donate accordingly. That’s exactly what didn’t happen and the other day I found myself not even wanted to sort things, but throw random boxes the f*ck out! Not because they aren’t things I don’t care about, but because I’m not sure I have the room for them, and, in the end, they really are just things. For the most part, I’m cleaning . . . . a lot. The previous tenant was a smoker and I’m not sure the place has been given a good scrubbing in several years. I’ve had to force myself to take a break this week because my wrists and carpels are literally knotted from overuse. However, I only have so much time to get this done and use borrowed resources while I have access to them (i.e., washer and dryer during house sit stay). I’ll more than likely be back at it next week even if I feel like I’m dying in the process.

I don't know who this 'Rob' is . . . . but someone needs to help me! 

I reconnected with an old friend recently. I still haven’t decided if this is a good or bad event in my life. He has been and can be both what builds me up and what unravels me.  He is a complicated scenario. He’s a friend, a mentor and so much more on many facets of my life. Since first learning of his heritage, I’ve never addressed him by his first name; I’ve always called him ‘Spaniard’. It suits him.

The Spaniard and I hadn’t spoken in a couple of years. There was a point in my life when I felt things between he and I were too complicated, and ‘complicated’ wasn’t something I could emotionally handle in my life. He came over to help me clean my new place. Instead of cleaning, he and I spent several hours catching up and talking over coffee. I mostly told him about this last year of my life: loving, losing, grieving and finally reaching a breaking point that was a huge red flag that it was time to move on. I know deep in the back of my mind he’s always wanted the best for me. As I gave my account of my actions after pushing someone away I cared so deeply for, Spaniard listened emphatically and responded, ‘So – you’ve forgotten how a man should treat you? Back to the School of Spaniard with you!’

This is someone who tells me I’m beautiful and forces me to look him in the eyes and respond with , “Yes, I am.” Spaniard won’t let me take myself for granted. Perhaps in another lifetime he and I could be something else, but not this time around. He has his life, I have mine. That’s all there is to it. For now, I have the comfort of knowing I have someone in my corner and a patient teacher when it comes to weaving in and out of life. Where I tend to be scatter brained and emotionally ebbing and flowing, Spaniard has an amazing ability to compartmentalize his life. I envy that, but he doesn’t think it would suit me. If I didn’t know better, I would think he envies my ability to feel as much as I do.

As he says to me often, "Don't disparage yourself. Ever!" Also, "Look me in the eyes when you say you're lovely!"

He has seen the worst sides of me and has never judged me for it. I think he understands because the same kind of fury exists within him as well. He has seen where my demons hide, and he’s lived there as well. Considering everything that’s occurring simultaneously right now, it’s a comfort to have the presence of someone like him back in my life. Spaniard challenges me to be a better person and to dream bigger. I know he and I are destined to part ways eventually, but I’ll just simply take it for what it is right now. Sure, I never intended to be involved with anyone on any level whatsoever for a while longer – but I guess sometimes life knocks on our door and we can’t hide away from it forever. He’s has his own life and I have mine. That’s where it can stay and that’s probably what I need right now.

In all honesty, I have no idea where I’m headed. Spaniard asked me if I have a plan in place. Tentatively I do, but nothing is set in stone. I’d like to go back to school; however, I don’t think that would be fair to the hound right now. He needs me and I would feel awful about leaving him for hours on end. Merlin is getting older and I want to be with him as much as possible.

Who wouldn't want to spend every waking moment with this guy?!

I also have some loans to pay off. My friends loaned me money to pay for Cassie’s substantial pet hospital bill an a little extra to help me move out. I’m grateful to them, and I always will be. On the same note, I’ve gotten the impression lately that they think I’m trying to take advantage of them. My agreement was to both work for and pay them at a rate of 10 percent a month until the loan is paid off. I didn’t plan on everything coinciding all at once and me having a mess to clean up in my new place in addition to a long commute, an extra dog, and simultaneously moving while working full time. I had to ask her for a couple of months off, but kept hoping I’d find the energy somewhere to clean a little bit for my friend and her husband. Eventually, I had to send her an e-mail asking for leniency. She responded with, “For the sake of our friendship, we have to agree that this is the last time.” Wow. So . . . for the sake of our friendship I asked her not to count one of the jobs I did for her towards my loan and consider it a gift. That’s all I can give her right now. In the meantime, I might start looking for a weekend job so I can pay her off faster. I don’t want something like this looming over my head. I don’t need something like this looming over my head.

Probably a bad move on my part. I'll live and learn as well as honor my word. 

It’s not just the exhaustion from a long commute and constant cleaning, but also money that I’ve needed to put into the cost of moving and things I need for my new place like a dog door, dishes, a bike for commuting (I still need a helmet and a few other things for it). So, I’m next to broke and had to remind myself that I really do have the essentials for now and other things can wait.

Not perfect by any means . . . but it's coming along. 

I haven’t had a chance to dance much tango lately. I miss it and I’m hoping yet again to make it out tonight. I pondered to Spaniard the other day how his presence will affect my dancing. How am I going to channel my passion on the dance floor?! He thinks it will only improve. If I make it out tonight I can put his theory to the test.  

So . . . . I'll be dancing like this in no time, right? 

On the topic of tango, I signed up for the first Portland Tango Marathon. I’m now wondering if that will prove to be a huge mistake because I haven’t had the time or funds for practice lately. While the Irish Lass is growing rusty and simultaneously missing tango, I’m noting that a number of very advanced dancers are signing up. It would be a pity of my last tango splurge involved me sitting in the corner for the most part because no one wants to dance with the one on the black list. Truth be told, I’m not sure if there is a black list, I just take note of how people look at me . . . and I still keep smiling . . . and dancing like an ungraceful amateur. 

I'd love to boast that no one denies my cabeceo . . . . but they do. Damn it! 

"Please do make your decisions in life and feel confident that they are right. However, if fate is involved, feel just as confident even if they aren't." - C. Elizabeth, Absolute Obsession