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? 

Begginings, Endings, and Retold Stories

“Travel far enough, you meet yourself.” – David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas

If I had more sense, I would take the advice of friends as if it were the word of God, Holy Grail, or something of equal eminence. I have a few in particular who are brutally honest and consistently call me out on my bullshit.  Admittedly, I need people in my life to do just that. Admittedly, I have tried to scrape by in life settling for what I have thought I deserve in life, which isn’t much – because I thought nothing good or whole was warranted and happiness just wasn’t in store for me. Of course, I wouldn’t even admit to myself that these were the beliefs at work on some level of consciousness, forming what took place in my waking life. 

On Friday I was out with a friend from England. She loves to meet with me to catch up on life – particularly mine – because from an outsider’s perspective it’s blatantly ridiculous and unnecessarily chaotic. She kept prying about this older man from California who obviously wanted to reestablish some form of a relationship with me. Her response to every answer I provided was this: It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself of something.

She asked me about my visit with Mr. California. I told her about the stress of that week, of the wedding officiating, of the time with the older man and how we had conversations we needed to have a long time ago, but were only having now. I told her that he reminded me of just how heartbroken I was at a young age – he recalled a memory of me being slumped over the steering wheel of my car, balling my eyes out and inconsolable. I was barely 19. The hurt that I had forgotten suddenly felt very real and raw at that present moment. I told her of his reasons for doing it: another woman (it sounded like it could have been a few) who threw herself into his life. He didn’t think I could understand such things at such a young age, so he told me nothing at the time. 

 Apparently the concept was far too advanced for my young, tiny brain.

My friend asked where I stood with Mr. California. He and I were still talking. He was planning another visit. One thing that struck me as odd during his visit was that he asked me about a guy several times over the span of a week. I’m not sure what to call him at the moment, but said guy in question and I had tried a relationship not just once, but twice. I didn’t think I was in it for the right reasons the second time, and I told him as much. He was more understanding that any guy would be; and, as I knew it now, happy in a long term relationship. This is the account I gave Mr. California several times. Mr. California’s comment was that he thought said guy was ‘The One’.

As I’m giving my friend these events shaping in my life, wondering why Mr. California would ask me so much about one person in particular, she stops me in the middle of my fragmented melodramatic tale and asks me point blank how I feel about Mr. California. I pause for a moment. I don’t have an answer. She tells me it’s simple: I either do or I don’t – and the fact that I don’t know is yet another tactic I’m using to convince myself. She asks me to tell her about The One. I tell her how Mr. California’s questioning caused me to think of The One so much that the idea of him was in my head and wouldn’t leave. I tell her that I reached out to him because my dreams were flooded with his presence and he was my first thought every morning. I told her how happy I was that he and I were talking because I’d missed him so much. She looks me straight in the eye. That is a real emotion, was her reply. 

 Shit's about to get real

Indeed, it was a real emotion. I soon learned that The One wasn’t in a happy relationship like I had thought. I hate to admit I did a small victory dance we he told me they were no longer together. I didn’t want to admit how much I envied her for having someone so wonderful in her life. I didn’t want to admit that I had missed him as badly as I did . . .  I didn’t want to admit that life wasn’t the same without him and I knew life would never be the same without his presence to some capacity.

“ . .  We cross, crisscross, and recross our old tracks like figure skaters.” David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas

 We've done this dance - this routine before. It's not unfamiliar.

So he and I started talking. I’m not sure he and I could possibly stay away from one another even if we wanted to. Not everyone gets a second chance in life, let alone a third.  I am counting this as one of the most precious blessings life has given me and I wonder how I even survived without him. Recounting the last few years, it’s obvious that he is one of the few people that understands me and one of even the lesser few that keep me grounded. Every moment without him was mostly empty and meaningless.

Mr. California was planning another visit to see me over the weekend. Last night I told him I didn’t want him to come. I should mention that I tried to back out of that, using the excuse that I’d left a voicemail and will follow up with an online message. The One was with me to give support . . .  and also to make sure I handled things like a grown adult. What I really wanted to do was to throw my phone off of a bridge; or underneath a moving semi so that it was crushed into a thousand pieces. I wanted to change my number, move to a new zip code, and live my life under an assumed alias. I did what I needed to do – because I had The One’s support and he knew I had it in me. 

 I sometimes wonder if we truly had a choice in the matter . . .  has the story already been written for us?

I recently wondered aloud to him if the time apart was necessary. From my end, it was brutal, but probably needed. We both needed to grow separately. We needed to overcome insecurities, egos, and other unnecessary traits. I can’t speak for him, but I’m certain this is it for me. There are, nor could there ever be, anyone else in my life. His voice is one of my favorite sounds. He knows me at my core and accepts it; I’ve never had to be anything other than my true self when I’m with him . . .  and what exists between us is something I have yet to find words for. 

That would explain why, as he said, 'We've been at this for 6 years and we're in our 30's now'. It certainly hasn't been a linear path. I'm grateful for each opportunity we had.

“Our lives are not our own. We are bound to others, past and present, and by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.” - David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas

Secrets

“I thought about how there are two types of secrets: the kind you want to keep in, and the kind you don’t dare to let out.” – Alley Carter, Don’t Judge a Girl by Her Cover

There other day my therapist looked at me in astonishment. She said, “I’ve been working with you for 6 years and I’m still learning new things about you.” I suddenly realized I’ve lived a very colorful life – and colorful within all shades of the spectrum.

A fascinating colorful life, actually.

I’ve had secrets that have weighed me down to depths I thought unreachable. I’ve had secrets that are so dark I thought I’d never speak of them . . . . and I’ve also had secrets that were filled with happiness that I kept to myself to shine light through the darker moments of life. These amazing ups and downs of my life are becoming more apparent to me as I continue writing about them and realizing just how much I survived.

This is a story of another man in my life. I first met him when I was 17 and working at UC Merced. I had recently graduated from high school, and didn’t have plans to stay at the university long because I had plans to do missionary work somewhere overseas. I wound up in Namibia, Africa. The experience changed my life and gave me a very different outlook of the followers of the religion I knew and their intolerance to other people and cultures. In many ways, Namibia was when my life began.

Beautiful Namibia . . . . I miss you.

When I returned to the states I again went back to work at UC Merced. I was nearly 19 then. I hadn’t paid much attention to him before, but when I returned back to the states I suddenly saw him entirely differently . . . .  and I found him to be quite attractive. I remember the day he walked in with blue jeans and a white t-shirt. My jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

I genuinely don't know what it was about his look that day . . . but he really caught my eye. 

I should mention that there was a considerable age difference between us. I acknowledge this has been a recurring thing in my life. I was not quite 19 and he was 40. Some say it’s my preference. Some say I have ‘daddy issues’. To anyone who ever thinks I have daddy issues: F*ck you. Seriously. It’s not your place to judge my decisions.

I can’t quite remember how it started. We went on a few outings and due to the fact that I was living with my aunt who also happened to be his boss, we kept it a secret. I think the secrecy added another level of excitement to the whole thing. We exchanged stolen glances at work, smiling because the secret remained between us.

This story is perhaps one of my best kept secrets . . . until now. 

We became an item shortly after he bought his house. I was with him at his house warming party and our night after everyone had left was nothing short of mind blowing . . . all of the pent up energy from hours being within at arm’s length of one another and not being able to do anything about it – we didn’t even look at each other long for fear of being discovered.

We had many of those moments: secret, fun, gentle and loving. For many things in my life, he was my first.

I have a confession of my own. That's me to the left in the green bikini. Even during times it's been too small for me, I have never been able to part with it. Now that I've given it some thought, I think it's because it reminded me of him. That's what I wore to his housewarming party.

The issues started when he became increasingly uncomfortable with our age difference. I never gave it a second thought. I think everything started to fall apart when he was with me at a Starbucks. A young man walked up to us and asked him if he was my father. Considering that Mr. UC Merced and I look nothing alike, the question was ridiculous. I could tell he was troubled by it and he started to push me away.

I began to feel that he was ashamed of me and wanted to keep me as some dirty little secret; no one should ever know about me. I felt him pushing me away. Eventually I walked away. He broke my young heart. Considering the age difference between us, it wasn’t a fair fight and it wasn’t a level playing field.

He might as well have taken a hammer to me. 

He still wanted to be involved in my life. It took some time, and gradually over the years we began talking as if nothing had ever happened. In his own way, he showed me that I truly was special to him. He had old letters I’d written to him while I was in Montana, before I went to Namibia and he and I were anything more than co-workers and friends. He kept a card I’d signed for his housewarming party. It’s been over a decade and he’s still held onto these things. 

We didn’t have a song. We had an entire album: Nora Jones’ Come Away with Me. I stopped listening to her music altogether because it only reminded me of the man who’d made me the happiest and saddest at the same time.

He’s checked in on me over the years. He’s moved on for UC Merced and is now onto bigger and better things. His gestures of kindness seemed to always come at the right time. He knew I was struggling after I made a frenzied move to the other side of the city and that I had estranged myself from my family because I could no longer bring myself to keep up the charade. He also knew that I was hiding out at Christmas just so I didn’t have to see them. He asked for my address to send me one of his photos. He’s quite talented. What I received in the mail was a Christmas card containing $60 and a note that said someone was thinking about me.

I had a fridge issue and was struggling to get my landlord to fix it. I was at my wit’s end. That damn mini fridge that came with the apartment had ruined a good deal of my food because it kept freezing and defrosting things. I don’t even want to think about the money wasted on that fiasco. Eventually I win the battle with my landlord. I went grocery shopping and Mr. UC Merced asked if I needed any help. The honest truth is that I could, but I declined. A gal’s got to at least try to stand on her own sometimes. It’s just comforting to know that someone thinks about your small struggles in life and is willing to help.

Lately we’ve been talking a lot. He’s thinking about coming to visit. And, if I haven’t misinterpreted, hinted at me moving back to California. My immediate thought was that there was absolutely nothing for me in California. What was I going to do? Let Mr. UC Merced support me? I think not!

I've leveled with him about how he made me feel so long ago. He's tried to talk to me about it before; I was either unwilling to listen or not ready to hear his words. In our recent conversation, he said he never regretted loving me, he only regrets how he handled things. For anyone who's ever been broken up about unrequited love, I think those are the exact words we want/need to hear. 

I was telling this tale of secrets, love and loss to my therapist. When I got to the part about how much Lindsay dislikes this man because she doesn’t agree with the age difference my therapist nearly died of laughter . . . .  because if I were to actually leave and move back to California for this guy, it would be a double whammy. I’d be out of a city that drives me mad sometimes and would royally piss Lindsay off.

Mostly irate, though.

The thought is amusing and would be a great ending to what has been a very colorful life thus far. However, feeding into my spiteful ego to have the last laugh in regards to my adopted mother is a piss poor reason to be in a relationship. While I’m tempted to dismiss the idea of a life with him at all, I’ve been told to not jump to conclusions, wait it out and see where things go. Perhaps there are more pages yet to be written between us.

 . . . or perhaps a cautionary tale of epic stupidity. 

"I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone." - Rainer Maria Rilke 

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. 

True Character

“Character is doing the right then when nobody’s looking. There are too many people who think that the only thing that’s right is to get by, and the only thing that’s wrong is to get caught.” – J.C. Watts

Someone told me once that there’s always one; and by that she meant that one person who doesn’t quite fit in the office dynamics and causes chaos and drama wherever he or she sets foot. I have one. I’ve known her true nature for some time now: someone who takes jabs at you when her superiors aren’t looking and then smiles and laughs it off as if to say, Who cares what I just said?! Listen to my cute laugh. How could you possibly be angry? Not only the jabs, but not a very approachable person, either. If she has offended you, one cannot simply approach her to discuss the matter because her feelings are the only feelings that matter and f*ck you for ever thinking differently.  

As I’ve known this about her, I’ve vented once to my manager because I was on the verge of ripping her condescending head from her condescending throat. Lately the infection of her smugness and sense of self-righteousness has been spreading as she causes one more dramatic event after another. I was very frustrated at first because I’ve always been good at connecting with and understanding people. She has always been an enigma to me. However, I now see that the problem was never me to begin with and I’m simply watching the circus act unfold on the sidelines. I guess the moral of this story is don’t try pretend to be something you’re not because your true colors show eventually and there’s no way to get around that.

On the topic of people that confuse me, I’ve crossed paths with several lately. One is my landlord’s soon to be 14-year-old daughter. I wanted to do everything I could for her – but quite honestly I don’t know what I can do. The poor thing is a hot mess and I had no idea teenagers could be so . . . devious. I was never that way and I guess that’s why I don’t understand. I think sometimes you just have to throw your hands up and be done with it. My intentions were genuine and good, but I realized early on that nothing good would come from my befriending this young lady because she hasn’t been honest with me and has tried to take advantage of my good nature. You’re too young for this kind of behavior!!! That’s all I can say about it.

I think sometimes a person needs to recognize when there are toxic sources in their life and cut those people out. No, it’s not easy. Sometimes you’ve known these people for what seems like a lifetime and even though you care for them, their presence has done more harm than good.  Sometimes you desperately want to help them and see them thrive in life, but know deep down there’s nothing you can do. I had to dismiss someone from my life recently. Even though he had helped me in countless ways, ultimately his presence did more harm than good and once he was gone I slowly began to feel better and suddenly life felt easier, despite how stressful life feels from time to time.

"Toxic people will pollute everything around them. Don't hesitate. Fumigate." - Mandy Hale

I stumbled across an article recently that described ‘hipster’ food and I nearly panicked when I thought, Dear God! I’m slowly turning into one of them! Kale: check. Kombucha: check. Mason jars: check . . . . I could keep going, but I’m still in a state of denial. In my defense, I have never enjoyed PBR and think that anyone who actually likes is a hipster indeed and also a fan of camel piss - because that’s what it tastes like.

My transformation isn't fully complete because I'm not here yet. 

While in this state of denial I’ve also joined the cycling community of Portland – and by joining I mean that I’ve done it once so far. In fact, it was just yesterday. The ride in wasn’t too bad. It’s 11 miles one way because I live so much farther away from work now. I know that not many of the devoted commuters where I work do more than 5 miles round trip. Why? Because they obviously make more and can afford to live closer. So, 22 mile round trip on my first try. Crazy? You bet. It’s gets crazier. Things were going smoothly on my way back home until I got about half way there, and then all hell broke loose.

I thought I had a genius idea by using the navigation app on my phone with the bicycle setting because I haven’t explored Portland enough to really know what I’m doing and rely too heavily on my navigation smart phone app. The phone outsmarted me because the damn thing started freaking out just as I was getting to mid SE Portland. It had me going in circles and instructed me to cut through Mt. Tabor park before I turned it off and said I’m SO done with you, Smart Phone! I thought for sure I’d died and awoken to the worst form of hell because all I could think about was getting back to my hound because he was probably lonely and hungry.

I just wanted to get back to my Sweet Boy. 

After dragging my bicycle up a very steep path at Mt. Tabor Park, coming out the other side and finally stumbling across another human being I desperately asked them to please point me in the direction in which street numbers start getting bigger. I kept following that direction until I found a familiar rode and made it home. That trip should have taken me an hour – instead it took me three. So, what should have been a 22 mile round trip was an easy 40 wrought with steep hills and foot baths in a freaking nature park. Why? WHY have I never learned a sense of direction?! Irish Lass-0, Smartphone-1.

That seems to be the general attitude among the regular cyclists. I refuse to conform to smugness. Quit talking to me with your eyes closed! 

For the record, the Irish Lass is tenacious and I’ll be back at it again in no time. While I’d love to take a ride out this weekend with ample time to figure it out, I have too many commitments, again . . . . Big Surprise! It looks like there’s absolutely nothing next weekend, so I’m going to take one of those ‘I don’t care who you are or what you need’ stances I keep saying I’d like to do and do whatever the hell I want in my beautifully accumulated free time.

Actually . . . can I go here instead of biking? This would really be better for my health. 

I’m hoping I can handle tango tonight. I decided yoga was a good idea yesterday before I made a ride home that took me a million hours. I’m sore all over and have come to the conclusion that I have two very important requirements for a significant other: big hands to massage my shoulders and a hot tub. Of course, there are other requirements, but those two are now mandatory. 

REQUIRED!! In the meantime I have my muscle rub. 

Echo

“We can endure much more than we think we can; all human experience testifies to that. All we need to do is learn not to be afraid of pain. Grit your teeth and let it hurt. Don’t deny it, don’t be overwhelmed by it. It will not last forever. One day, the pain will be gone and you will still be there.” – Harold Kushner, When All You’ve Ever Wanted Isn’t Enough

I have a tendency towards self-loathing. Lately it’s an intensified self-loathing with self-destructive behavior added to the mix. I had a pretty severe wakeup call a little over a week ago when I realized I couldn’t continue to drown out what I was feeling or silence my mind. That is the poorest form of coping.

It’s amazing what occurs on a subconscious level. There’s a disconnect that occurs between the mind, heart and soul. The soul can feel things the mind can’t explain, the heart feels emotions that the mind attempts to drown out.

You are capable, Mind, Body, Soul and Heart. You can align, I know it. 

My therapist told me that we often take the place of our own abuser(s) when the abuser has been removed from our lives. She told me that I needed to crush that aspect of myself. A friend told me recently that I needed a new approach. He told me that instead of trying to drown her out, tell the hurting, afraid little girl that she’s okay and put her back to bed.  That certainly seems like a much more compassionate approach – and this comes from someone who is constantly telling me to be kind to myself, and pushes me to dance tango because it’s a soothing form of therapy.

It's the constant hugging. Who wouldn't feel better after several hours of cuddling with strangers? 

I’ve been blessed to share an office with a truly amazing person. I can often share my thoughts or feelings and she is more than willing to lend a listening ear. She shared with me the story of her dog that had an accident and broke his spine. Exactly a year after his accident he collapsed at the park and was unable to move. He was fine the following day when she took him to the vet. The vet told my co-worker that this is a very common occurrence in animals who have suffered trauma. They sense time differently than we do and don’t have a mind that continues to rationalize our basic instincts, needs and feelings.

Honestly, I think dogs are a small few of living beings that really get it. 

I was sending out a call schedule for medical residents today. I had to double check their G-mail calendar to ensure I had an accurate schedule before sending it out and then I saw the name ‘Patricia Woodring’ listed next week. That’s my grandmother’s name, I thought. There’s someone by that name in the medical program? How odd. Then I realized that it wasn’t there for the medical program, it was something I had put in my calendar last year to remind myself when I felt like I was losing grip on reality that it wasn’t out of sanity, but unprocessed grief.

No, Irish Lass. You are not losing it - your subconscious is just remembering on a cellular, surface level. 

In the months leading up to her death, I lived with whatever relative that would take me in. I wasn’t wanted; I was an obligation that had to be dealt with. Reflecting on the last month and the intensity of my own abuse directed towards me it makes sense. Subconsciously I’m repeating an echo, of an echo, of an echo. To my surprise, I got through the anniversary of my father’s death last year with a grace and ease that were foreign to me. I have no words to explain why I am still struggling with her; I can only speculate. I dreamed of her once. She was on a desolate highway and while her lips were moving she didn't make a sound. 

I've only just begun to ask myself, Why was she here? Why is this where I found her? 

I feel like processing my father’s death came to me a little bit easier because I know he’s still with me. I’ve been with him in other dimensions, other spans of time and he’s found ways to let me know that he’s present even when I can’t feel him. Perhaps it was a part of my psyche that conjured up these experiences to help me work through the emotions of his loss, perhaps I really was with him in spirit somewhere beyond the time and universe that we understand in our own human experience. Either way, this did not happen with my grandmother or I think this is a big factor. I had been far away from her for so long and then she was gone and I felt even more unloved and alone – even though my soul knew the day she was gone. There was a heaviness to the world around me that I couldn’t explain or identify.

He told me he'd been gone for a while. Everything would be okay. 

So now that I’ve recognized history repeating itself, the child that felt (and still feels) alone and unloved, and the woman who struggles to cope with this echo,  I can calm down a little because now I know why I’m consistently trying to drown out my thoughts, particularly my own voice that spews out the harshest form of hatred directly towards me. Of the cruelty that I’ve experienced in this life, my own infliction is by far the worst. I am my own worst enemy.

Truth be told, realizing I am the worst of them all was a tough pill to swallow.

I’ll spend some time with the hurting girl this weekend. She needs to be told it’s okay. She needs to be told she can let go of the guilt over things that she can’t control, know that she is loved, and put back to sleep. 

You're okay. You're safe. You are deeply loved.