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

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.