Old Friends...

It is natural that when you move, you may lose a few friends along the way.  There are some friendships that require your presence to be maintained.  And some friendships that survive the distance, and which may also survive infrequent contact.  Time, often, is the only way to tell which friendships will be which.

Some old friends, though, frankly you are glad to be away from, and you hope they'll lose your number, your e-mail, and forget how to contact you.

Tonight, one of my old friends, nonetheless, whom I was hoping to leave behind has seemed to catch up with me.  Yes, that's right, my old friend insomnia.... My how I've missed you.  NOT.  You could have stayed back in the U.S.  Nothing here in Canada requires your presence.  You may move on, my friend, and return from whence you came.

Insomnia when you're single and when you live alone looks different than insomnia when you're with someone else.  First of all, when you're alone, and you toss and turn in your bed, at least you aren't keeping someone else awake.  Second of all, then, you can stay in your own bed while you wait for insomnia to be on its way.

Sharing a bed with someone else means that there is a moment when you finally decide you can't be helping her sleep, and if you're going to continue to be wide awake, well, then, you might want to be nice to the one you sleep with and go some place else to be wide awake.  Trouble is, of course, is half the time they realize you've gotten up and left, and you may not have solved anything.  Except, of course, you can blog in peace without worrying about the tip tap of fingers on the keyboard waking them further and making them wonder when the hell you're gonna fall asleep so they can too.

In the time that has passed while trying to fall asleep, my mind has wandered in many different directions.  But I will spare you those wanderings.

Suffice to say, my old friend, I wish you'd stayed back in the old place.  And with that, my eyes begin to droop...

The Other Voices...

When you live with someone, it doesn't take long, sometimes, to realize you now live your life under the microscope.  There is someone there to hear you (and, er, smell you) when you toot.  Someone who realizes that all you eat is cookies.  Someone who discovers that you have no idea how to use ______.  That you never ______.  That you always ______.  Things about yourself that you manage to hide from the world when you live alone. 

In really "fun" relationships, the other person will often share their observations... usually with a little derision.  And those observations stick with you.  If you're really lucky, you'll hear those voices long after you no longer share space with that person.  (Yes, that *was* sarcasm....)

Sometimes, even, these things end up being buttons.  Things that gnaw at your self esteem, things that are buttons that others might inadvertently trip over, things that create secretive behavior.

....

And this is the fun awkward point of the blog entry.  The point of the post where I know that if I don't admit it here that later I'm sure I'll be asked as to what prompted the post.  Well.. uh... there is a bag of cookies sitting beside me.  A half empty bag of cookies.  And well, to admit, that last week I actually put an empty bag of cookies back into the cupboard to make it seem as if I took an extra day to finish them off. 

....

It is funny, though, how those other voices stay in your head.  So that when your significant other comes home and asks, "__________" you suddenly hear a completely different question.  Suddenly that question is loaded.  And you find yourself already being defensive about a question that hasn't even been asked. 

It is important and yet impossible when you start a new relationship to leave the baggage at the door.  To give the person that you are with an opportunity to just be themselves.  To see them for them, and not for all the other people who might have come before them.  To enjoy the moment.  To not read more into "________" than a polite enquiry by someone who cares about you. 

And as I secretively nosh on a few more cookies before she comes home, I know that the voices I hear chastising me for eating so much sugar aren't hers.  They are the voices of others. 

Domesticated....

Hmm... as my hands dry from the third .. or is it fourth?.. time washing dishes today, I can't help but wonder how I became domesticated so quickly. 

Think of me - generally - as having more the habits of a guy (I know, guys, you're probably better than me, so forgive me the insult).  For the last three years, I've lived alone.  Answered to no-one, had few guests, and so chores were, well, optional.  Except laundry.  Don't worry, I did laundry.  Although I did learn how to make certain items of clothing last longer.... (I also own many, many, many pairs of underwear.. oops TMI)

Make my bed? Why? I was gonna be back in it later that night.. Aw hell, who am I kidding? If I was at home, I'd be back in it within a few minutes, getting out usually just to go to the fridge or the bathroom or something.  I was the only one using my toilet, and I had no pets (for the most part), so there was no reason to put the lid down.  My bathroom was spacious enough it wasn't as if I had things above the toilet waiting to fall in.  As long as I could get back and forth to the fridge and the bathroom and the front door, who really cared if there were clothes, or books or other things on other parts of the floor?  If I had plenty of clean dishes (and I had plenty of sets of dishes) what was the rush in washing the dishes?

Well, I wasn't necessarily that bad...

Oh, wait, that's right, my girl reads this, I can't get away with that...

But it's been just under two weeks here, and I have been quite domesticated.  If I'm still in bed when she leaves in the morning, I make the bed.  (Usually not until about 3 PM or so, but still...).  And if she's here, I often help her make it.  I've learned to put the lid down on the toilet because the bathroom is, shall we say, cozy.  I don't always get it right.  I've learned to pull the shower curtain shut before drying my towel, so that it won't get mildewy on the bottom.  And, I've learned how to wash dishes after every meal (or right before she comes home, whichever works...), and put the dishes away, even. 

I have been domesticated. 

It's not necessarily a bad thing.  I'm not sure if I ended up living on my own again any time soon (and I'm not hoping for this, understand) I'd probably quickly revert to my slovenly ways.  Because I understand very well what the motivation is for doing them now.  (Hopefully you haven't eaten any time soon, because I might make you gag....)  The motivation is "Love". 

Now, it would *PROBABLY* be more loving if I didn't point it out every time she came home, "Hey, babe? Look, I made the bed!  You know what this says?" She's started to roll her eyes at this point, and frankly, I can't blame her... "It says, 'I love you!'" 

I do these things because it makes HER happy.  And that's reason enough.  And that, my friends, is how I have become domesticated. 

P.S.  I'm sure I still have quite a ways to go... but I am a work in progress at least... ;)

Love...

In my head, and in my heart, I suppose, I have certain things that I expect to be done or felt between people who love each other.  That if A loved B then X wouldn't really matter but Y would.  Now, wait, I sound like I am writing an algebra equation.

I have been quite the observer - particularly over the last three or four years - of people's relationships.  Trying to figure out what makes them successful, and where there are signs of failure.  Trying, I presume, consciously or subconsciously, to figure it out so I have a better shot the next time I jump into the relationship waters.  Trying to figure out what behavior is loving and what is not loving. 

And I think I have a pretty good idea of some of the important ingredients necessary for a successful and loving relationship.  Some things are pretty straightforward.  Things like valuing what your partner values.  Being respectful even when you disagree.  Realizing that being right doesn't always mean you need to win, and that winning often - at least with arguments - isn't really winning.  Lots of good trite guidance, but stuff that nonetheless I believe in.  And maybe one day I will write a post about these things. (Or maybe I already did?)

After my marriage came to an end, I was told by more than one person that I needed to find someone who would love me like I loved them.  Seems reasonable enough, but what does that really mean?  I think it means some of the things I discovered in my observance above.  That someone who really loves me will find the things I find important simply because I do.  And won't worry about the things I find unimportant.  Who will love me for me, and not for my things, or for what I can do or bring to the relationship.  Who will love me despite my ADD or maybe even love me for who my ADD has made me - flaws and human and all. 

If you have been reading this at all, you'll know that I have dipped my toe into the relationship waters, again.  Actually, I seem to have dove in head first.  Or more accurately heart first.  I tend to do that sometimes.  I did bring wee bit of baggage.  Criticisms from girls past.  Things that I know shouldn't matter but often do or have. 

And so, in these early stages, we have traipsed along some of these issues and as I have left myself vulnerable to her and exposed my insecurities, she reacts as I would to someone who would do the same to me.  Laugh, basically, and call me silly.  Silly to worry.  Silly to care.  Silly to think that she would care.  But not silly in an emotionally abusive intentionally hurtful way, but in a way to help me realize that these matters I take so seriously, and worry so much about, are not so serious, and do not deserve worry.  She reassures me in the moment.  And then, later, as she's had more time to think on my concern, and perhaps in an unconscious (or conscious? who knows? She's very smart - much smarter than me!) effort to make sure I didn't feel dismissed, she usually will write a follow-up e-mail saying, "Look, Borg, I've really been thinking about Y and how you feel, and I want you to know, I really do believe..." and reassure me again.  AND THEN, because that may not be enough, she'll bring it up later in a conversation, gently, and reassure me once again. And IF I am too silly to realize I don't need to be silly, still, and I tentatively express a concern or a worry, she hears my underlying insecurity and addresses it again. 

WOW!  I mean really.. WOW, right?

I'll give you an example.  My most recent insecurity has been coming to accept and acknowledge (although really I'm still in denial) that I am a slob.  I am still in denial because I will tell you I am better than many.  It is all relative, after all.  But I am not the standard that *I* would like to be at, and I do feel, often, that my environment is chaotic.  I would prefer to be neater, but there are some bonafide and perhaps less bonafide obstacles standing in my way.  (Being Human, see earlier post, is one of them.. SHOCKER!).  I do pride myself that I don't have anything growing outside the fridge, but I do also have dust bunnies copulating in the kitchen and the bedroom.  They entertain me.... (okay, not, but it sounded cute for a moment in my head). 

I worry, needlessly, that she'll step into my home for the first time, see the stacks of papers and go screaming in the other direction.  And yet, in addition to her reassurances, I know I don't have to worry.  She's the kinda gal who gets upset at people who tweet how much better they feel about themselves after watching Hoarders and pleading for them to have compassion for the mentally ill (although I think she phrases it even nicer than that..)   So, it's good to know she'll have compassion for me and my mental illness.. No.. wait.. that isn't where I meant to go.  Hmm....

She's coming to visit me soon, and I created a 72 point list of things I'd *like* to do before she gets here to get the house in order (Remember #3 in the list of So Who Am I? is that I'm a geek).  But God has a sense of humor, and life, unfortunately, has gotten in the way.  Actually, more accurately, death - a parishioner in our church passed away Saturday morning, and I sat with him and with his family the last two days of his life, and will now be with the family in preparing for the funeral arrangements, and prepare at the church for the service itself.  As much as I would like to get to those 72 items (or at least, even, 25 of them) the reality is I probably won't get to more than another two or three that are really important and the rest will go by the wayside.. Or, in a fit of idiocy, I'll take everything in the rest of the house and shove it all into one room where I will never let her see... Oh. Wait. She reads this blog... that won't work.. she'll be too curious to open the door NOW!

And she's said to me, quite often, "Look, Borg, the only place I want to be when I come is in your arms.  I don't care about the rest...."  You know something? I actually believe her. 

Now that, my friends, is love...

Being Human...

And no, this isn't a post about a werewolf, a vampire and a ghost... (has anyone else seen those commercials?)

This a shower post being written a good six hours after the shower, so we'll see how much of the brilliance I managed to retain.  And yes, Ken, I did write myself a brief e-mail..

The other night I was whining to my girlfriend about shall we call my failings or my limitations and my frustration with my ADD and my frustration with blaming it all on my ADD and not really being able to understand or differentiate what belongs to that issue and what doesn't.  And on, and on...

(God bless her for listening)

And when I was done, she said to me simply, "Babe... those things about yourself that you blame on ADD, the rest of us for ourselves blame on being human..."  I.e., welcome to the human race, you're normal. 

And it is funny, because I am more than able to acknowledge I am human in other circumstances - mostly that I'll make mistakes and I will misunderstand, and I forget a lot of stuff.  But for some reason, in other areas, I hold myself to a higher standard. 

It reminded me, too, of another e-mail exchange with another friend a little over three years ago, where I was expressing some of my fears - particularly surrounding my temper.  I was kind of scared to be admitting my concerns and my issues, and feeling really vulnerable, and really afraid that expressing it to another person would make them suddenly realize what a horrible person I really am.  And I probably had been holding my breath from the moment I sent it until the moment I got her response. 

And it was a really simple response: 'OMG! Borg, you're human!"  (Yeah, well, we both know she didn't use the word "Borg", but Rose by any other name.. blah, blah, blah...)

I remember how relieved I felt when she said that.  Recognizing that I wasn't alone, and that feeling the way I did, did not mean I was a horrible person.  I was just a person. 

I clearly know I am human.  It is one of those tags on the side.  And frequently, when I see others beating themselves up, I am quick to remind them of that universal fact.  And yet, sometimes, I find it harder to accept for myself.  I'm sure some Freudians, or Jungians or some other psychobabble following could come up with some reason why I hold myself to a higher standard.  I'm sure it is because my mother didn't breast feed me, or maybe because she DID breast feed me.  Because my father was cold and distant.  Or my father was too involved. 

But I am amused because I think the very ironic reason that I hold myself to a higher standard than perhaps I might hold others and therefore find it hard, sometimes, to simply accept that I am human is because.... well... Go figure! I'm human. 

Priorities Change

DISCLOSURE:  The only thing I have going in on this post is the title.. I have no idea where this will go, so buckle up and enjoy the ride.


Sometimes in life, certain things will happen that will make you see things - perhaps everything - in a different light.  Suddenly make you realize that things you thought were important aren't, and perhaps make you value things you didn't realize were important, even more. 

If you're lucky, this change in perspective is something that reflects even more accurately the true you - the you that you have been becoming or trying to be.

It can be an amazing epiphany. 

Whether you've had or are having a life changing moment, the reality is that all the moments of your life have led you to this one.  And this moment will lead you to another one.  You can't help it - it's what happens.  It's life.  And you can let these moments just pass you by, or you can - in the spirit of the Dead Poets' Society - seize the day.  Carpe diem..

Enjoy where you're at.  Enjoy what has made you you.  Celebrate yourself. 

And if you're reading this right now and you don't feel like you can do that, well... first, *hugs*.  Second, do something to change that.  Change what's making you miserable.  Change what you value.  Really look at what is important, and focus on that - value that.  If it brings you unhappiness, if it turns you away from others, from experiencing the joy in life, then maybe - just maybe - it's not that important. 

The Dalai Lama says that the Art of Happiness is finding those things in life that bring you joy and maximizing them.  And "things" frankly is the wrong word, because I'll tell you people, things don't bring you happiness.  They might bring you comfort, or amusement, but things never, never bring happiness. 

My life has taken a significant change lately.  My perspective has a tremendously different shift.  And I am happy. 

May you all be so blessed. 

P.S. I turned 42 on Saturday.  And I have joked for nearly 30 years probably that 42 is the answer to everything from Doug Adams The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, which I've never read. So as I approached this birthday, I kept feeling - down in my bones, perhaps, or just joking at the surface, who knows - but I kept telling folks that I was looking forward to 42 because it was the answer to everything.  And you know, when I turned 42 - the minute I was 42 - I, indeed, had the answer to everything.

It is amazing. 

A sheepish "Ooops!" and post #200

Baa-aa-aaa!

So, as I wrote in the last post, the final issue that tipped me over to getting the iPhone replaced was the difficulty I was having with listening to music even though I had hit shuffle on the playlist, it kept repeating whichever song I was on over and over.  And I was frustrated that I couldn't turn off the iPhone to reset and reboot the problem.  That THIS was what finally made me do something. And then, the next morning, after it had been rebooted, having the problem continue was what led to my brief (let's humor me) rant that I posted.

Today, the new iPhone arrived. Rather the new-old iPhone. And I kept my tweeps informed minute by minute as I awaited the restoration of my old phone's data onto my new phone, and the status of pictures, music, apps, etc.  It was very riveting stuff.

But, finally, I get it mostly configured the way I want it.  As best as it's going to get for now, and I decide to try out the speakers, and play a song from the music library I have downloaded onto my iPhone.

And the f-ing song repeats. Swear to God.  WTF? I mean this stupid bug must be with the system, or some virus, or.. oh.. wait... if I click up near the name.. What's that? Oh.. the controls for shuffle and repeat?  And, what is that? the phone is on repeat 1?

Oooops....

Well.. I needed to get myself a new phone anyway. 

This is my 200th published post (there are several unpublished ones).  I am grateful, like sheep, you all continue to follow me... Baa-aa-aaa! 

Stick around and share with your friends. :)

Old iPods

I have an old clunky 20 GB white iPod that contains most of the music I owned before.  I don't even know if I still have the computer with the iTunes with the library of all the CDs I had once owned and burned.  I thought it was on an external hard drive, but I'm not exactly certain where that hard drive is.

But that is an aside.

I took a trip across country in 2007, and the old clunky 20 GB white iPod died.  Pfft.  Done.  Couldn't be revived.  And it was horrible at the time because I was driving long days - going from friend to friend.  My father replaced it at Christmas that year with a first generation iPod Touch (with LESS memory) which has mostly been replaced by my iPhone.

All of the above is mostly verbal vomit dancing around the real topic of this post.

At some point, after Dad bought me the iTouch, I was surprised to discover the white iPod worked.  Still to this day no idea why.  But now I have this little (relatively heavy) archive of music I used to listen to. 

When I took off on that cross country trip, it was after having had a marriage counseling appointment that my wife had not come to.  The third such appointment for couples counseling that I attended singly.  In the eight years we had been together, I had learned (poorly) that when my spouse was in this angry place that the best thing to do was to give her space.  I sucked at it.  I wanted to fix things.  I wanted her to feel better.. and I wanted to do whatever I could to help her feel better.  But I couldn't.  The only way for her to feel better was to leave her be.  And that was hard.

I was at a transition point in my life.  About to embark on a new job in a new career that I was scared about, but excited about, too.  At that moment in time, though, I had no employment obligations and this new career was likely to be all-time-consuming with little to no opportunity for future vacation and I had never driven across country, and really wanted to do so.  The lease to the car was about to expire, and since I had stopped the 100 mile daily commute two years earlier, we had plenty of miles pre-paid to spare. 

So I got home from counseling, packed up the trunk, and took off across the country.  It was a wonderful trip in so many ways, but bittersweet given the circumstances that partly inspired it. 

I had a lot of time on the road to think.  I needed it, too.  And I have to say that my faith in God grew much stronger on this trip.  Against all odds, frankly.  I remember driving through mountain passes and asking - out loud - what am I supposed to do?

I created this road trip play list my second day in when I was at the hotel at night in New Mexico.  In addition to good songs to keep me awake while I drove, I filled it half with love songs and half with "she done me wrong" songs to try and figure out which songs were calling to me more.  Seriously.  And the love songs were the ones that continued to call to my heart.  I loved her.  More deeply than I could have ever imagined.  Even though she was crazy and driving me crazy and pushing me away.

I loved her.  And that was the underlying message I received, at some level, was to just love her.  To open my heart wider and love her. 

I spent a year and a half doing that, my heart open as wide as it could be, and so when I walked away - when I finally had to walk away, I was done.   I was done grieving the relationship that once was.  And so, now, when I think back about my ex - and when I have over the last three years, mostly what I feel is numb.  Sometimes, I have even wondered whether I really did love her.  I had put everything that belonged to her, everything that I had given her that she had literally and figuratively thrown back into my face, and put it into a steel box in my heart that was well protected and from which I was well protected. 

When I think about what I was grieving the last three and a half years, it wasn't her.  It was my life.  It was everything I gave up and left behind.  And I never quite knew what to make of it - I kind of thought I should be missing *her* more and aching for *her* more, but I accepted that I didn't because I had already grieved her.  And I do believe it.  But every once in awhile it made me wonder if maybe I hadn't loved her like I thought I did.

Last night, for some reason (God?) I pulled out my old iPod and recharged it.  This morning, for some reason (God?), I decided to bring it into my contract place to listen to while I worked.  And I knew that the best of my music was pulled together in this Road Trip play list, so I selected it and hit play.

It started with simple old country with Alabama belting out "High Cotton", (Old times there are not forgotten..) and moved onto other songs that pulled at the strings of my memory.  I smiled listening to "At the Zoo" by Simon and Garfunkel, started moving to "Move It" by Baja, remembered romantic evenings from college listening to old Tracy Chapman and Indigo Girls.  It was an amusing musical trip down memory lane.  I was figuratively patting myself on my back for having such great music.  There were some tear-jerkers that I resisted being pulled too deeply into - "Bad Goodbye" with Clint and Wynonna, for example - mostly because they had applied to other relationships, too.

I was just zipping along and enjoying the day's soundtrack - my life's soundtrack - until The Promise by Tracy Chapman came on.

Oh, that song... Five minutes and 28 seconds of heart-tug for me.  I think I may have even purchased the CD with that song on it while on the road trip, but I won't swear to it.  But I played that song on repeat for hours.  Particularly when I was away from my spouse, hoping that she would wait for me...

"If you wait for me.... then I'll come for you....although I've travelled far.  I always hold a place for you in my heart..."

Over and over.. "If you think of me... if you miss me once in awhile, then I'll return to you..."  I wanted so badly for her to tell me she missed me, for her to want me to return to her while I was on that trip. 

"Remembering, your touch, your kiss, your warm embrace... I'll find my way back to you... if you'll be waiting..."

Over and over, hours and hours.. the song just encompassed everything that I wanted when I was on that trip.  Everything that I was willing to give to her.... "in a place where I can feel the beating of your heart...." 

"Together again.. it would feel so good to be in your arms.  Where all my journeys end.  If you can make a promise.  If it's one that you can keep.  I vow to come for you. If you wait for me.  And say you'll hold a place for me in your heart."

And with those opening strums of the guitar, the bow across the violin, I was reminded today how very deeply I loved her.  How very much I wanted her to have a place for me in her heart. 

Generally, these days, if you ask me about the woman I left behind, I speak about it all with much distance.  I have grieved the loss of her and I have long since learned to live my life without her in it.  It is easy for me - for you - to dismiss the importance she once held for me because I don't feel it now  - I can't feel it now.  But today, I was reminded.  I once loved her very deeply - and all I wanted was for her to make room for me and want me to return to her.  And back then, I was willing to wait for her, too...

People

There are moments in life when you want to crawl into a hole and just get away from all people.  Right? Tell me, you've had those moments, too?

Except the pathetic irony is that even when you crawl into that hole ostensibly to get away from everyone, because everyone seems to suck, you really want that special someone to notice you've crawled into a hole and to come and find you.

Yeah.. Humans are inconsistent creatures...

I'd crawl into the hole.. but there isn't anyone special that would come looking for me... Nope.  The one who would has decided she doesn't want to be that special someone.  And it's been three months since she has come looking for me...  (Oh, woe is me... Pity party of one? Your usual table is ready...)

So, I find out this news today.  And the first live person I try to tell - the first friend I run into - doesn't even realize what I'm trying to tell her.  I have to try and tell her about four different times in four different sightings before she pays enough attention to me to realize what I'm saying.  And then what does she do? She changes the subject...

As Bartles & James would say, "Thank you.  Thank you for your support."

Another friend was less supportive last week, and after I got a little irrationally upset, hasn't really spoken to me since.  And there's a part of me that prefers that because even though I was irrational, I'm still not happy about her behavior and her absence.  Even though it likely has nothing to do with me. 

Another friend has recently declared about another friend of mine that she not only doesn't like the sin, she doesn't like the sinner.  Knowing that I have committed the same "sin" and yet, blindly, she doesn't hate me?  But she should if she were consistent, so I don't really feel like spending time around her...

I got bitched at by a parent the other night at soccer - the wife of a member of the Board.  She was upset because apparently my cohort telling her in person about the fundraiser money deadline was not sufficient, and she was angry because *I* didn't call her to tell her money was due.  Your husband is on the Board?  The calendar has been posted since last November?  Um, the coach called everyone to tell them when it was due? We sent home flyers? And *I'm* the one responsible for you not knowing the money was due?

F-you.

And frankly, at the moment, that is what I feel like saying to most people.  All while hoping they come looking for me under the rock I plan on hiding under. 

Humans are inconsistent crazy creatures.  And I am most certainly one of 'em...

The next post...

.. so after I wrote the short post on Answers, I started another post called "I'm a bitch".  It is true.  Sometimes I can be...

It was a post, apparently, though in gestation, not quite ready yet to be born.

I'm not sure it is, yet, but I'll let my fingers give it a try, and if you're reading this, well, then, I guess I thought it was "good enough".  Hee hee...

Ever have a disagreement or a grumble with someone close to you - in this case, more generally, a friend - and just want to say "Fuck 'em... I'm done"?  Or more accurately and comprehensively, "I'm done with people..."?

Yeah. That.

Or, more fun, and probably more accurate, a series of grumbles with a series of people...

... and, that, unfortunately, is when you have to look in the mirror and ask / wonder if it is yourself.  If you are, indeed, a bitch. 

But let's face it.  None of us is perfect. We all have our bitchy moments.  And ideally, in our non-bitchy moments, we have shown something to others to suggest that our value is worth overlooking those moments of bitchiness.

There is a fine line between expecting everyone to accept you the way you are, and love you the way you are without having to change and bend yourself into being a pretzel to be accepted and loved, and then using that "People should love me the way I am" as a hammer or a bludgeon to entitle you to act like a bitch. 

There was someone I've met in the last six months - virtually - who very much had a huge chip on her shoulder, and basically felt that if someone else was worthy, they'd love them just the way that they were.  On the very first day she and I interacted, though, she went postal on me.  Then, later, apologized if she offended, and gosh, gees, she was getting her period, and by the way, why are you so sensitive?

I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt, and didn't block her after that, although I was tempted and every warning in me said to run.  And sure enough, it happened again.  I wasn't as invested, and it didn't take me by surprise, and I was better able to stand my own ground and call her on her behavior.  "Gees, why are you so sensitive?" and "You attacked me".  Um, no, I merely disagreed with what you said.  I can do that, ideally, and you should be strong enough? secure enough? to understand that simply because I don't agree with everything you believe doesn't mean I am attacking you....

She was tiring, after a while... (Heck, who am I kidding? She was tiring immediately), and eventually, I moved on and blocked her. 

Next.

It is Twitter, after all.  There are definitely plenty of fish in the sea. 

This was several months ago, and it is easier and safer to talk about her and her behavior to illustrate these general principles than to look inward to see if I, now, am being the bitch.

And I probably am.  Now, before you get all supportive and wonderful and tell me how sweet I am below (which, well, go ahead, and do... I won't mind, I guess! ;) ).. you don't have to live with me day-to-day.  You don't have to deal with my irrational moments, which feel pretty damn rational to me, damnit.  You may see me stick my head in the sand, but as virtual strangers / friends you can just keep on walking and ignore me.  Those whom I have lured into the trap of friendship are not as easily able to ignore me. 

'Cuz I can whine. 

I can be grumpy.

I can be childish.

I can throw a damn good tantrum. 

I can get snippish, snappish, snarky, and sarcastic. 

I can be mean.

And, when I step back, I know that some of this behavior is no different than when done by a child.  I am seeking attention by any means necessary, and since the good attention may not seem to be flowing at the moment, I guess I seek bad attention, too. 

Great. 

No, I don't take crayons to walls.  I haven't done that since I was ten.  Besides, none of you have to live within my walls, anyway, so none of you would notice, and it wouldn't get any of that attention. 

But I do crave attention.  Oh, so much.

Okay.  So that isn't news.  And I'm not alone.  And wait, you want attention, too?

Oh, us humans. We can be so much fun, can't we?

All I want is for you to love me, notice me, care for me, nurture me... be with me... If you must, you can even call me George..

Is that so much to ask?

Yeah, that's what I was afraid of....

... apparently, that might be why I can be a bitch. 

P.S.  If you're here from the Bloggess, check out my post Welcome Lawsbians to learn a little about my tenuous connection to Jenny! ;)

Good enough...

Okay, so an hour ago I found out I have 48 hours until my "handoff" meeting. 

That seemed do-able.  Still does - don't know why I wrote in the past tense!

Put together a macro-punch list of what still needs to be done, and put together a schedule to try and get it done.  (Yoda on my shoulder (he's heavy, by the way) : NO! Try not! Do or do not! There is no try!)

And try and be reasonable and realistic and plan in breaks and other life events.  I cannot - and will not - spend the next forty-eight hours on this project.  (Forty-six now...)

I realize my biggest issue with this project is letting go, and recognizing when it is "good enough". 

"Good enough" is a really hard concept to accept.  There's always a tweak that can make it better.  Letting go, though, and recognizing that something or someone or some event or some whatever is good enough is really tough.  I want to be able to say I did my best, but "good enough" is rarely one's best.  So, I qualify and instead will say, "I did the best I could given the... " whatever comes next refers to limitations.  And even that, sometimes, is not true.  But I have to believe it, and I have to let go.

It is hard for me to realize, and easier for others to see for me, that sometimes my "good enough" is still much better than many people's "best"s and that is even more reason why I should be able to accept "good enough". 

You can see that I am still trying to convince myself. 

But this is an ongoing struggle on a much larger level.  It is a circular fight.  At some level, we have to give ourselves permission to be human, and to not be perfect, and to accept that we do, generally, do the best that we can given the circumstances.  We do this in parenting, we do this in our relationships with others, we do this at work, we do this in keeping commitments.  But sometimes we give ourselves too much permission to not bring our best to the table.  To not give our best.  To instead spread ourselves so thin, to create circumstances, where we have to accept "good enough". 

It is a double-edged sword "good enough".

I brought in Yoda above partly as a joke, but I think his comment addresses a broader issue.  Sometimes we need to just do.  There is no trying.  And sometimes, we need to change the circumstances that prevent us from doing.  In wanting to get the correct exact line, I googled it, and re-watched 44 seconds of the scene from which it comes.  In the scene from Empire Strikes Back where Yoda is instructing the young Jedi that he is what prevents himself from raising the X-wing fighter that has sunk into the morass,

"So certain are you? *sigh* Always with you what cannot be done.  Do you nothing that I say?" Luke tells him that moving stones around is one thing, that this huge thing is totally different. 

Yoda says, "No.  No different.  Only different in your mind. You must unlearn what you have learned."

And that's when Luke says he'll give it a try. 

What often keeps us from getting things done is ourselves.  Whether it is accepting actually good work as "good enough" or believing that the circumstances around us really prevent us from doing something the way we think it should or could be done. 

This is a rambling post, with some real potential in it for great thoughts.  But the current circumstance is that the time I allotted for a break is over.  So this will have to be "good enough" to provoke some thought from you and from me about how we approach getting done what we need to get done.  And how we let go of the things we have done. 

It's one big circle, and I am already dizzy thinking about it... ;)

 P.S.  Hit 5,000 hits last night.  Thanks all!  Keep reading! 

A Plan?

A friend of mine asked me yesterday if I had a "plan" set for what I am going to do with myself after the contract ends.  A plan? I facetiously asked...? What? Doesn't she read this blog religiously?  I'm going to make sure my sink is clean before I go to bed at night.  Other than that, what kind of plan do I need?

Later, by Twitter, I mentioned how I felt like I was sitting around waiting for something great to happen.  And she chimed in how I shouldn't wait, I needed to out there and make it happen.  To which I gave a harvesting analogy and insisted I had planted seeds.  She believed me.

And I have... Don't get me wrong.

But she is poking at the bear issues I have concerns about myself.  Gently - or perhaps not so gently - making sure I won't devolve into a glob of blubber when the contract ends.  I think she's afraid I will sit at home all day in my bed watching re-runs of Love Boat that I recently discovered on You Tube (that song is IMPOSSIBLE to get out of your head, so I don't recommend it... But, oh, that Doc, he is so funny (NOT!)).  And her fears aren't entirely unjustified.  Although I'll probably also catch up on some of the bloggers I'm friends with on Twitter and now here.  And maybe find creative ways to enhance and improve my blog.  And maybe I'll start a doll head collection.  Okay, NOT to the last one.

And I won't be starting a Vision Board or likely a Pinterest account either, although I'm a little wary to say the last one because that pretty much is what I said about Twitter all this time, and we see what happened THERE!

But she's right.  I know she's right.  (Is there a way to block one single person from reading a single post?  I mean I don't need her to spend the rest of today, this week, lording it over me that I said that she was right, do I? No... I mean, she'd favorite the shit out of this post, and return to it every day just to see that I said she was right... Wait... that might help my statistics, though.... If you found this post from the right hand side, well.... you'll know that I already regret it! Kidding!)

I do need a plan to make sure I don't just burrow deeply into my bed and never emerge except for soccer and to get the church bulletin done.  Particularly because there's only another month to soccer, so that won't last too long. 

Do I have one? No.  Not entirely.  Not much at all.  Except a recognition that I want there to be some structure to my days.  Something in particular I accomplish each day.  Incremental work on other things.  I don't want to simply burrow into my bed (although it is nice and comfortable) and get lost.  That's the start of a plan, right?

In the meantime, though, it's early-ish in the morning and I need to hit the shower and get this project done first.  Right now, THAT's my plan.  Once that's done, I can concentrate on the other.  For now, that's my plan.  Okay?  Okay.

Today is the first day...

Blah, blah, blah...

Although it's fricking true.  Still, blah, blah, blah.

I am at another, shall we say, "transition point" in my life.  The part-time contract that was supposed to be somewhat short-term and that I managed to actually stretch out for a full year - much past it's expiration date - is not-so-surprisingly coming to an end.

In the bigger picture, I know this is a good thing. 

And I know my friends are stuck providing me all the good trite sayings I would say to them in the same situation.  "Today is the first day of the rest of your life", etc., etc.

And I feel their pain.  I know that there is NOTHING they could say to me - trite or otherwise - that would necessarily penetrate this bubble of concern that is surrounding me.

Now, I'm not on full blown panic or distress (yet).  But I'm not exactly happy, either.

I have several months before full blown panic or distress comes in (not that I won't have my moments, mind you). 

One of the problems I have is that some of my contracts are open ended, so it's not always possible to prepare ahead of time for another one, because it's not always clear with the first one is going to end.  It took me eight months between the last one and this one to have more than a two or three week gig, and those were eight long months.  I made a small amount of savings stretch quite far.  I was quite impressed with myself, frankly.

But my savings going into this round, though, are a little less impressive because I had some serious dental bills at the beginning of the year.  So I'm nervous.

I try to have faith.  God and I are having quite a few conversations lately.  He's the strong silent type.  He knows anything he might say I'd probably respond "blah, blah, blah" to, much as I have been doing to my friends. But I am trying to have faith that when this door closes, another one will open.  Or a window (although it's starting to get chillier...).

I also know job hunting before Christmas is not always easy.  I've got an extra month or so jump from prior years when I've found myself in this situation, but I know once mid-November hits, I just have to hold on until January.  And I'm hoping it doesn't come to that. 

The problem with these transition points, as I so politely call them, is that it also calls into question other "life choices".  Now this can be a good examination, or a not-so-good examination.  It is good and healthy, as a general rule, to make sure you stop and examine if you are in the place (literally, figuratively, metaphysically) that you want to be in your life, and when certain obligations that have been keeping you in those positions release, to confirm you are where you want to be.  Those are good examinations, because if you're going to make big changes in your life, these are good moments to make them.

The trouble is that the flip side of that can be a little bit like Alice's rabbit-hole.  And it doesn't take much to slip into full-on crisis and doubt that everything you've done to get yourself to this place and everything that you're doing is wrong.  And that you aren't supposed to be here, and .. well... you can already see how the cycle can swirl out of control quite quickly.

And I have spent a considerable amount of this summer beginning to wonder if this is the place I should be.  Wondering if despite how much I *do* like small town life, if this isn't still a bit too small for me - or perhaps, at least, not as diverse for me as I might want.  Surely there are small towns in the world with larger lesbian populations <*cough* Oregon *cough*>.   Of course even those that are nearby seem a little too political for my taste... (picky, picky, picky).  But in late June when my landlord told me I might have been better off if the Poltergeist tree had taken out my house, I have been wondering what I would do if it had.  Where would I go?  Would I stay here?

The problem, then, with grand sayings like "Today is the first day..." is that while it's meant to be optimistic and full of possibilities, is that it is just full of possibilities. And they swirl in front of someone with no direction like a tornado.  (And tornadoes are not good around here, because they bring down the BIG ASS TREE onto my house, and well...)

My friends are stuck in a hopeless situation.  I want feedback, I want *something* from them in response to my growing fear, and yet, I know, my response to anything they might offer me is "Blah, blah, blah..."  I'll have answers to refute any of their good suggestions (not that they won't stick in my craw and gestate even after I refute them) and that I will be quite stubborn and frustrating.  Which is why God stays silent.  He knows that actions speak louder than words.  Right, big guy? *wink* *wink* *nudge* *nudge*

"Do not cling to events of the past or dwell on what happened long ago.  Watch for the new thing I am going to do.  It is happening already - you can see it now!  I will make a road through the wilderness and give you streams of water there."  (Isaiah 43)

I have carried this in my wallet for three years. 

Today is the first day....

Glass Houses... Lessons Learned...

So I just typed this long-ish rambling-ish post about Dog Sitting, that was really more about boundaries, but might have come off as some sort of sermon to parents to avoid creating Holy Terrors.

After writing it, I decided it was time to take a shower and get going for the day, so this technically becomes another shower post.  [Borg properly pauses typing, moves over to the right, and applies Label, since Borg is often so forgetful about these tools]

As I lathered up and thought about what I wrote, I realized that last potential way in which my last post could be viewed.  Is that what I intended? No, not really, but perhaps so since in some ways that's where I went with it.  It wasn't what I intended when I wrote the words "Dog Sitting" in the Post title.

[A brief aside into the process of blogging for ME.  Every time I start a post, I start with the title.  I don't do this in other areas of writing, but I do here.  Every once in awhile, while typing, I recognize my post is going some different direction, and that another title might be appropriate and change it, but it is rare.  I use the title as my sign post, and before I finish the entry, I stop and re-read it to make sure that as I draw my conclusion that I tie it back up to that originating idea.  I mean the title to be catchy, but I also use it (or try to use it) as a tool to keep my blog entries somewhat focused - I do have ADD, you'll recall, and I'm sure there is more than one post not specifically related to ADD where that has been made perfectly clear!)  When I hit "New Post" I have a kernel of thoughts about where I'm going and what I want to express, but a LOT develops as I'm writing, and sometimes I go in directions I didn't originally plan for.  I trust my fingers to go where they need to most times... even if they stray from the "plan"]

I want to be very clear that I am not trying to throw stones.  Because I know that I live in a glass house.  It is with a conscious effort, frankly, that I most often use "please" and "thank you".  I've gotten much better now, and I probably throw it out unconsciously a bit, but I often am thinking about how important it is to make sure whoever I'm speaking to knows how much I appreciate what they are doing for me and recognizes that I am asking them to do something they really have no obligation, necessarily, to do.  That if they do what I ask of them, ideally it is out of the kindness of their heart. 

The reality is, of course, we have become programmed, sometimes, to simply respond to demands without thinking whether this is something we want to do for the other person or should do for the other person. Often we do things for others not necessarily as a gift, but as a thoughtless response or with a lack of understanding / back-bone that we don't *need* to do something just because someone told us to.  (Now it is helpful for keeping jobs, steady pay-checks and food on the table, but STILL it is a choice as to whether we are going to do something for someone else, even if the choice is easy by other rewards (job, steady pay-check food) provided...)

I have learned this lesson - am still learning this lesson - the hard way.  When I get in a pressured situation working with others, my ADD becomes so hyperfocused on what needs to be done, that I have been told I am REALLY good at barking orders.  Apparently, others kinda feel resentful towards me for that.  Some have even called me "bossy" and many, then, don't really want to work with me, again.  Fortunately I left most of those losers behind in California years ago. ;)

I am still horrible at thank you notes, but I do try to go out of my way to make sure the person knows that I'm grateful.  And I try to recognize that part of what is wanted behind a "thank you" note is not only an acknowledgment that you got it from you, but a confirmation that what they sent actually arrived.   It is a kindness we give to the giver to let them know it was received. 

I cringe whenever I read Dear Abby and hear about thank you notes not received, or gifts not received where protocol would expect them.  A recent letter (and I can't find it to link here) was from a couple who had a sibling who had not given them a wedding gift, but now, a few years later, gave a lavish gift to another sibling.  I cringed reading it thinking said sibling may very well have given them a gift, but it could have been lost or otherwise waylaid on its way to them.  I don't know the circumstances, and they're probably as the letter writer wrote them, but it made me think of that possibility and how religious thank you notes sent and expected (and then not received for a non-gift) could have lead the sibling to politely enquire as to whether they got his or her gift.  (My ADD brain goes wild sometimes!  I think you may have realized that!)

But I have spent many years, now, listening to the Dalai Lama, and studying the "art of compassion" which he says underlies the "art of happiness" and it has made it easier to understand and hear the effect of what happens when we demand without thought to others.  It has caused me to listen to others as they interact.  To see the fallen faces when someone they love just demands something of them, and I see it underlying SOME of people's complaints and observations of emotional abuse, including my own observations. 

And I'm still not good at it.  But I try hard to be aware of it. 

And I know you can't teach a 30 month old that the reason she should speak politely and calmly is out of kindness towards the other person.  And I know many adults may not even realize that the reason we are kind and polite is NOT because it is more likely to get us what we want (although that is many folks' motivations) but we do it out of kindness to the other person.  To say to the other person, I respect you.  I care about you.  I appreciate you.  To acknowledge they don't HAVE to do what they are doing for you, and yet, nonetheless they have.  To recognize that as a gift. 

I was about to write to recognize they have no "duty" but I know that's a loaded word, and many of us would argue that there are many situations in which there is a *duty*.  However, I think we can also describe many situations where even though there is a clear duty, it doesn't mean a person will do what they should.  (Otherwise, for example, we wouldn't need the department of child and family services, or at least such a large one)  Reinforcing, ultimately, that anything someone does for us is something they didn't have to do. (Obviously Hollywood scenarios where guns are drawn to head negate this, but even then, frankly, we have a choice, because we could allow ourselves to be shot!)

I am distressed by how much in this already demanding world, we respond by "demanding" more from others.  And I do think these are hard lessons to learn and hard lessons to teach, and they are easier to teach at a younger age than at an older one.  Part of my learning process was watching the expressions on someone else's face - someone I cared about - when I "barked" once rather than "asked". 

As human beings we seek to be accepted and loved.  We should express ourselves to each other in a way that acknowledges those basic simple universal desires.  We should treat each other in a way we would like to be treated, and appreciate each other for all that we do for each other.  We have seen quite clearly every day what happens when we forget this, or when others forget this.  We've seen the destruction the damage, whether it be minor annoyance or great anger, to the hung head, the dropped face.  My friend spoils her son because she loves him.  She will gladly make him dinner every night whether he asks for it or not.  But I see her face fall, her head drop, when he responds with demands and not requests.  It isn't because she doesn't want to do those things for him, but because she is hurt - whether she'll admit it or not - that he doesn't seem to appreciate her and love her for doing them.  His words are not kind.  They aren't mean, but they aren't kind.  This accumulates. 

Let's accumulate love and kindness that can then more easily forgive and understand an occasional harsh, rush or hurried word or demand.  No, what you've said may not be unkind, but wouldn't it be nicer if it were kind? 

So as I continue to think on these things and I continue in my glass house to try and learn these lessons, I invite you to reflect on how you treat those you care about and how you show them through all your actions and all your words how much you love them.   And if you're not, what might happen if you changed that? What if you didn't just assume that they knew you loved them? What would it hurt you to treat your loved ones as though you actually loved them? 

It wouldn't hurt at all...

A rose named Borg...

Original Title (so you can understand the original theme I was writing from): 
Rocks, Hard Places, Awkwardness and a Game Called Jenga

I've just had another individual from Twitter politely note, "I just realized I don't know your real name".  When I politely ignored that particular comment, she less passively (after politely waiting for one or two more exchanges) directly asked, "So... not gonna tell me your real name?"

There is only one person I've met on Twitter who knows my real name.  My full real name.  One other person knows my first name.  That's it. (So, yes, you two, you should feel REALLY special, but you can do so quietly)

And that is not an easy decision.  And by next week, that circle may increase. 

The first one who I gave it to had shared some quite intimate details about herself by e-mail earlier in the day, and that evening we were chatting by g-chat, and twenty minutes into the conversation she stated, finally, near the end of the conversation: "You have to tell me your name. I can't call you the borg blog!"

Um, yes you can?  And her argument, as go all the arguments I get, is "who am I going to tell?"

If she were to disclose herself (which I am asking her not to), she'd tell you that all she got for a long time was just my first name.  In fact, the last name slipped really only because I sent her an e-mail from the wrong account.  (Dratted iPhone and human error). 

This is not easy for me.  I do not like living in closets.  I do not like hiding who I am.  I have no desire to be the tiny "wizard" hiding behind some great contraption of fire and smoke appearing to be bigger than who I am.  I HATE closets (except the big walk-in kinds where I can keep my clothes that I've never actually had the joy of having...).

I have written several blog entries already about anonymity.  I don't know if I've tagged them all, but you'll see several of them if you click on the label over there on the right.  This is something I've struggled with.  And still struggle with.

At some level, in my last anonymity post, I acknowledged that I could not keep my two worlds separate forever.  But that each time one side touches the other side, it's like taking out a piece in a game of Jenga.  The first pieces are easy, and bring no significant threat to the structure.  Really, only the dog wagging its tail will knock it down. As a side note, playing Jenga with a yellow lab puppy, by the way, is very hard to do!  But there does come a time where you've taken out so many pieces it makes the structure very precarious, and even the slight vibrations from the plane taking off nearby or the train rumbling by (I've lived both near airports and train tracks) will knock it down while you aren't even looking.

Part of the reason for this blog, I've admitted openly, is as a way for me to heal from the loss of some important people in my life.  People I've loved dearly.  People I still love dearly.  While really I am writing in here only about me, I'm not.  And I live in a small enough town that you would know who (crap, what was the name I gave him, oh, yeah) Tom was, and you'd know who tulip girl was, and you'd know who a lot of people were if you knew who I was.  And while Robin Sparkles doesn't live here in town, and is an old friend from college, it wouldn't necessarily take long to identify her.  (It is true, though, that I don't feel a compelling need to protect Tom, but I also don't need someone telling him I'm writing about him and have him track down this blog, either! *smile!*)

And the reality is that one of my points from the beginning, and I still maintain today, is that we all could be you.  Or someone you know just down the street.  Who we are - name wise - is unimportant to understanding and enjoying (I hope) our story.  And maybe you can take insight you learn from reading here to apply to that person down the street whom I remind you of.  That reading about my struggles and my successes and reading my thoughts and ramblings might just help bring us all together as one loving society and community (Okay, there's that big ass guy full of smoke and mirrors, but....).  That knowing who I am as an individual shouldn't affect your ability to relate to what I'm writing.

But last week, it got even more complicated and troublesome keeping these worlds separate.  Because last week my tweeps did something that a lot of people in my real life have never done.  Heard my call for "help" and came and supported me EVEN if they thought I was nuts to think I needed help, and/or thought I was being really irrational and over-reacting.  EVEN when they didn't agree with me, they still supported me.  Simply because I asked for it.  And until they did it, I didn't realize how absent that had been, for the most part, in my life. 

It was a real WOW moment.  A real you-guys-are-really-special and where-have-you-been-all-my-life kind of moment!! And yet, I won't / can't / don't even tell them my name?

And this is the moment where I change the title of this post.  I gave you the original title above so you can see the framework I started with, and understand where I am or was going.  But somewhere along the line most of you have decided that I smell just as sweet, even if my name is Borg, instead of ________.  And that's pretty darn special.  And I'm pretty darn lucky!!

Have patience with me, then, my friends.  Because so many of you have become my friends.  This is not personal to you - it is my fears, my concerns, and my need and desire to protect others whom I care about, too.  I know that you can respect me on this.  I've seen how you support me, despite my name.  And I appreciate you all. 

-----

If you're new to this somewhat one-sided conversation I keep having about this, I suggest you can read the following posts to catch up on some of my thoughts (if you've read everything I've written, you can skip this and go to the bottom of the entry, post your comment and collect your prize):

I addressed the topic on my very first day of writing this blog in a post called Assimilation.

There I wrote:

 Our experiences while seeming unique to ourselves are also universal.

... 

When one becomes assimilated into the Collective, they become one with another, and all of their memories are now part of the collective. There is no unique "I" in Borg. There is just Borg.

So while you think you may know me, you probably don't. Or rather you may know me, because my experiences are similar to yours or those you do know. But you do not know my identity.

Three months later, I addressed the topic directly again in my post Clark Kent .. This is when I began to realize I might want Lois Lane to know that I was both Clark Kent and Superman so she'd know she was in love with me (well, maybe not quite that...).  And what would I do at that point?  Mostly I was looking for the Anonymous Anonymous support group.  I was sure that Flash, Wonder Woman, Superman, Batman and all the other caped (and not so caped) crusaders might be dealing with some of the same issues I was just starting to deal with.. (and this was before I ever even knew anything about Blogher and then began to wonder how could I ever go?)

The blog post titled simply Anonymity really does state some of the reasons above (protecting others, and also a little left over self-protection) and I think it was when I typed that post that I began to decide this recurring theme / topic needed to have a label of its own.  I also described briefly a very unpleasant encounter I had with one twit (because frankly she was a twit) who got really upset and really rude when I gave her a generic answer in response to a direct question about where I lived.  Frankly, given her response - and she was one of the first people to ask me anything so particular (which I realize is not that particular at all) - it reinforced my rationale to remain somewhat anonymous.  This person, frankly, even now long after I've blocked her, still scares me.  I'm glad she only has a narrow geographic region in which to ponder where she might find me. 

I also talked briefly about the sensitivity I had about my identity / location after leaving an abusive relationship.  There are, unfortunately, people who I have been close to in my life who don't have any idea where I am.  For some of them, I wish I could change that.  For some, eventually over time, I will.  But for many, unfortunately, I just had to disappear.  Facebook has managed to keep me in touch with many I might otherwise have lost touch with, but my in real life close friends (only one of which is on here from that period) will tell you it was still months - if not a year - before I revealed specifically where I was in even that closed environment of hand-picked friends.  While MOSTLY I am over that, I admit my steadfast responses are cultivated / learned from that experience.  As I wrote in Anonymity, murder-suicide was most certainly an option on the table at the end that many - including myself - were afraid could happen.  I think enough time has passed that it is very minusculely likely to happen, but when you experience that possibility and that kind of fear, trust me, you learn to be a little protective. 

(Wow, that took me back to such a lovely dark place - are any of you still here? ;) )

I wrote Anonymity Revisited after I told an in real life friend - not a local friend, of course! - about the blog since it and Twitter is becoming such a big part of my life - at least big parts that I am excited and enthused about.  The world didn't fall apart when I told her.  Although it did give her a bit more information about something she'd known a little bit about.  And she didn't (to the best of my knowledge) rush off and plaster it all over Facebook.  And she hasn't disowned me as a friend.  Again, an early Jenga piece.

And then a month ago, I finally came up with the Jenga analogy after I felt safe enough to share this blog with a memory-impaired local friend (she will agree with me, if she ever does find the blog again, that "memory-impaired" is a fair term to use to describe her lately).  It was somewhat safe because she's likely already forgotten about the blog, or if she remembers it, has no memory of how to find it or what it was called.  It was also somewhat safe because the things that I write on here about local people would not be news to her, would not reveal any new "secrets" and she has already demonstrated, as such, that I can trust her not to hurt the people I love with the information that she knows. 

--------- (did you skip above? Start reading again here....)

I have fallen in love with the Jenga analogy.  It fits this perfectly. Because that one friend asking, "Who am I going to tell? What harm will it do?" is correct that telling just her alone will not cause my life or this separation to come crumbling down.  It won't.  But telling a lot of people, even one piece at a time, will make it harder to keep this construct up. 

Basically, I've come to the conclusion that the wall will naturally come down as soon as I become as popular as Jenny The Bloggess - one of my "heroes".  But until then, and until I have a book deal and a way to support myself through the publishing of this blog and my ramblings, I hope you won't mind if I try to preserve this delicate balance for as long as I can.  Because I admit, if and when that happens, if and when the Jenga pieces all start crumbling down, I'm going to have to think long and hard about possibly pulling some of my more 'exposing' posts, even though, of course, they've all been out there.  And I don't want to censor or edit myself. 

As I said, I don't like hiding.  All while writing this really, really long post about why I'm hiding.

Yeah, look over there, one of the labels, too, is "inconsistency" - what can't see it? It's right there wedged between "I'm human" and "insanity" (at least at the moment I type this! I'm sure over time I'll find some other 'i' label to add...)

For those of you who made it all the way to the end of this post - wow! Thank you.  And congratulate yourselves - or give me an opportunity to congratulate you for reading this really long somewhat winding post - by posting a comment here, too.  I promise to comment back and thank you, and add you to my list of REALLY loyal supporters! ;)

And in the meantime, I hope you accept this rose is named Borg... I swear I smell as sweet (I *did* take a shower this morning!) as whatever my "real life" name does. 

Punching Bags, Over-Reactions and Bringing an Army

I woke up this morning earlier than I wanted and not quite yet ready to hit the day.  With less than minimal sleep, I checked my email and found that someone had left me a comment on one of my entries. 

I, then, proceeded to over-react.  Because that is much more fun, don't you think? Me, too!

And while I generally don't recommend over-reactions, I managed, nonetheless, to at least focus that over-reaction in a positive manner.  In hindsight, I am quite surprised and pleased with myself on that.

In the past (yes! in the past, damnit!) I have made a wonderful punching bag.  I am so empathetic to your pain, that I allow that pain to be an excuse to behave badly towards me.  I excuse your behavior and then have stood still while you took your shots. 

I have a VERY good long history of making excuses for others' bad behavior.  And this is no question one of my underlying repeated issues.  One that I haven't quite yet resolved because I have been doing it as long as I can remember.  I don't really know how not to do it.  It's been a role I've played often and with many people in my life.  It is a role I have unfortunately allowed myself to be in often and with many people in my life.

Now, for the most part, I have been fairly good about not taking the poor behavior personally.  In fact that is kind of a requirement to be successful in this skill.  Because if you take it personally, you'd actually be smart enough, ideally, to not take the behavior at all. 

Hmm...

It doesn't mean that the behavior hasn't been hurtful.  It doesn't mean that the overall accumulated message isn't internalized - you are not important enough for me to treat you appropriately.  It has been.  Don't worry.  I got the message.  Over and over and over, again.

Now, one element of this broader skill of making excuses for poor behavior, then, is allowing others to use you as a punching bag to vent their own anger and frustration.  Again, often you know not to take it personally, but it doesn't mean that it doesn't get internalized. 

I still have a long way to go in letting go of making excuses for others, but I have, at least, learned (for the most part) to stop being someone else's punching bag.  At least I can distinguish that part of it. 

Except until today, I wasn't able, necessarily, to articulate it so well. 

So, at an early hour in the morning, not as properly rested as I wanted to be, and taking the comment in concert with another earlier comment, I felt attacked.  Whether real or imagined, I probably still can't say with accuracy.

But I was feeling vulnerable. 

I wrote what I think was an articulate and even compassionate response to this person who clearly has experienced their own pain.  But I clarified that the description this person had given in response to my post was not accurate as applied to me. 

And then, as this person cowardly came to the "fight" armed only with bad spelling as his or her only tool, I decided it was appropriate to bring an army.   I totally over-reacted.  I know I over-reacted.

And after I summoned my army, I wrote my post about needing to have Thicker Skin and then finally headed off to start my day.

But I have taken some serious time today thinking - a la Sticks & Stones - as to why I reacted so strongly to someone who cannot clearly articulate his or her position which seems to have little to no relevance to what I actually posted.  Many friends kindly and privately asked me why I was reacting so strongly, and made clear that I did not need to waste my energy giving it to such a person.  And they were all correct, and I knew it even before I summoned them. 

But I wasn't feeling so strong today, and so I over-reacted and called an army.  And in doing so I confirmed something I already knew, I am not alone.  I am part of a community.  And even though my friends standing on the sideline thought I looked strong and had this weak person licked and that I didn't seem to need any help, they still responded to my call. 

I have been a punching bag.  I will no longer be a punching bag.  And when I am not strong enough to fight back on my own, I will call my army.  And they will make sure you know that I am not a punching bag.  I may seem weak.  And I may be weak, at times, but with my community I will stand strong. 

Even if I have to over-react to do so... ;)

Thank you so much to all the folks who provided me support publicly and privately, even despite my irrational over-reaction.  You are awesome! 

Thicker Skin...

I recognize that if I'm going to be a blogger -- particularly if my aspirations are to be as big (or even 1/1,000th as big) as Jenny --  then I need to develop thicker skin. 

Last week, I had a bad day / night / early morning.  It was not my first one, and it will not be my last one.  Some are easier to deal with and shrug off, and some are harder to shrug off.  There are some mornings, I admit, that I sit in my car and cry for no real apparent reason, no particular trigger I can point to as to what set me off. 

And it sucks.

I am in the middle of a healing process.  Those of you who read me regularly know that I ended a 10+year marriage about three years ago.  And since then, I had fallen in love with another woman who is not available but whom I love deeply and miss terribly.  A good friend who helped lift me up after I had fallen and to whom I am eternally grateful.

But these have been hard blows, and even the strongest of people would need time to heal.  And I am, by far, not the strongest of people.

I am human.  I am vulnerable.  And yes, I admit wholly, that this blog has partly been created to help me in my healing process - to confirm that I am not alone, and perhaps to let others know that they, too, are not alone.

And in that process, I take risk.  I expose myself - despite the anonymity that I continue to struggle with keeping. 

In the wee early hours of that bad morning, I wrote a post.  I knew I was leaving myself vulnerable and open, and when I posted the link on Twitter, I asked "dear readers, be gentle." 

Over the months, I've written a couple of posts like this, some I've published, many sit unpublished.  One of my biggest struggles is with my ADD.  Another is, clearly, depression.  I like to hope it's just situational depression, and once I make it further down the line, it will begin to dissipate more, but frankly, regardless of the cause, it isn't fun. 

As I have written in my Sticks & Stones posts (with all the follow-ups, and still more promised and remaining to be written), I have discovered that words hurt when they attack something we are already feeling insecure about.  So when an anonymous commenter left a comment "Poor poor me" and then misspelled pity party and added a few other "insults" that don't really stick, I deleted it.  It was not a simple decision, but one I made quickly and decisively. 

Not surprising, the anonymous commenter returned.  Or at least I assume it was the same anonymous commenter, since he or she seems to have the same difficulty with spelling that the original one did.

And I know that writing here, I am inviting said anonymous commenter to respond again.  I am inviting trouble.

But I guess here's the thing.  If I'm going to blog, and I'm going to share my experience - the good, the bad, and the ugly - then I guess I must develop a thicker skin. 

Yes, perhaps I was having a pity party that morning.  Guess what?  One of those labels over there is that "I'm human".  It happens.  It happens more than perhaps I care to share - but when I do, well, you can either serenade me with the smallest violin you have, or you can support me to get past that moment.  I admit there are times when I need a good kick in the butt.  And I invite and welcome readers to give me said kick when they think I am wallowing and need it. 

But if you're going to give me a kick in the butt, I'm gonna ask a few things of you.  First, be respectful.  Even though I'm an anonymous blogger who pretends to be a cube-shaped Borg, the reality is that I am a person.  I - CLEARLY - have feelings.  Tough love is fine.  Telling me that I need to get off my butt and get doing things is fine.  Even telling me that you're tired of my whining is fine - although, frankly, I'm not forcing you to read my blog, you can go somewhere else if you think I'm whining too much.  Generally, I can handle critical responses.  I know I'm not perfect.  I know I need improvement, and heck, the message was clear, in fact, that I was asking for help.  So if you want to give me a kick in the butt and be helpful go ahead, but, please, be respectful.

For one thing, it gives your comment a better chance of really being heard rather than dismissed.  If you just throw insults at me, frankly, I have better things to do with MY time...

Second, be specific.  Some general observations are obvious.  But if you're going to suggest I've done x, y or z, and I haven't explicitly written I've done x, y or z, at least support your conclusion.  Don't just randomly say I'm abusive and cruel to one-eyed, one horned, flying purple people eaters without at least telling me why you've reached that conclusion.  I am open to dialog.  I encourage dialog.  I want to hear others' opinions including ones that are different from my own, and I'm here trying to grow and become a better person.  If you read my blog, I think you can come to that conclusion fairly reasonably. 

But lobbing a grenade and running is not productive, not helpful, not wanted, not needed.  My ex-wife threw enough of those, thank you.  My life is not yet where I would want it to be because of such grenades.  Perhaps, then, I'm a little (overly?) sensitive to baseless insults that leave no substance or logic to which I might respond or might be able to use productively to improve who I am.

I know I need to grow a thicker skin.  Not everyone will like what I have to say.  The more people who read, the more likely I am to get anonymous "haters".  Perhaps I should take it as a badge of honor - clearly I've said something that has hit home to someone else.  Even if hitting "home" didn't elicit a positive response.  Clearly, nonetheless, my words had power.

Now, if you are looking for a person who isn't going to have a pity party once in awhile, you're reading the wrong blog.  I'll try to keep them to a minimum, and I'll try at least to be productive and thoughtful when I do.  I don't claim to be perfect.  I am human.  That's one of the things I told you from the beginning and I'm sure I will tell you again and again.  And, in the meantime, the lesson I will take from and try to work on from even the negative comments, is to develop thicker skin.   


P.S.  Clearly, "clearly" is the word of the day... so there!
P.P.S.  No one-eyed, one horned, flying purple people eaters were harmed in the writing of this post...

Incompetence, ADD and Quicksand

Right now, at 5:30 AM as I begin to type this post, I feel tremendously incompetent.  First of all, I am sleep deprived.  And I'm hungry, and there is no real food in the house.  Both of these contribute to an increase in emotional response.

I feel like I've dug myself into a hole and I can't get out. And it's ridiculous.  It is completely ridiculous.  Anyone on the real life side can tell you easily what steps I should take on some of these big items.  *I* can tell you what steps I need to take, but I can't seem to take them.

It's been three years, and I am still stuck in this hole.

The reality is, even once I do start taking those positive steps, I'll still be in this hole for awhile.  There is no easy fix. 

To be clear there are some very concrete issues that are keeping me in this place.  And by place, I mean the hole, not simply here or even specifically here in this small town.

As I was trying to fall asleep I was thinking about my ideal solution to get my life in order, and to move forward. What is it that I would need to pull myself together and get past this survival mode into a mode where I thrive. 

And the answer that is abundantly clear and yet absurdly impossible and unrealistic to find is a very, very patient partner / coach.  Someone who will subtly train me while I'm not paying attention into developing better habits and better skills for managing my day-to-day life.  Much like I'm teaching the girls soccer even while we play other games.  Someone who will start out the day - preferably by jumping on the bed and wagging their tail, but that's a different memory - ready and excited with a plan for the day.  Someone who will start my day by saying, "Here's what we're doing today!" 

The key word is "we".  You can give me a plan. You can tell me this is what I need to do for the day.  And I might even get several of the items done.  And believe me, having a regular plan is a big start.  Huge start.  Big improvement over what I'm able to manage for myself.  But what I really need is someone by my side holding my hand until I learn how to do it myself. 

The person would have to have a lot of patience.  The person would probably have to love me very much to tolerate me and my stubbornness.  The person would have to recognize that even if I teasingly resist, I will relent.  If that person is there to do it with me - whatever it is - I'll do it. 

But I can't seem to manage on my own.  I can't seem to do this alone.

My life, outwardly, is a mess.  For example, the yard is unruly and jungle-like.  After the poison ivy, any desire I had to clean it up and risk repeated rash was long gone.  I do try and spend a few minutes every so often - but today, for instance, I started to itch and stopped and scrubbed myself with poison ivy oil remover.

I have GREAT reasons / excuses for a lot of what I do and don't do.  But for some things, I have no explanation at all other than I just can't.  I don't know why I can't.  There's no rational reasonable explanation - and believe me I've searched high and low for it.   ADD is part of it - and perhaps it's a big part of it.  I kinda want it to be the reason because then at least I'd have a reason.  And given that so many other limitations I've found over my life can sometimes be traced back to ADD (an inability whatsoever, for example, to read a non-fiction book unless it's telling a story).  Then, in theory, if I managed to fix the ADD - or manage its symptoms - then maybe I'd finally be able to fix everything else.

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But maybe I am too scared to thrive....

In my adolescent years, my family experienced what is now fairly typical drama and turmoil, but at the time, with all those adolescent hormones enhancing emotions, it was a hard time.  I learned early on - even before the family drama - how to "survive".  I am GREAT at surviving.  That was my motto during my junior high and high school years - one I repeated often to my adult mentor - "I will survive" - and I have.  And I do.

It wasn't until I had been with my ex-wife for a year or so that I begun to do more than just survive.  That I began to do more than just provide for the basic necessities for myself.  I was in a safe and secure relationship - this woman and I pledged to spend our lives together.  She seemed to love me unconditionally - and I do, even still, believe that.  With her, I was finally able to dream, to think about what it was that I wanted out of life, and that gave me the courage and the strength to take some risks and try something new that was ultimately in many ways quite rewarding, despite the concerns others expressed over the potential folly of my choices. 

When I was with her, I finally felt free to thrive, safe to thrive.  And it was glorious.  I only have one wish in this world, frankly, and that is to be in a place in life, again, where I can thrive.  Where I can feel safe and secure to hope for more than just the necessities in my life. 

I learned long ago that the best way to avoid disappointment and being hurt was to keep your expectations reasonable.  In fact, screw reasonable, keep your expectations low and then you may just be pleasantly surprised. 

Thriving is about striving for more than what is reasonable and safe and expected.  It's about taking chances and recognizing there may be disappointments on the path, but that overall things are good.  Overall, the path I am on is leading me some place I want to go, and some place that I will enjoy when I get there - and I will enjoy both the journey and the destination.

Thriving is something like that.

With the ex, I tried something crazy and embarked in a different direction in my life.  The road I had been on was a good one - a secure one.  There was nothing wrong with the road I was on before that.  But I wanted to try this different road.  Many people thought I was nuts, including my family.  But it was a good road, and I enjoyed the journey while I was on it, and just as I was beginning to hit my stride, she got scared.  Scared that this new path might lead me away from her.  And over time, slowly but surely, she began to put big boulders on this path.  Until at one point, much like a Wile E. Coyote / Roadrunner cartoon, she took the Acme dynamite and just blew up the road altogether. 

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Now to be clear, I am not abdicating my responsibility for my relationship or my contribution towards its demise.  Anyone who knows the full story or who has heard me tell it will tell you that I take full responsibility for my actions, my inactions, my contribution to the situation imploding.  But most who watched it unfold also realized that my wife was not well, and that frankly, there was a lot about the situation that was completely out of my control and also completely not about me, even though I suffered heavily from the shrapnel. 

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But it makes me wonder if maybe despite how much I want to thrive, I am too scared to thrive.  I am too scared to want, to hope, to dream of something more in my life.  Because the more you have, the more that can be taken away from you.

That if I continue to live in this abject poverty, measured not simply by normal financial standards of "wealth" but with the asceticism physically and emotionally I have in my life, then there isn't much to take away from me.  (Asceticism may not be the best word, DEARTH might be a good word). 

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When I first began to heal from the wounds inflicted by the Acme dynamite, I had a good friend there to hold my hand.  Who had a surprisingly significant capacity of patience for me.  Who loved me very deeply.  Who would come downstairs on Saturday mornings during the ever so brief (it seems, but wasn't at the same time) period I lived with her and would jump on my bed to get me up and going and wag her tail excited to start the weekend and set with the plans for us to do. 

She moved away, unfortunately, and left me here behind.  The two things were separate, and the latter was not deliberate - I think if she could have stayed, without taking Acme dynamite to HER life, she might have.  And I miss her tremendously. 

When she was here, fitness was important to her.  And at one point, she trained for a long distance endurance event, and I was her training buddy.  We worked out nine times a week for twenty weeks to prepare her for an awesome race.  And I lost about as many pounds.   Working out was a breeze.  It didn't feel like working out because it was time spent together enjoying each other's company.  It was time to catch up on the day.  It was fun setting the plan and preparing the schedule for the week together.  And I was in the best shape of my life.

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And now I look at pictures of myself - when I take a picture of more than just a head shot - and I recognize that I am now in the worst shape of my life.  Again, I briefly allowed myself to thrive a little, to trust and depend upon someone, and they're gone and with it they took a part of my security and stability.  (To be clear I have a very strong sense of self, and a very strong core being.  This was about something more than that.  This was about life gravy - not basic survival.  Lest you think I'm too unhealthy... ;) )

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ADD often makes a bad situation worse - it makes you feel like your stuck in quicksand.  Apparently the best thing to do if you get stuck in quicksand is not to struggle and flail about - it will only make you sink faster.  But instead to be calm, still.  I'm not sure, exactly, how it is you get yourself out once you are calm and still - I only know what makes it worse, to be frank.  The one time I stepped in it, I stepped out of it quite quickly, too...

But with the ADD it feels like even when I make an effort, even when I try to get out of this hole, this pit of quicksand, that my efforts only land me more securely stuck here. 

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So logic says just stay still.  But I don't know, once I stop making it worse (IF I'm stopping making it worse) how to get out of here, anyway.  I feel incompetent.

I need someone to help me.  To train me.  To teach me the skills I need.  To apply some structure - not rigid, but still structure - to my life.  So that I know on Saturday I do x chores, and on such and such an evening I do such and such errands and on Friday nights I go out for Happy Hour!  And I need to be a wee bit more financially secure so that I *can* do more things.  Frankly one of the reasons I don't like to go grocery shopping is that I can't afford the cost.  And yet, I can't really afford not to eat, either, now can I?   Kind of a Catch-22 there.

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So, if you know anyone who is willing to stand on stable ground and help pull me out of the quicksand, have them drop me a line.  I'm trainable.  Quite trainable.  But that someone will need patience.  And love.  And preferably if they're a cute available secure dyke, well, that won't hurt, either. 

Because even if I am scared, I still want to thrive.  I want to get out of this quicksand.  And as I think about it more - as I write about it here - I think that is the answer as to how someone gets out of literal quicksand, someone else, standing on secure ground helps pull them out... Just stick around a little longer and, again, have lots of patience.  It won't be easy... but it will be worthwhile.  That I can promise. 

Ollie's Barbecue or Choice

Now when I started thinking about the topic of “choice” this morning, my head was in a different space about a different topic.  And at some point, I really want to get back to my original thoughts and write a post about that.  (And yes, this is one of my infamous shower posts...)

For those of you who might not make it to the end, I'll give you a spoiler alert - our true choice in this and many matters is to choose to respect each other.  Seems like an easy choice to make. 

I tend not to be too political, and I’ve already promised you that you won’t find many political posts on here except that as they may apply to the “human condition”.  (Nice broad vague catch-all, since all politics, at some level, apply to the human condition, or could be interpreted as such).  If you look, though, over there at that my 'tags' you'll see that "politics" is quite small.  But my intent, shall we say, is to bring “political” issues in NOT because they are political hot-button issues, but because the issue has something valuable to observe.  I have written early on, although many of you have yet to read this post (since the stats show only one view as of this posting), that I am neither politically correct nor politically incorrect.  I'm bound to offend someone!  You may want to begin reading that post before you dive into this one (and, no, I'm not just shamefully trying to up my stats - that's just an added bonus! ;) )

Now, if I had titled this just “Choice” as I originally thought to, and once you realized this might be political, your first thought might be that this would be a post about abortion.  And believe me, while not my originating thoughts, it is one area where my thoughts wandered this morning in the shower about what to write and how to compose this message.

And so I’ll spend a moment – a few paragraphs – clarifying my stance on the issue of abortion, and then we can move on.  I am a pro-life pro-choicer.  I believe that woman should be able to make a choice about their own bodies, but I hope that they choose to bring the life into this world.  Although this world *is* heavily over-populated.  What I would like, though, is for there to be more choices for someone who chooses to carry to term.  I’d like there to be less stigma attached to giving up one’s baby given that there are so many wonderful people out there who would like to be parents and who are looking to adopt.  I’d like there to be more options in finding support for raising a baby they choose to raise.  I’d like the anti-abortionists, then, to really reflect on the serenity prayer and put their energy and their money towards creating positive solutions and positive choices.  While we would love every pregnancy to be wanted and the news to be received with joy, this will never happen.  Even many parents who choose to have their children, sadly, don’t necessarily look with joy upon their new arrival.  (That’s a whole other sad scenario). 

Accept the things we cannot change.  It doesn’t mean we can’t take serious preventative measures to lessen the number of those pregnancies (something, by the way, Planned Parenthood works towards), but it also means we need to accept the reality of unplanned and unwanted pregnancies (by the way, in case you were wondering, that’s what the “planned” part of Planned Parenthood refers to…).

Change the things we can.  We can’t changed unplanned, unwanted pregnancies.  And given that abortion has been around since the dawn of time, in one form or another, the reality is that we can’t change whether abortion happens,  although clearly we can make it more difficult, and we can limit them.  What we can change is the following three things: 1) provide education on how to prevent unwanted pregnancies and the means by which to do so, 2) provide options for women who do become pregnant to have an effective choice, and ideally a clear choice, to carry the baby to term – to know that doing so won’t affect the rest of her life, that she won’t be a pariah in society for having become an unwed mother, if that’s the circumstance, and that there will be resources out there, for example, if she is still young and in school, to finish school and be able to have a job or a career to support her and her child should she choose that, or to find a loving and caring family who would lovingly take her child into their home as their own.  3) if, nonetheless, a woman still chooses to have an abortion, make it a safe, healthy choice for her so that we don’t lose two lives in the process. 

And frankly, if you look at what Planned Parenthood does, I think it tries to do all three of those things.  And someone who supports Planned Parenthood (as an aside) is not necessarily pro-abortion.  In fact, they are likely not pro-abortion at all, but pro-healthy-woman and healthy families.  Lord knows we have a growing mental health community due to unwanted children being brought into this world and being neglected, abused, and essentially thrown away.  These are real issues that we need to face and deal with as a society.  But that’s another rant.

But abortion was NOT the topic on my mind at all.  But it was raised last night as part of a discussion regarding Chick-Fil-A.   The issue was raised because some people are trying to make the issue black and white.  And some people are trying to lump other people into neat little boxes.  Some people are trying to focus on the right of Cathy to speak and in the process gracefully ignoring what it was that he said. 

Frankly, and I may not when popularity points here, I don’t think what Cathy said was that “offensive”.  I have heard much worse.  He was expressing his views and his opinions, and not only is he entitled to have them, not only are they shared by a lot of people in the country, he is also entitled to express them, and to express them not only with his voice but with his dollars.  I find it sad that he is unable to see or understand that God made me the way that I am, and that I believe God blessed my union, and that, frankly, if the government is going to confer benefits on two people who choose to share their lives together in the form of a family, I should be able to partake in those benefits, too.  As well as the responsibilities.  (The California domestic partnership law is called the "Domestic Partners Rights and Responsibilities Act").

But some people, and understandably so, find his speech to be hate-speech.  I'll be honest, I'm not sure that it rises to that level, but I can understand in this day and age where others who are fighting so hard for equality, and who have determined that their equality will best be won through legalized marriage, how that those words can be hateful.  Essentially, Cathy is declaring that anyone whose lifelong partner is the same sex is a second-class citizen.

Notice, we don't hear a lot of people who have been divorced speaking up or taking note of Cathy's statements about being still married to their first wives.  They are cleverly and wisely hiding behind the gays' outrage at his statements and hoping no-one will notice that they are not amongst the people that Cathy supports either. 

Westboro Baptist Church, as I reminded some folks in last night's conversation, also claim Freedom of Speech when they picket military funerals.  People find it easier - because they aren't simply targeting gay funerals - to find the Westboro Baptist Church's speech as offensive and hateful.  They are actually clearly targeting America (go to their website, this isn't MY conclusion, this is their own declaration!) I guess it might depend on who the speech is used against as to whether or not we might more easily recognize the "hate" involved.

In 1967, the Supreme Court made a fairly radical decision at the time.  It decided that a ban against a man and a woman who loved each other who had actually been legally married was an unconstitutional action on the part of the Commonwealth of Virginia.   Two people had gotten married in the District of Columbia, and then returned home to Virginia.  Two policemen raided their home at night, hoping to catch them in marital relations, but only found them sleeping together.  When the couple pointed to their marriage certificate on the wall, the police found that as evidence to criminally charge them. 

Picture this.  You're in bed with your significant other (who you may or may not have married - let's face it many of us are involved in pre-marital relationships) and the police come in and arrest you for actually SLEEPING together?  WTF? Don't the cops have anything better to do?  And it was a RADICAL decision at the time for the Supreme Court to tell the Commonwealth of Virginia that what they did was wrong. 

By now, I hope, you've figured out that the case I am referring to was Loving v. Virginia, and while each had a partner of the appropriate sex, they did not fall in love with partners of what was then the appropriate race. 

So when supporters of LGBT rights liken this to the 1960s civil rights movement regarding race, this is kinda an example of why.  We fall in love with who we fall in love with.  We should be allowed to choose the people we want to share our lives with.  We were born this way.  God made me this way.  To say that I, a creature of God, is a second class citizen is considered hateful by some. 

Now, I don't think what Cathy did was illegal, nor do I hear anyone suggesting it is.  Free speech is speech free from GOVERNMENT restriction.  The public arena is free to use their own means of expression to quell speech they find offensive.  And some are. 

Someone wrote last night that supporting Chick-Fil-A is not supporting the suppression of rights.  Well, here's the logic that says that it is.  No, Chick-Fil-A, unlike Ollie's Barbecue, is willing to serve and take anyone's money who wants to purchase their chicken and other fare.  BUT, the profit they make may be used to support anti-gay organizations who ARE fighting and making strides in suppressing the rights of all people to marry whom they love, regardless of race, or gender.  And so, some hungry people are choosing not to do so.

(Is anyone still reading at this point? Because here's where some of the humor comes in.. )  So I posted on my Facebook page (yes, my Tweeps, I do still use FB) a link to a picture of a KFC sign.  Again, there, too, I try not to be too political, and I don't think food and politic necessarily belong together, but they have since before I was born, so who am I to fight it?  The sign said "Delicious Chicken Served Without Hate"

Now a friend of mine who is a vegetarian posted a quandary this morning.  She wrote that she's not a fan of homophobes, but frankly the way that KFC treats their chickens isn't particularly humane, either. 

What's a person to do?  As I wrote in the post I first referred you to at the start, I'm not politically correct or incorrect, the best a person can do is to try to be sensitive.  Even if you can't understand why someone might be upset, be respectful that there might be a valid reason, and try to be sensitive to their pain and anguish.  When someone is angry, it is because they are hurt.  Here, people are hurt because they've been told that they are inferior citizens.  Their choice - a very valid choice - is to be angry and not accept being told that.  To let the world - or the U.S. - know that they find that treatment unacceptable.  That they find that behavior to be hateful.  No-one on either side here in the chicken world is proposing or advocating violence.  But still, as I wrote in the original Sticks & Stones, words do hurt.

Even if we don't agree, then, with what someone else is saying, let's at least begin the dialog by acknowledging their right to feel that way.  This means acknowledging Cathy's right to feel that traditional marriage is defined in the Bible as between a man and a woman, even if we disagree.  And acknowledging that this speech can be found to be hateful, even if we don't agree.  Our first choice, then, is to respect each other and try to come to some middle ground.  To respectfully engage each other in a dialog to illustrate our understandings so that maybe we might help the other to understand, too. 

The movement for gay marriage as a right actually started in the late eighties, early nineties.  Most politically active people knew then it was too early to attack that issue and change people's minds.  It may still be.  In my mind, the best choice is to create a civil domestic union, and grandfather in everyone who has been married to date.  From here forward, keep the government out of "marriage" - recognize it as a religious "sacrament" -  and let the churches decide whether to marry or not.  But let everyone have equal access to the responsibilities and the rights involved in becoming life-partners- the right to pay taxes, the right to visit in the hospital, to choose funeral arrangements, to receive social security benefits, health care insurance, etc.  Separate that from "marriage" and I think most people would be more accepting of conferring this status upon same-sex partners.  Just my two cents...