Update

Aria's home for a few more days . . . it is going by far too quickly. I wish she could just stay, I'd love for her to move back to Pocatello. But, after spending some time with her in Kansas City I've seen how much she likes it there, and she's doing well, so I don't think that will happen. I want what is best for her, and if it is there then so be it, as hard as that is. . .  she's on the honor roll and is continuing with her violin playing. She's so much more outgoing than I ever was, and I'm grateful for that.

Kansas City is pretty cool. We went to Arrowhead Stadium, and I hoped to go in but we couldn't, I think they were practicing, so we just drove up to the front and I took a photo. But it is still pretty cool to say that I was there.

The downtown part of the city is so beautiful. It was decorated with Christmas lights and there were several large decorated trees. There is a place called Union Station and it is absolutely gorgeous. There is a museum and the outside is lit up in lights that switch between red and green. There's a skywalk that goes over to Crown Center where there are tons of little shops and restaurants.

One of the best parts, other than hanging out with Aria, of course, was going to an art museum. I was able to see real, actual, authentic Monet and Van Gogh paintings. Call me a nerd, but it gave me chills. I can cross that off my bucket list. However, I still really want to see "Starry Night" in person. That would be fantastic.

The flights there and back were Ok. I was terrified to fly at first, it had been awhile, but after take-off I was Ok. On the way back to Salt Lake City we hit some pretty nasty turbulence during the landing that freaked Aria and I out a bit, but we made it to the ground safely.

Aria has matured a lot, she had become more patient with her brother. She's definitely a teenager though! I've gotten a few eye rolls and "don't embarrass me"comments, which of course makes me want to embarrass her by dancing in line at the grocery store and other such tomfoolery.  Ha ha! I've been wanting to use "tomfoolery" in a sentence!

We had a great Christmas. Devin got his own tablet and tons of Legos. Aria got an iPad and a violin. And I got her "Attack on Titan" Monopoly. She's really into anime. We went to visit my family in Blackfoot on Christmas Eve, and I was able to see some of my aunts and cousins that I have not seen in a long time. We were going to drive to Utah on Christmas day to visit Mike's family but the storm made the roads icy so we stayed. We'll stop by when we take Aria to the airport on Monday.

Devin is growing up too fast too. He's still a sweet little boy but he's had a bit of an attitude lately. I guess it is just because he's getting older but it sure is not fun to deal with. He gets frustrated some times when he can't get a Lego piece to fit the way he wants it to or if  his drawing does not turn out the way he wants. I have to remind him to be patient and to practice, but at the same time I know that getting frustrated is part of being human so I have to let him sort it out by himself sometimes.

Have you ever notice that we discourage children from doing and acting in very normal human ways like being sad, frustrated, angry, etc? Instead of saying "don't be mad," shouldn't we instead teach them that it is normal to get angry sometimes and give them tools for dealing with it? By telling them not to allow themselves to have these basic emotions are we not setting them up to think they are doing something wrong when they feel these things? That's another blog for another day.

Mike's been off work for a bit, not a lot of painting jobs right now. He needs the break, he works hard. He got bored one day and repainted the bathroom. It's nice having a professional painter in the house! He and Devin have been spending a lot of time together since he's been out of school. He rides the bus home from school now, which is something I never thought he'd be confident enough to do. He surprises me.

As for me, well, I am in a substantial amount of physical pain today, but that will pass. Mentally I'm in a weird place. I'm feeling very reclusive, but not in a bad way, I just want to stay home and draw and read and not really go out and deal with society. Some days it really gets to me . . . all the people who are all for themselves and don't give two shits about anyone else. It's nice to get away from that.

This is long enough. I'm done.

This is the Van Gogh I saw. It's one of the paintings in the "Olive Orchard" series that he painted while he was institutionalized at Saint-Remy.

Time doesn't tell

Time is a system made up by man as a way to create a sense of order, of structure, of control. Minutes direct our days, days direct our months and months decide our years.

What if things that happened a year ago aren't as far away as they seem? We've been conditioned to believe that a year is the ultimate decider in a person's success or lack thereof.  We've been conditioned to compare our years side by side, to make this year better than the last. . . make more money, lose ten pounds . . . all by next year.

Ten years, a decade, a century, all used to express the long ago. What if we weren't held hostage by minutes, hours, years? What if time is not a tunnel that gets deeper and deeper the further you go, but layers of events stacked on top of each other with transparent floors? A song, a smell, a face brings back a specific event and it is resurrected, revived, brought back to the surface. The word "past" connotes something that can never happen again, a moment that is lost. It's a word that brings longing, regret or indifference.

What if we're moving backwards? What if when we lose the people we love they are just being born in another world, on another plain of existence? What if this is all just smoke and mirrors, rushed along by the threat of running out of time?

How can we be so quick to believe that things we cannot see, touch and feel don't exist when time's invisibility has such a hold?

Knowing this has made it easier to believe that my ghosts are real, that we have senses that have been dulled by fear and the need for what the majority believes to be normal.

Missing my white circles

I ran out of one of my prescriptions today. Only one of several, but each is like a sort of piece to my puzzle.

I have to order my meds by mail, it is the way my insurance requires them to be received because they are "maintenance medications." Does that make me high maintenance?  I try to order more in time, but life gets crazy, the mail gets slow . . . they used to automatically ship them off when I was getting low  . . . the system logged that they were sending out 90 days worth and would automatically send more out when the end of that time frame neared. Insurance changes put an end to that.

The bottle had been getting lighter every morning, then a few days ago when I could see the partially clear, yellow-orange mishmash colored plastic bottom of the bottle I hoped more than the day before that the bubble-wrapped package containing my "anti" everything-people-fear-and-don't-want-to-deal with medicine would be carefully folded inside my mailbox when I got home.

The rattle in the bottle gets smaller and smaller, weaker as more and more of the little white tablets are enlisted to help me fight my war. When one is left the clickity clack of itself smacking the sides of the preformed plastic is a sad little sound. It's almost gone. This medicine I have become accustomed to having to function everyday is now one small compressed circle of powder in a large, otherwise empty pharmacy bottle.

It ran out yesterday, so I could not take it today. That one, we'll call it part b of the anti-psychotic cocktail I've trained myself to ingest before I leave the house each day. I still have a and c, but getting the three to work without the middle is a bit difficult.

It's only when I am without some of the medicine I have been (strongly) recommended that I realize that I am chemically dependent. If I go one day without the little lifesavers I feel  . . . not real.

Today I am spinning and the threads and patterns in the carpet seem to be moving back and forth against each other. Some sounds seem to be louder, while others are much more quiet, though on a normal day they are the same. I can't focus, everything is a fog. I won't remember what you just told me, so I hope it wasn't important.

My skin feels numb, and I the last two hours went by in 10 minutes. I'm itchy and my heart is pounding and racing . . . can they hear it in the next room?

I'll keep this to myself, and you'll never know because I've become so skilled at pushing through.

It's like being hungover and you just want it to go away but you have to let it run its course.
It's like those first few moments after you wake up when the room spins and it takes a moment to come to your senses, out of the sleep fog. . .. but being without a long-term medication for day or more means you stay in the fog all day. That is what it feels like.

I just want to sleep. Sleep is the only thing that pushes this all away. Sleep wraps me up like an angel and kicks everything else out. Sleep is the only safe place from this.

I hope it's in my mail box when I get home.

Behind his eyes

Everyone has a story. Don't believe it? Start up a conversation with a stranger. Or better yet, let them start one with you.

I went Christmas and grocery shopping on Saturday, maybe too much ambition for one afternoon, but I prefer to get a lot done in one swoop than in little bits and pieces.

I went to the gym post shopping to get a little soak in the hot tub and it was empty save one older man. I picked a corner and settled into the bubbles and jets (that is such an amazing feeling). We made eye contact at one point and acknowledged each others' presence through small but polite smiles.

I got the sense that he wanted to chat but was not sure if I'd be open to a conversation with a stranger.

After a few moments of nothing but the sound of the bubbles in the spa and some kids splashing in the pool he spoke up. He asked me if I had a lot of people to shop for this year, and I told him that my family is spread out all over the place . . . Washington, Utah, California, Florida, Alabama, South Carolina . . . but that my immediate family would be close by.

We talked about our families for awhile. He talked about his three daughters and one son and his seven grandchildren. We talked about his wife having a hard time after the youngest child moved out of the house because she had the whole empty nest thing going on. Just your average, generic, home town friendly chatter.

Then he brought up being drafted into the Vietnam War when he was 19. He'd just been married. He told me about some of the horrific things he saw . . . his best friend getting blown up right in front of him, for example, and having someone shot and killed right next to him. He told me that the Viet Cong would fight at night, so his unit would be getting shot at and they'd have to shoot back into the jungle without seeing who they were shooting at. The Viet Cong would arm their children with machine guns, so when daylight came they'd discovered that they'd been shooting at children. He told me that he watched reporters come and kick the guns away from the bodies of the kids before doing their report so it looked like the children had been unarmed.

But, he said the worst part of the whole thing was coming back to America and being spit on and called a baby killer. That, he said, was worse than being in the war.

He's telling me all of this, and I don't really know what to say. It really came out of no where. He continued that it took him more than 20 years to finally talk about it, and now he enjoys talking about it because it is a release, a therapy for him because he held it in for so long. He and his wife are still married, by the way.

He now works to help soldiers coming back from Iraq and Afghanistan get the help that they need, both physical and mental. He drives vets to Salt Lake to the Veteran's Hospital and makes sure they have someone to talk to.

He was a genuinely all around good guy. He loves his wife, daughters, son and grandkids, and seemed like the kind of guy who help a complete stranger in a time of need.

It would be easy for him to be angry and bitter and just all around mad at the world, and maybe he was for awhile. But on Saturday he was a friendly grandpa getting excited to see his grandkids for Christmas.

If he had not told me about his time in the war I would have never known he'd been there. I would not have heard stories from someone who was literally in the line of fire in one of the darkest times of our country's past.

Things that this reinforced to me are: 1. You can go through something horrific and still chose to be a kind and compassionate individual. 2. You can't always trust what the media tells you. They show you want they want you to see.

I hope I see him there again sometime. He seems like an old friend.

A chipped tooth and forgotten dreams

I chipped my tooth while I was eating lunch today. Sometimes when I'm chewing I accidentally bite down on the bar. Today it chipped one of my molars. I guess I should take that thing out for good, I've had it for about 15 years. I'm too old for that shit anyway.

I start my second job tomorrow. I have to be there at 5 p.m. and I get off at my regular job at 5 p.m. I told my boss I had to leave early and he was very understanding. So by the time I get off work at about 10 tomorrow night I'll have put in about 14 hours. I'm not complaining, it's only temporary, just seasonal. I know I can handle it. I was working full time and going to school full time during the last few months of college.  . . and I had a toddler at home.

I can't believe how  much we've gone through the last couple of years . . . Mike breaking his foot, getting into a car accident, hiring a lawyer to fight the insurance and not getting the claim settled and having one vehicle for 7 months, Aria moving to Kansas City, my unexpected surgery, my car engine blowing up and costing roughly a grand to fix, Mike's vehicle  breaking down and costing us $650 to fix (so we did not have a running vehicle for about a week), now my phone is on the fritz. I've gone back and forth between being on the verge of breaking down and wondering what I did to deserve all this to being just kind of numb to it. There's only so much I have control over. This will pass, things will get better.

I miss Aria so much. I can't believe I have not seen her since July 11. I'm counting the days 'til I can hold her. For awhile in our lives it was just the two of us and she's taught me alot.

Since my phone has been messed up for a couple of days I haven't been on Facebook with the exception of the post about getting a second job. It's been great, all that political crap was making me crazy.

The last week or so I have not wanted to talk to anybody, and I mean anybody, including close friends and family. I want to hide in my office at work and shut the door and then come home and close all the blind and lock the doors and just hibernate. I don't want to be social. I hope no one takes it personal. I guess this is what a "normal" person's depression is like, I'm not depressed, not by my standards anyway. I am actually holding up better than I would have thought. I'm just overwhelmed and I don't want a lot of outside . . . err  . . . ness to make me more overwhelmed. If you know me at all you know that I tend to absorb everything around me. . . the good, the bad and the ugly. My senses are constantly on overload, most people just don't notice it. I watch the ants on the sidewalk, I can usually tell what kind of wood is burning by the smell of the smoke coming from the nearby chimney. I can close my eyes and isolate sounds . ..  the bird chirping in the tree on the other side of the river from my secret bench, the motorcycle accelerating from the stop light a couple of streets behind me. It's harder than it sounds, no pun intended (but that was a pretty good pun, am I right?!).

The point is I need the quiet sometimes.

I have had so much to say lately. I could fill the pages of an entire notebook with all the thoughts and poetic phrases bouncing around in my head. I come up with some of the most beautiful, clever, thought provoking things during the mysterious moments in between closing my eyes and falling asleep. The moments when I can still hear the box fan humming but am starting to lose the ability to distinguish which direction it's coming from. Some of the stuff I've come up with is epic, and it is hard for me to say anything good about my writing. I try my best to remember it so I can write it down in the morning. By the time this stuff magically pops into my brain I'm at the point where I am so close to sleep that I can't make myself get up and pull out a notebook. It's very vexing, but I'm grateful for the poetry and prose while it lasts.

I have really intense Stephen King style dreams. A lot of stuff that would make great movies. I dream a lot about situations that require making a big and difficult decision. I dream about fire a lot too. There's usually something stalking, like a monster, sometimes real and sometimes metaphorical. Sometimes when I close my eyes and focus I can remember bits and pieces, but I wish the recollections were as clear as the original showing.

It's cold outside today. Then again I'm always cold. I must be a woman.

Watch the weather change

I already miss the sun, but I'm looking forward to the serenity that winter brings. Everything has seasons, everything cycles.

I've been drawing a lot lately. There has not been a moment in the last few weeks that I have not felt like creating. Not sure why, but I have to learn to not question everything and just let some things be.

Busy day

Busy day today, too much going on.

I am meeting with my head doctor at 10 a.m. I am not sure what to call her. She's not a counselor, she's a psychiatrist. I guess that is the same thing.  She just checks in on me every few months to make sure that the medications are working for me. I am out of my anxiety pills. It took me a long time to go through them, I guess that is a good thing.

But I have needed them more lately than I did when they were first prescribed. Like I said, a lot going on.

I have another appointment at 11:20, but I am not at liberty to discuss that one at this time. Nothing bad, just a bit unexpected.

Just when I think my strength will give out I surprise myself. I often feel like I am just going to break, and some times I do, about twice a year I have a major depressive episode. My last one was a few months ago. We talk of physical pain in terms of its severity, 1-10 with ten being the worst, but being in pain mentally can be just be as bad. I woke up as a different person. . . I do some times. And I knew, I knew. I curled up on my bed, as tightly as I could, and just cried for hours. No rhyme or reason. It physically hurts because you're imploding. And you can't do anything but let it run it's course, just like an illness, you can't rush it away. Then when you "wake up" it is difficult to remember those few hours.  It's like those few hours of your life are just gone, they didn't exist, it's just a black hole.

But my strength always comes back. I can say honestly that I am determined, and when I'm "sane" I'm incredibly focused. I'm more passionate than most people, and in some respects much more calm and reserved.

I fight to stay optimistic, and I'm surprised to say that it is getting easier. Optimism is a word that was once not in my vocabulary. I don't know where it comes from, but I guess everyone has a secret reserve of strength that comes out when they need it most.

Today will be a good day, right?

Divided we fall

I remember, as a child, seeing several major events play out on TV.

I remember watching east and west Germans chip away at the Berlin Wall, eventually removing whole slabs at a time. I remember a man wearing blue jeans and a windbreaker jacket, the kind that everyone owned in the '80s, swinging one leg over the wall and then the other while thousands of people cheered. 

I remember when they pulled baby Jessica out of the well, bandaged up and wide-eyed.

I remember watching Ronald Regan on TV. I knew him only as a president. It was not until many years later that I learned that he had also been an actor. 

I remember the 1989 San Francisco earthquake. The one that happened during the World Series and was hence broadcast on live TV from Candlestick Park. (Mike's uncle was at that game). I remember seeing the images of the freeway that had collapsed onto the other. It literally looked like a sandwich.

I remember hearing about HIV and AIDS for the first time, and that poor kid who contracted it when he got a blood transfusion.

I remember bits and pieces of the fall of the Soviet Union, though I had no idea what it meant at the time. 

I remember the Oklahoma City bombing. I walked in to my 8th grade art class and it was on the TV, the entire side of the building just gone. 

I remember WACO, the FBI and various other law enforcement teams staged outside the compound.
I remember when the smoke first started rising from the building, then becoming fully engulfed minutes later. 

I remember the Unabomber guy, Ted Kczynsky. The cabin he had been living in in the Montana wilderness was loaded onto a trailer and transported to wherever the trial was being held for evidence. It passed through Pocatello on its way there.

I remember Ruby Ridge unfolding.  That was when I learned that northern Idaho was known for white supremacist nuts.

I remember when the space shuttle Columbia exploded upon re-entry in 2003, when the Gulf War was declared, when there were riots in Los Angeles. I remember watching Rodney King on TV, then OJ Simpson years later. 

I remember the Lewinsky scandal, then the Y2K hype.

I remember the shooting at Columbine High School and listening to the media and so-called experts try to figure out why the Eric and Dylan did what they did.

Also the deadly Great White nightclub fire, the capture of Saddam Hussein, Hurricanes Andrew and Katrina, both of the Bush presidential campaigns, Bill Clinton's campaign, Obama's campaign, Al Gore trying to bring attention to global warming.

And of course, 9/11. Everyone remembers that day more than most others. Who they were with, where they were standing and of course that sinking, sick feeling that still manifests on each anniversary.

This week's events have made me think about a lot of things. I've thought about how scared my mom and dad must have been during the recession in the 80s, the seemingly constant war in the Middle East, the way that, despite everything we've learned, everything we've been through we aren't really better off. 

There have only been three times that I was afraid, genuinely worried and scared to the point that I can actually feel it in my body: April 20, 1999, September 11, 2001 and November 9, 2016.

I'm trying to be optimistic.

I believe in the freedom of assembly, free speech, the right to bear arms . . .
but I also believe in liberty and justice for all.

It's horrible to think that the person we've choose to lead us has assaulted women, thinks Mexicans are rapists and Muslims are terrorists.

I am not a raging feminist or anything, but it makes me sick to think that the guy making decisions regarding women's rights has said that flat-chested women can't be "tens," that he can do anything he wants to them because he's famous, and that they don't need to be respected. How does someone say things like that and then get elected president?

And then ban an entire religion? Muslims are not all terrorists any more than all Christians are members of the Westboro Baptist Church.

Mexicans are rapists and murderers? So are many caucasian American-born citizens, should we kick them out too?

We've spent years, decades working toward equality.  All men are created equal. . . . all of that is now being threatened by someone who thinks he can buy people.

Calls to suicide and LGBT hotlines have more than doubled in volume since Tuesday. Many people now have the idea that discriminating against people because of the color of their skin, religion or sexual preference is OK. He's endorsed by the KKK for hell's sakes. But that's Ok, right?

A friend of mine married a Hispanic man and they have three awesome kids. Their nine-year-old was told by classmates that he better go start building the wall and then climb over it. These are elementary school aged kids. My gay and lesbian friends are scared and confused. No one is born with hate, it's taught, and now it's being taught on one of the biggest stages in the world — American politics.

We tell our daughters that they are beautiful no matter what, that the size of your waist and chest don't matter, and yet we'll soon be governed by someone who basically thinks women are sexual objects. I can't be OK with that.

I think what terrifies me the most is that we've gotten to the point where many people feel that this is our best option. What have we become as a society that we're willing to not only accept this but endorse it?  How is it that we have gotten so out of control that we feel we need something this radical? JFK is rolling in his grave.

People are desperate for change, and I get that. Believe me I am all for some drastic changes in the way our government handles things. But it seems like a giant rift has opened, and instead of trying to fix it or figure out what caused it to open in the first place people are picking sides and are not willing to build a bridge until the other side admits they're wrong.

"Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country." We're supposed to be making things better for EVERYBODY, we are supposed to be UNITED.  We have not been this divided since the Civil War.

United we stand. Divided we fall.

This is still a democracy, and I'll take that over a dictatorship any day. The fact that we had an election is proof that we are free, and I don't take that for granted. I don't care who you voted for, I have friends and family on both sides of this divide. I'm just a bit freaked out.

But like I said, I am being optimistic. Maybe optimism is for fools, I don't know, but some times you have to be or you'll go nuts. The sun will come out tomorrow!

There's a few things I like to conclude with: Don't rely on someone else to prompt you to be a good person. Don't hate some one just because they voted the way they did, hating a person based on who he or she voted for makes you no better than people who hate others because they are gay or straight. You don't have to agree with someone to respect them. Many people think this really sucks, and I have to admit I am one of them, but all we can do now is move forward, change what we can, accept what we can't change, and be wise enough to know the difference.

You cannot change who is president. You can donate to your local food bank. You can't change whether or not we go to war — again. You can start a coat drive at your place of work. Take this frustration and anger you're feeling right now and apply it to something positive. 

Reality isn't always real

There exists in this world things too beautiful, too real to be true. And yet there they are — in the sky, reflected in a mountain lake. . . Don't let yourself believe that something does not exist because you've never seen it or it cannot be seen. There is a magic just below the surface, just beyond our understanding. You feel it when you love, when you reach the top of a mountain and look out on the valley to realize how small and yet powerful you really are. It comes to you in dreams and in times of deep grief. It's a peace like no other. It cannot be forced, but can be found — a reward for patience, for learning the beauty and value of silence.   Seek the real, but don't get caught up in what they they claim to be "reality."  Your idea of reality, after all, is mostly what you've be told. Life is too short to keep your mind in a box. 

Nothing in particular

Everyone says his or her life is boring, myself included. I go to work, I go home, I go to work, I go home. But really, the more I pay attention to the people, places and things around me and even my own thoughts the less boring I become. 

For example, several nights ago my dream included a nun and a wet chicken. I was the chicken. There's no explanation for that in my dream dictionary, so I will just have to accept that I won't know the meaning behind that nocturnal adventure. 

What else? I screwed pretty royally at work today. I accidentally billed a client twice. Most sane people would say that's not a big deal, the charge can be credited, but we all know that there are a fair share of extremely crazy people. So, of all the people I could have accidentally billed, in a Murphy's Law sort of way I happened to pick the craziest one. Super. The customer is not always right, sometimes the customer is bat-shit crazy. 

So rather than go home, sit on my couch and eat leftovers for lunch I went for a walk. People really should take walks more often. Not only is it exercise, but it's very meditative, thoughts can wander without getting boxed in by annoying things like other people and work. 

I happened upon some vines with leaves far more red than anything I've ever seen on fall foliage. It was so beautiful. I wish more people noticed these things. I wish I'd had my digital SLR camera.

I talked to Aria on the phone for more than a hour yesterday. We're making plans to get her here for Christmas. I am going to fly to Kansas City and spend a couple days there and then fly back with her. Knowing that plans to spend time with her are coming together gives me chills, I can't wait. That's all I want for Christmas, to be with her. 

She's having mixed feelings about being there. She texted me a few nights ago telling me that she wants to come back here. I told her that if she really wants to come back I will make it happen. But I want her to really weigh the pros and cons of both places -- it's  not like she just moved to Idaho Falls or something, she lives 17 hours away, she can't go back and forth to live every few months. She told me that she should have thought it out more. She told me that being without Mike, Devin and I is like losing a limb. But at the same time she does not want to disappoint her dad.  I hate that she's dealing with this. She's stressed and scared. I want to fix this for her and I can't . . .

Devin turned 7 last week. I can't believe he is already 7, it really does seem like he was in diapers just last year. People tell you that your child will grow up fast, but you really don't get it until you experience it first hand. He's so much more independent than he was even last year. He tells us he's going outside to play with friends and off he goes! He used to be afraid to go next door to ask if the little neighbor girl could play. He's so much more confident now and I am so proud of him!

He learned a song in school and he's been singing it the last couple of days . . . "Have you ever seen a bear comb his hair? Have you ever seen a moose kissing a goose?" He's silly. 

I have been feeling very artistic lately. I just can't stop drawing and painting. I really don't think I've ever felt the urge to create more than I do now. Not sure where it's coming from, but I like it.  I've been drawing these zentangle things. I have always loved them, so I decided to draw them. Whether I am good at it or not has yet to be determined. 

I've also been dismantling pallets and sanding them down with the hopes of painting them and turning them into something beautiful. I've started one with a tree and birds. . . I know what I am going to add to it, but I don't want to give it away.

We're still trying to figure out what to do with my car. . . one way or the other I have to get something to drive, whether we put all the money in to fix mine or we buy something else . . . having one vehicle for both Mike and I sucks. 

I feel sort of stuck, like I need a change. That's not to say I'm not happy, I am so happy! But I need to do something major, something big. I need to unleash my potential . . . it's in there somewhere. I need to stop being afraid. My kids have both shown so much confidence in the last six months, so I need to find mine. 

I'm still trying to figure out what's going on in my head. I have these major moments where I think I am conquering my body image issues, but then I take two steps back. I hate photos of myself, and by hate I mean I avoid them at all costs. We were goofing off at a Halloween store a couple of weeks ago and I took a dorky picture of myself wearing Princess Laya hair. I decided to challenge myself and make it my Facebook profile photo. I know that seems super casual to most people, but it took some serious guts for me to post a photo of myself looking like a goof ball for the world to see. I have always told myself that I would never post a photo of myself on Facebook unless I was supermodel perfect. Posting that photo was a big deal for me, laugh and snicker if you want. 

And yet, at Devin's birthday party a few days ago I would not let anyone take my photo. No way, no how, it was not going to happen. It was the complete polar opposite of how I'd felt when I posted the Facebook photo. The thought of having my photo taken this time was literally nauseating. It felt to me that it should not have even been considered. I wanted to hide in another room. I don't get it. I hate battling with myself more than anything. 

I'm rambling now, so I should stop. 

Missing my daughter

I wish I could make time stand still, just for a moment, let me breathe this all in before I move on. I can't keep up. Maybe that's how it is supposed to be. Or maybe the sense of urgency in everything is brought on by a capitalistic society influencing us 24/7 and convincing us we need more, that we're not enough.


Sleep evaded me last night. Big surprise.

Downstairs I sat near an open window, breathing in the cool air and wishing to have the kind of peace the darkness of night envelops. I watched the moon ascend, making the branches of the neighbor's tree look like skeleton arms reaching up toward some unknown companion.

It's strange how we are all under the same moon, the same stars, and yet we feel so alone. Darkness amplifies distance — it's the price pay for its serenity.

I miss my daughter more every day. I thought it would be hard at first and then get easier. At first it just seemed like she was on vacation, like she'd be back in a few weeks. Now that I see her face on social media, posting about her interests and projects, her classes and friends, and it hits me that she had started a new life there, 980.7 miles away.

Her physical absence here has left a wound in me as dark as this night that now seems to be holding me hostage.

And yet at the same time I am overflowing with pride. She's shown that she has so much more courage than I, even though my time on this earth more than duplicates hers. At her age I would have never been able to move that far away from my friends and family with nothing but the promise that I'd be Ok.

She made a very adult decision, and she's shown in that and in other ways how strong-willed and undeterred she is.

I found a fitting inspirational quote online last week that I immediately knew I had to send her. It was something to the effect of that, I hope my daughter knows that she can accomplish anything she wants, I hope she sees the value I see in her . . . that type of thing.  Her response, "I already know that ;)"

And she does.

I suppose it is a bit selfish to want her here, when I know she is doing well where she is, but she'll always be my baby, and not being able to hug her is driving me batty. I don't want any gifts for my birthday or Christmas, I just want to hold my daughter, that's it.

She's excelling at school, all As and Bs, she's continuing to learn how to play the violin. She will be taking art classes next semester, and though I admit I am a bit biased, she is really a great artist. Her work amazes me, and I really hope she keeps it up.

She'll be 13 in a couple of months, pretty hard to believe.

These are the things that keep me up at night.

The moon had risen above the skeleton tree at that point, and the night air had turned from cool to brisk. I knew I should try to sleep, but I know myself well enough to know that it would be several hours yet.

I usually have some clever, quirky ending to all of my entries, but this time I am drawing a blank. I'll attribute that to my sleepless night.

Keep your dollar

Mike is working out of town today, and while I usually go home to eat lunch I decided to go for a walk today.

But that of course left me with no time to actually eat anything, so then I had to make the choice between not eating lunch and going through a drive-thru somewhere. So I ended up at McDonalds. (I know, I know, gross, I know, but I figured eating something was better for my metabolism than not eating at all).

There's all alley in between the drive-thru and some houses, and while I was waiting to order I looked over and saw a guy sitting on a cooler writing in a notepad. Next to him was a suitcase with a cardboard sign on top that read "First time in 60 years have needed a hand. I apologize and God bless."

Sitting there I thought about how many people had just passed him by and how hard it must be to  be so down and out that you have to ask for money from people you don't even know. I thought about the dollar bill I had and wondered if I should give it to him. I don't normally carry cash, but I had a dollar in my purse today. I was not going to stop.  I was running late getting back to work from lunch, and how was I supposed to know he actually needed the money? I mean, it sucks, but I am sure there are people in the world who just go set up shop on a street corner who aren't actually in need but just want some extra cash. Douchebags.

Healing

Feeling much better today.

My incisions are starting to itch, I guess that means they are healing. I'm not supposed to be lifting more than 25 pounds and blah blah. I'm trying to be good, but I can't just sit around either.

I went for a decent walk today, and I did a little bit of yard work.

I practiced playing my guitar today. I learned how to play the "Downard Spiral" tune. It is the few notes that repeat several times on the Nine Inch Nails album. Trent plays it on the piano at the end of "Closer." It's not much, but at least I am making some progress. I just have too many projects and things I want to do.

I finally talked to Aria today. I called her and she was actually talkative and wanted to spend some time on the phone with me to tell me all about the new house and her new room. They went to Worlds of Fun yesterday, it's an amusement park in Kansas City. She told me about her favorite rides and that she wants us to go when we come visit. She got a new bed, it is a loft bed. I guess her new room is a bit small so they got the loft bed to make more space. She's in love with her memory foam mattress.

She met a girl named Holly who has the same birthday as her. Not just the same day, but the same year and everything. What are the odds of that? I mean, I could probably figure it out or Google it, but I really don't want to right now. I just know that it does not happen often.

We talked for about an hour, it was nice to hear her voice. And she's happy and doing well. Talking to her really put me at ease, I may be able to sleep more than just a few hours tonight!

Devin keeps asking me when she's coming home. I told him that she moved to a different city, but it's hard for him to understand what is going on. He misses her, and it is hard for me to see that and try to put him at ease.  I tell him that we all miss her and we will visit her.

I have started disassembling the pallets that my friend Krysten's husband got me from his job. I am learning that taking apart a pallet is a royal pain in the ass. They're built sturdy for a reason, I suppose, and that reason is not to be turned into book shelves and wine racks, lol. I can't wait to actually sand the planks down and begin making something with them. Who knows, maybe I will find a niche that I did not know I had. Maybe I will get addicted to repurposing pallets. There are worse things to be addicted to.

I'm going back to work Wednesday. I feel like I have not been there forever. I took the week off before Aria left to spend some time with her, and it was during that week that I found out that I would have to have surgery, so then I came back to work for a few days and then had to take more time off. My boss and co-workers are very understanding, but I still feel bad, I feel like I am leaving everybody hanging. There is not really a back-up person for my job, so when I am gone it just gets put on hold. I am used to that though. Anyone want to guess how many emails I will have when I get back? I am gonna say 1,005. Why not, it is a nice number. And 998 of them will be someone telling me I have won $10,000 and need to give out my bank account number or someone wanting me to buy printer supplies at three times the normal cost. Um, ya, delete.

Mike's crew starts painting the Fed Ex building tomorrow. It is a big job, it is going to take awhile. He's excited. Did I mention I am super great at being sarcastic?

My great-grandma turns 99 next week. Almost a century . . . we're having a big birthday party for her. I can only imagine the things she's seen. . . television, World War II, Kennedy, man on the moon, the Vietnam War, the fall of the Soviet Union, computers, cell phones, cloning sheep. She's so sweet and so humble. I really want to sit with her for awhile and ask her about her memories. I want to be able to have stories for my family history stuff.

As a sort of final note here, if it seems like I have been avoiding people lately, don't take it personal. I have just sort of shut out technology and kept things very simple in my life for the last couple weeks and I have not really talked to anybody. I have needed some time to be still, if that makes any sense. Probably not, my mind is weird. Have you ever meditated? Everyone needs a reset. I am sure when I get back to work on Wednesday things will get back into a routine.

I love you all.

Two life events; one week

It's the morning of Saturday, July 9. Aria is moving to Kansas City on Monday. It's hard to believe it is already here. It came too fast.

I'd like to think that I have been handling it fairly well. I think I have just been pretty numb, with the exception of a couple of nights ago, when, as I lay in the darkness squeezing my pillow like a child it hit me full force.

I want what is best for her. If moving to a larger city with more diversity, more commerce, etc. is a good opportunity for her then I have to let it be. She wants that experience, who am I to tell her she can't at least try it?

I've spent the last couple of days going through all of our photos, picking out some of the best ones of family and all of our trips. We went to Mount St. Helens, Astoria, Oregon, saw the Goonies house, then Seaside and Cannon Beach, Oregon.

We've been to West Yellowstone and Old Faithful, Redfish Lake, and of course Lagoon.  My family's cabin up at the Blackfoot Reservoir has always been a favorite. I am going to print them all out and put them in a photo album for her. Today I am taking her out to lunch, just she and I. I am trying to squeeze as much time in with her as I can.

I think my biggest fear is that she does not miss me when she's gone. I know she does not completely understand, but I've done so much for her and protected her from more than she'll know. I guess I will just have to let the knowledge that I have done my best be good enough, but that is so hard.

My surgery has been scheduled for this Thursday, July 14 at 9 a.m. It should be fairly simple unless there are complications (knock on wood). They are going to put me under and everything. That terrifies me. Anesthesia is just one of those weird fears for me. That and parking garages. I freaking hate parking garages. I don't know how long I am going to have to take off work and all of that, but honestly I am not really thinking that far in advance right now.

The nurse told me that the chances of this happening (the reason I need the surgery) are one in a thousand. Lucky me. The doctor said he has not performed this procedure in five years. Should I buy a lottery ticket? Are you feeling lucky, punk?

I went in for my pre-op on Thursday. They had me fill out all the paperwork, you know the "you understand the risks" crap. I've been surprisingly calm, even I thought I would be freaking out more than I am. The doctor commented that "you are handling this surprisingly well, my dear" and I told him that I know that it could be much worse. I mean, it's not like I have cancer or something, so I am grateful. He laughed and jokingly asked if he could make a YouTube video of me saying that. He's a funny guy.

But, I have learned that there is no sense worrying about it too much. I need to be grateful for all the good in my life and accept these bumps in the road, they add character. And I am going to have some kick ass scars. Scars tell stories of trials and remind you that you've survived this far. Have no fear of what the future holds, you're a tough cookie.

I'm scared, I mean, I would be crazy not to be. But Mike is taking some time off work to take care of me and my boss is very understanding. I have a great support system.

I really wish I could tell everyone in my life how much they mean to me, but I fear that they would think I was being weird if I randomly called and said, "you've changed my life, thank you." Maybe next week when things calm down. Maybe letters. I am much better with the written word than spoken. I kind of sound like Foghorn Leghorn from the Looney Tunes when I try to get sentimental when I talk to somebody. "I say, eh I say boy!" Remember that guy? The big rooster?

Complications

I have so many thoughts and ideas, beautiful poems and prose that bounce in my head, and yet, sadly, they rarely make it into something tangible, either because of my time schedule or my own crippling fear of being vulnerable. I wrote a poem just the other night about what the night does while we sleep. Is it jealous of the day because we pay much more attention there or is it content to watch us while we dream? I'm weird, I know this. 

Some things going on:
Aria and her dad are moving to Kansas City in the next few weeks. I have known that they were going to move there eventually, but I did not know it would be this soon. He really wants us to move there too, so I am torn over moving to be closer to my daughter or staying here and being close to the rest of my family. If I move there I will be separated by everyone and everything I know, but I will be able to see my daughter. Life's choices are NEVER easy. It builds character right? Remember the poster with the kitten barely gripping the tree branch with the words "Hang In There" at the top? Yep. I need some of those cheesy motivational posters around me. 

I have not posted on social media about the move because I wanted to tell my family about it in person, I don't think Facebook is where someone should read about that. And, because it involves my daughter, and because I don't want to risk someone in his circle taking what ever I say and twisting my words. 

Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow and Next Week walk into a bar . . .

Yesterday told me that I could have done better. Her visits always seem to go by so fast. It seems like she was just here and now she's gone. She'll be back.

Today is in my living room, sitting up straight, watching me to see what I'll do next. She's tall, patient, simple, but satisfactory. She's calm and has an air of meaningfulness and wisdom. I should work on paying better attention to what she says.

Tomorrow is knocking on my front door, excited to show me what she's brought. She always rushed my visits with Today. I welcome her visits, but it seems there's never enough time for Today. Just give me one more hour, I'm not done with her yet. Tomorrow is giddy and impatient. She thinks she's better than Today, I know she does. 

Next Week is calling me long distance. I'm not sure what she's like yet, I haven't met her. I think she'll be kind. I'll be optimistic this time. She tells me that she'll be here soon, probably sooner than I think.

I have treated them badly. I have shunned their persistence. I have pushed them all away, told them flat out that I did not care to see them anymore. And yet the continue to visit. Perhaps they see something in me that I don't. 

At times each one has been very unkind. But on others they're nothing less than sweet and full of life. 

Though our relationships have been at times strained, each has taught me something and helped to form who I am now, who ever that is. Maybe I'll meet her next. 

The passion of fear

Franklin D. Roosevelt once said "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself -- nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance."

Fear is a natural part of life. It keeps us alive. Without fear we wouldn't wear seat belts or life jackets and a lot of knife-throwing circus sideshow acts would have to find new professions.

But fear is too often paralyzing, debilitating. It takes more than it gives. Fear convinces you you're not good enough, that you shouldn't even try. People who achieve their goals have somehow learned to silence this fear, or at least calm it enough to be manageable.

Fear has taken too much from me. 

I need to take it back. 

I want to learn Spanish and I want to learn how to play guitar (I'm working on both, by the way). I want to write a book (I've been doing research and writing a rough draft). I want to know who I am (I've traced my family history all the way back to the Mayflower). 

As challenging as those things are, the things I struggle with the most are not seen and are rarely spoken of. We shouldn't fear fear, but what if you fear yourself? There's a movie plot for ya. 

It's 10:51 on a Friday night. I'm pleasantly sober and clear. I enjoy these fleeting moments of clarity. Having open eyes does not necessarily mean that you truly, really see.

I'm more than what I allow myself to be. It's there. It's what's kept me going. Passion is more powerful than fear.

The Art of Childhood

Back at the beginning of the school year, a flyer came home with parents asking for anybody and everybody to volunteer to teach an art lesson to the class once a month. 

As I was dropping Devin off at school the next day I stopped and chatted with his teacher about the art lessons — what a great idea it is to have art offered to the kids, especially at such a young age, how important it is for their developing minds to be creative, etcetera and so forth. 

His teacher approached me a few weeks later and told me, in a  bit of a panic, that no one had volunteered. She went on to say that if there are no volunteers there would be no art lessons for the kids. And, since I was the only parent who had expressed any interest in it, would I please, please volunteer to teach art. 

Well, yes, of course! Children going without art in their lives breaks my heart. 

I am not one for getting up and speaking in public, even in front of kids, but I remember my mom coming to volunteer in my classes while I was in elementary school. I remember that it meant a lot to me. And, I had volunteered in Aria's kindergarten class too, helping kids learn how to read and count. I certainly want to carry on that tradition with Devin. 

Death and forgiveness

Warning: Long post ahead

I am a firm believer that everything that happens in your life is meant to teach you something. It may be a major event, the worst or best day of your life, or something that does not make sense until decades later.

This last week was very emotionally trying for a lot of people. Death is difficult for anyone to deal with -- the ultimate unknown and finale in a life that you want to keep forever. When it happens suddenly and seemingly without reason to a person who seemed so happy, so talented, so fun -- it seems impossible to rationalize. You begin to hear that person's voice in your head, remember the last time you spoke, become tempted to call him just on the slight chance he'll answer, wonder what you could have done to stop him from making his final decision.

This last week I spoke with and hugged people I had not seen in 17 years, Death brings people together, reminds you to tell people you care about them, It makes you question your own mortality and reminds you to never take anything for granted.

Everyone has a mortal enemy, someone whom they'd wish would just fall off the face of the planet. Mine happens to be, ironically, the best friend of the person whose death brought everyone together. This person, who shall remain nameless here, was obnoxious, arrogant, spoiled and just all around mean. He made his dislike for me very well known. Whoever made up the phrase "sticks and stones . . " was never publicly degraded nearly everyday for four years.

He never really did give me a good reason for hating me, though I know that a large part of it was the fact that I was a little different, I wore Marilyn Manson shirts and put blue streaks in my hair (back then putting color in your hair was not cool), and he, being very, very LDS, thought that meant I was a devil worshipper and should be made to feel as inferior as possible. I don't think he knew that I am actually, technically  LDS, it's just not something that I bring up in typical conversation.

Words left unsaid

It is hard to describe how I’m feeling right now. Sometimes I just need to pour my thoughts out onto a page with no rhyme or reason. It does not have to make sense, I just have to have this release. It is the best therapy I’ve found thus far.

The last few days seem to have stood still, or perhaps I’ve been asleep and I’m about to wake up. There’s a numbness that I can’t seem to shake. An old high school classmate decided to leave this earth last week. We were not really friends in school, but we did not dislike each other either, we just spun in different circles. He was artistic, I remember that about him, and he was a class clown, always making people laugh and just generally being a goofball. He got along with everybody because he was nice to everybody.

He became a very talented artist. He had a unique style and method that I’d not seen before or since. A couple of years ago he emailed me and asked if I would write a news story about him to try to get a sponsorship to exhibit at the Eastern Idaho State Fair. I agreed to write a story, but told him that I had to focus on his art rather than the sponsorship.

We chatted by phone, it was great to sort of catch up. I interviewed him, got to pick his brain a bit and ask him about his inspiration. I don’t know if he liked the article, I never heard, but that year at the state fair I did stop by his booth to chat and watch him paint.

His death is stinging more than it should, I know. It’s not like we were best friends. I wrote “happy birthday” on his Facebook timeline every year, I watched the time lapsed videos he made to show his paintings come together.

The dreadful afternoon spins

It seems that something has not been right with me for a little while. Or, if you've known me for  a long time you might argue that I've never been quite right, but that's another entry for another rainy day.

I know that my medication has some influence on how I feel throughout the day, both good and bad. I turn into a different person when I'm not on my meds, I'm an angry, emotional monster, and that is putting it nicely. So, though I resisted for quite a long time, I finally made the decision to take medication. It calms me, makes me relax, chill. But that makes me tired, but it is a different kind of tired. It's a listlessness, a sort of physical weakness. It's being drained all the time.

But over the last few months something else seems to be going on. I get really dizzy and nauseous in the afternoons. It feels like the entire room is spinning, like I just stepped off one of those wild rides at the state fair. And the nausea is terrible. I have not quite lost my lunch on my desk yet, but I've been damn close.

And the fatigue has been out of control, I feel like I can barely move most of the time.

I don't understand . . . I have been exercising, it's been almost a year since I started going to the gym. I've been eating well and I drink tons of water. I try to get enough sleep but I have kids, so, well you know how that goes. So what the hell is going on? I feel awful!

It has gotten progressively worse, I have even asked Mike to come pick me up from work early because I just can't focus when the room is spinning. Last Friday was the last straw . . . it was worse than ever.  I have put off going to the doctor for a long time, I mean, I thought it would pass. Also, I am used to just sort of pushing through when I'm sick. If I have a cold, a sprain, whatever I still go about as usual, I don't let stuff like this get to me normally.

I'm probably just rambling now, I guess that's part of this whole deal, I just can't think straight for more than a moment or two. I've been leaving my keys on the counter when I go out to start the car, and I've been zoning out quite a bit too. Someone will be talking to me and I try to listen but it's like my brain just shuts off and the words, the sentences don't click. I hear it, but I don't understand it.

I'm only 35, so what does this mean? Stress? That's a give-in.  I'm going in to get checked out Thursday.

Mystery in the dark

My drive to the gym takes me, in part, past a little mini-mall on the north side of town. By the time I go to the gym it is thoroughly dark outside (thanks, Winter Solstice) and the stores are closed, because, you know, why would any business want to stay open later than 7 p.m., right?

With the lights out (it's less dangerous?) the building blend into the scenery. Combined with my frequenting the route it has become little more than a landmark that tells me I'm almost at my destination.

But I've found something to look forward to here. 

Most nights, with the exception of particularly frigid ones, an old man stands in near complete darkness on the west side of the building. He wears a thick blue coat and his hands and protected from the biting cold by black gloves. He also wears a dark blue hat, the kind with the little flaps that fold down over your ears. He holds a cane in his left hand, looking out toward one of the city's busiest intersections —watching? Waiting? 

We have made eye contact more than once. I see him only for a brief moment as I turn right onto the road that passes his side of the building. Sometimes he is walking across the parking lot as I pass, heading toward his post.

He seems to be a gentle soul, the deep lines in his face tells me he's been on this earth more than most. 

He does not appear to be homeless, but there are not really too many houses nearby either, which baffles me. Where does he come from?

I have so many questions. A part of me wants to stop one night and simply ask him if he is Ok. Does he have a warm place to sleep at night? Does he have enough to eat?

But then there is another part of me that enjoys this mystery and weird connection that we share (and, like I said, he does not appear homeless, his coat, hair, etc. are all clean as far as I can tell. If he appeared homeless there would be no question to stop or not).

He appears to be reminiscing, thinking, watching, but what and why? What is his story? Why does he stand there nearly every night? Is he lonely? 

Now each night that I drive by I make it a point to look for him. My inner child plays with the idea that maybe only I can see him. Maybe he's some sort of earthbound spirit. I'd like to know . . .  or maybe not.