A Hard and Heavy Shell

As long as I can remember, I have loved turtles.  I find them to be soothing. For years, friends and family often pick up little turtle figurines for me to collect.

Years ago, at a souvenir shop in the desert, I was eying a piece of turtle jewelry.  Attached was a tag detailing a Native American tale of how the great turtle is thought to carry the weight of the world on its back.  The turtle is carrier of all things in the world.  I have no idea if that tag accurately described the legend, or if it was some fabricated bullshit to entice tourists.  But it stuck with me and it is something I have always remembered.

When we were kids, Mom was kind of a piece of shit.  Being the older sibling, I put myself in charge of Sister's safety and well being.  When Mom took off on a bender in Reno and left the two of us girls alone (at ages 7 and 4), I was responsible for getting us to school every day.  Thankfully, a concerned neighbor notified our elementary school and Dad was awarded custody of us.  I still feel I failed in protecting Sister.  She had some serious shit happen to her and I couldn't stop it.  As we got older and Sister went through hard times, I had no choice but to not fuck up.  The burden was on me to be "the good one" and make Dad's life a little easier.

When it came to saving our relationship, it was not up to The Wrecking Ball to curb his cocaine habit.  Instead, it was my burden to learn to accept and live with his cocaine habit.  His vice resulted in mood swings.  He loved me in the morning and loathed me at night. He once showed up to meet my relatives an hour late, wearing sunglasses indoors, at night.  Of course, I would tell myself over and over "If I try really hard to be a better girlfriend, he will love me so much that he will want to stop."  We all know addiction doesn't work that way. Yet, the fall and demise of us, was somehow my doing. My begging and pleading and ultimately standing up for myself, even if it meant fighting for us, was responsible for the end. 

These are only a couple of ways that I take on the responsibility for the failings of others.  I surely inherited this trait from my father. I see how this has affected him and I know that I cannot continue to take on the world this way.  The burden has been too great.  My back will not hold the weight for long.  As my body ages, I feel the impact of the stress.  The chronic headaches, the anxiety, the bouts of depression. For once, I want someone to be my rock.  I want someone to face the burdens with me, not let me carry them alone.  I want someone I can count on to be there.  To have my back when the shit hits the fan.  I long for camaraderie.  Fucking hell, it is my turn.  Well meaning loved ones often say to me "Patience Grasshopper.  It happens when you are not looking for it." 

While I wait, I will continue to admire the beauty of these strong and patient creatures.  I will reflect on the weight I have carried and recognize that it is a testament to my loyalty and devotion to the world I live in, and the people in it.  It is proof of my nature, what I am capable of, and the type of person I am.

Dear Universe

Dear Universe,

How about you go fuck yourself?

Thanks, 

C

If I were to say that my heart could not possibly be anymore broken, I think the Universe would take that as a challenge so I will refrain.  

Last Friday, I had a girls' date with Bodhi.  We met for happy hour beers at our usual spot, then proceeded downtown when, after searching for parking forever, we snagged some delicious sandwiches for dinner.  We then walked a few blocks to an intimate concert venue to see a great show.  The night could not be better. Turns out that we had some other friends in the crowd so before the first act got underway we went on a search mission.  Less than one minute into said mission, we run into the motherfucking Wrecking Ball.  FUCK. How, in a sea of beautiful and inebriated bearded men, do I only exchange words with the one I have been avoiding like the Black Death for over a year? You see, the Wrecking Ball is not just any demon.  He is Satan himself.  No one person or thing in this world can fuck with the wiring of my brain as that man can.  The heartache from our demise is still so raw and so fresh.  My gaping wound that after being gangrenous and infectious, was just starting to heal and resemble more of a battle scar, when he walked up and slashed it all open again.  After successfully not puking on him and finding the other members of our group, Bodhi and I took our spots in front of the stage and I tried to brush it off.  I am certain the old drunk hippie standing next to me, thought I was on Acid as the only thing I could do was stare at the pretty lights in the ceiling, hoping that by elevating my face, no tears would fall down my cheeks.

Though I had designated myself as our driver, I woke the next morning with an emotional hangover.  The kind where you have a headache simply from crying.  My phone rang next to my head as I tried to come to.  It was darling Robo trying to wake my pathetic ass up for our planned hike.  Before calling her back, I decided I should replay the previous night's events in my head and start some coffee.  I laid in bed just a little longer while I felt the way I did over a year ago "Just last night, he was here.  And now he's gone."  I felt like I would die. I found myself asking all the same questions over and over.  I eventually hobbled out of bed to start the kettle, while cursing the Universe for ever bringing that man into my life if I was just going to wake up alone anyway.

As I stumble into my living room, the Universe smacks me upside the head to remind me that I never wake up alone. There it was. Vomit. Shit. Lots of it. Once contained in the forty pound body of a dog. MY dog. My sweet, precious girl that has been with me for the entirety of my Twenties. Who, while I bitch and moan about being lonely, gently reminds me "But I'm here.  And I love you. Unconditionally.  And I will never, ever leave your side."  But the fact is, she will. Not by her own doing. No, she will not abandon me. Instead, I have to make the decision to not be selfish and let her leave this Earth in no more pain than she is currently in. I have to let her go. I have to let her know that I will be okay without her. That I am a better and stronger person because of her love. That her job here is done. 

This Friday, Sister and I will take my dog into her very last vet visit.  And we will leave without her. The outpouring of love and compassion from everyone who knows her and my love for her has been amazing. Even dogless, I know I am not alone.

Dear Universe, 

If you can be gentle after the tough week you have dealt me, that would be great.

I love you, 

C 

 

Lonely Girl

It has taken me a long time to write this post.  Over and over, I keep coming back to it because I find it hard to not only articulate everything into fluid sentences, but also just understanding for myself, what the hell in going on in my own head.  And every time I think I am about ready to publish, something else evolves that changes the story a bit.  Mentally, I am in a very weird position.  Spring has shown her pretty face. It is easy to be optimistic and positive.  And dare I say, downright fucking cheery with the warmth of the sunshine and smell of fresh life.

I'm also terrified.  Here is a little secret: I am afraid of being alone.  Which is interesting, as I am a person who very much values my solo time.  As I get older, it becomes much more important to get a good night's sleep and run a functioning 1-person household.  Just this week, I turned down a handful of social invitations because I truly wanted to do laundry.  It's the thought of being forced to be alone that scares the shit out of me.  In the event of a zombie apocalypse, I would probably just off myself.  Those big screen movies, where the protagonist  searches for other living humans the first forty minutes?  Yeah, that would never happen for me.  Upon learning that my comfort of companionship was gone, I would lose all "survival" instinct and find the quickest and easiest way to end it.

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see how this fear formed.  Growing up, my mom wasn't really around in the way one would expect a mother to be.  Sister and I basically felt "abandoned".  Given the shit she put us through as vulnerable and impressionable kids, abandonment issues is the best we could hope for.  Sometime in high school, Sister went off to boarding school and Dad traveled for work.  My last two years in the nest were pretty much just me in a huge house on a mountain top amidst forty-five acres of wooded property.  As soon as I could get out and live on my own, I moved in with eight of my friends, where it was impossible to be lonely.  In my late teens and early twenties, I did everything I could to make sure I had a posse.  I hardly ever came home from work to spend an entire night to myself.  Eventually, I got a dog.  Surely I can't be lonely with a K9 partner with me at all times.  Somewhere along the way, I decided to be a functioning adult and embraced my alone time to take care of responsibilities.  I started finding the importance of enjoying the simple act of chilling the fuck out with a cup of tea in silence.  For years, I have lived alone.

Three days ago, my little apartment became a nursing home.  Perhaps "hospice" is the better word.  My sweet dog has been getting old for quite some time and it now seems our time together is slipping by at a rapid rate.  A quick trip to the vet to check up on some bladder control issues sent us home with five prescriptions, two of which she will need to be on the for the short remainder of her life.  In my experience, vets are not necessarily in the business to save you money.  Nor, do they ever advocate not vaccinating your pets.  So when he responds to my inquiry about renewing her shots with "I don't think you should worry about the vaccinations.  It would probably just be a waste of money.", that leaves me to believe even the vet doesn't think the dog is going to live much longer.

The last few weeks with The Writer have been very tense.  He has landed some new gigs that have significantly increased his work load, while I have been trying to really aim my focus on my own professional and personal goals.  This combination has left us with little time to spend with one another, and when we do get the chance, it becomes a battle of who goes to who's:  His place so he can keep catching up on work and we can rage it in the city?  Or my place so I can properly take care of the dying dog and we can play outside in the mountains.  This predicament has unfortunately, led to some bickering and resentment.  Things came to an ugly head last weekend but for now, we are working through the fragile state and trying to tough it out.

I am so proud that Sister is about to graduate college, and she is applying for jobs in her field.  One potential employer seems to be very interested in her.  In a far away city.  I would never for anything in the world, desire Sister to not pursue her dreams.  But the thought of her moving far away, and only getting to see her and my nephew a couple times a year, is heart-wrenching for me.  She may be a mom and a little more behaved than me, but she is still my baby sister.  And I still feel a need to fiercely protect her from all the evil things in this world.  I have also come to lean on Sister, particularly this last year.  She has been with me through every bit of heartache and turmoil.  The thought of her not being here when shit hits the fan again, terrifies the hell out of me.

Though they (for the most part) live less than twenty miles away, I rarely see or have much contact with my parents these days.  Our weekly phone chats and / or dinners have dwindled to more of a monthly occurrence.  My dad busted his ass all his adult life to provide for Sister and I.  My stepmother has graciously and lovingly risen to the challenge of being Mom and Grandma to a family she probably never expected to have.  Together they deserve nothing less than the chance to travel, renovate their vacation home, and relax with friends.  But in many ways, I miss them.  I still don't feel completely independent from them, at least in the emotional sense.  I'm not sure that grown children ever do.  With all their exciting adventures, enjoying the fruits of their labor, and getting Sister's future going, I guess one could say I feel a little "forgotten."   

As my anxiety about turning thirty builds, I cannot help but feel lonely and a little left-behind.  Many of my friends are getting engaged and married, or living with a significant other.  At the very least, working on long-term, healthy relationships.  I can't seem to outlast a relationship longer than a year.  Some of my peers are having children, and while dogs may be more my speed, these friends are welcoming new life while I'm saying goodbye to life of my "baby". I am rational enough to know that we will likely always outlive our precious pets, not every relationship is built to last, and loved ones often relocate for wonderful opportunities.  It is all just part of life and learning to cope with these realities is simply part of being an adult.

But what happens when the dog dies and Sister moves away for work?  What happens if The Writer and I decide to go our separate ways?  I fear that I will be alone, in my little apartment, waiting for the phone to ring, with some familiarity on the other line.  I hate the very thought of it.  I feel like I'm once again the blonde little girl who's Mommy doesn't want her and who cries when Daddy calls home from his business trip.

Now that I'm grown up, what happens to the Dog Lady with no dog?

The Mother Load

Last night, after my weekly happy hour with my usual buds at our usual place and time, The Writer came over for dinner and a sleep over.  Upon his arrival, I made it clear that the usual beers had hit me exceptionally hard - I blame it on my new diet.  When I get a bit tipsy I tend to talk.  A lot.  And I'm all over the place talking about completely random subjects.  And many times, the conversation turns a little dark and I verbally vomit about my childhood.  Which is precisely what subjected The Writer to while I burnt our dinner.

As I presume most people did, Sister and I had a difficult childhood to say the least.  Our parents divorced when I was 4 and she was less than a year old.  We went back and forth, living between our mom's and dad's houses.  Eventually, we settled in at Dad's and came to call that "home".  We are to this day very much Daddy's Girls.  I love our mom and we have a unique, albeit complicated relationship.  But that relationship is without a doubt the root of many of the issues that usually lie dormant in my brain.

I'd say it started sometime in high school.  Sister and I were pretty much settled at Dad's.  Mom lived on the other side of the city.  Once I got my own car, I would visit her about once a month.  Our youngest sibling (our half brother) would have been about 5, a young and demanding age.  Slowly, Mom's attention drifted away from Sister and I as she understandably had to make the little one her priority.  Yet it still seemed that Mom only did the bare minimum when it came to being a mom. At one point, Sister went to boarding school in another state.  Even with his busy schedule of work travel, Dad made it a point to be highly involved in her school and visited her at every opportunity.  While still making sure I had plenty of time with him as well.  Mom visited Sister once and I'm not sure she ever made the 20 mile drive to hang out with me.

At my high school, we had the traditional "walk with your class" graduation ceremony.  But there was another, more important and more special ceremony.  It was a private meeting with my adviser, my closest friends and my family.  It was at this meeting, that I was actually presented with my diploma.  Screw the "graduation"; this little meeting was the big deal.  The morning of, Mom called to tell me she had a doctor's appointment and would be unable to attend.  (After-hours at 5pm?)  When I cried and begged her reschedule, she said the only other day the Dr. had available would conflict with my little brother's school recital.  She threw in the little-brother-guilt-trump card.  Still, who chooses a kindergarten recital over their firstborn's high school fucking graduation?  I cried and cried and cried some more.  She finally gave me an ultimatum and said "Okay, I will go to this but if I do, I will just call your grandparents and the rest of my side of the family and tell them to not bother with the big graduation on Saturday."  That stuck with me forever.  I will never forget the cruelty of her voice on the other end of the phone.  I gave up and dropped it.  The mood during that meeting was somber.  And everyone in the room could see the sadness and feeling of abandonment in my face.  She came to the big school-wide graduation ceremony.  She did the bare minimum.

In the last decade, Mom has moved out of town to a little farm community a few hours away.  I rarely go to visit, but why would I?  She maybe comes to visit Sister and I once a year.  The rest of the year is filled with empty hopes when she says she "might come down this weekend."  She rarely calls and when she does, it is conveniently during my work hours or Sister's school hours.  The next week is spent trying in vain to return her call.  These phone calls are the bare minimum.

She is coming to visit today.  She called me two days ago to say she "might come down this weekend."  As even grown children do, Sister and I have been hoping and getting excited for her visit.  Mom called Sister four hours ago to say she is definitely coming to town today.  She wants to do a lunch with us but it has to be in the heart of the city as she doesn't want to go out of her way.  Her and our brother are getting a hotel 40 minutes from where Sister and I live. Screeching brakes.  So Mom is coming, but it must not be to see us.  A quick lunch is the bare minimum.

It is times like this I am ever thankful that I have met The Writer. He luckily, doesn't think I'm completely bat-shit crazy.  Yet.  And later tonight, I can run my abandoned self into his big arms.  And forget about this shit until a year from now when Mom comes to visit again.

Nerd Bingo

I was off work yesterday and while the day proved to not be very productive, it did fall into my other goal categories of happiness, health and newness.

My happiness of the day started from helping a good friend of who recently injured himself. While his girlfriend is away for work, he needs a little help getting around.  I picked him up and helped him through the grocery store so he could wait out the last few days at home until his lady arrives. Yeah, I'm the nurturer type who gets happy from "mothering". 

Then it was off to Sister's house for a lazy fest while watching a marathon of one of our favorite shows.  I did say yesterday was not very productive.  Although most would not conjure up images of health while consuming an entire jar of Queso Dip in our jammies with the curtains shut, it most certainly was.  In the mental sense.  You see, my sister is one of the most amazing and wonderful people on Earth.  Just being in her presence, let alone her home, makes me feel relaxed and recharged.  I often nod off to sleep on her couch because I can finally just chill.  Spending the day with Sister is just what I needed to tune out this hyperactive mind for a while.

*On the health note, yesterday also marked my 6 month anniversary off the dreadful cigarettes!  Over that time, I feel I racked up more than enough Health Karma to entitle me to sit on my indulgent ass for a day.  Yay me!

Eventually, Sister and I emerged from our cave to attend a friend's birthday party in a neighboring city.  At a bar I'd never been to.  Full of people.  Most of whom, I had never met.  Newness!  It was a complete blast and restored my faith in trying new things.  Baby steps.  These next 400 days could prove interesting if I keep this up.