Archive for April, 2008

The Blog About My Car

{ April 29, 2008 @ 5:09 am } · { Bitch Fest, PG, The Silver Lining }
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I can’t really bitch. I brought it on myself.

Already, this has the tone of an angst ridden blog and likely will contain at least a few sentiments along these lines. The above rings of self-pity, but in reality has nothing to do with that. It’s an acknowledgment of the sad reality that I indeed have made some crap choices and am now dealing with the fall out. But that’s not exactly new news.

Today was a mostly good day at work. My part time jerkface of a boss (it’s a love/like thing, really) gave me a run for my money in the smartass response department, and that left me slightly taken aback for a few moments of my in-house supervision. I spent the day with one of our more tolerable students, which turned out to be ideal. I got one of my two SIR’s finished, typed my faux letter to my brother, and got to take the phone call which would set my day spinning at a slightly different tilt.

My car has been in the dealership since I dropped it off on saturday afternoon. I’d had some problems with it a few weeks back, but they had seemed to clear themselves up overnight. On saturday as I was headed back from a day at Huntington Beach, the supposed health of my car became quite obviously inaccurate as it proceeded to sporadically catch in the engine and lose power momentarily. As it turns out, my transmission is going. It’s not gone, but it’s gone enough to warrant immediate action. My adviser at the dealership (someone who’s known my family for over ten years at this point and who always takes care of me) advised that I look into something else as opposed to fixing the car since it would be in the thousands for a repair. I was thrilled, actually. I’ve wanted to trade the car in for a while and the thought of being able to purchase and go into debt for something of my own seemed rather appealing.

I spent the day thinking of possible replacements for the vehicle fondly referred to as Jack, and let myself look forward to the possible change. That was my folly. I looked forward to it. I should know by now that whenever I look forward to something, the likelihood is that it will not be as expected. In this case, to make a long story short, it looks like my car will become the trade in for my dad’s new car. GM has a loyalty discount which my car is still new enough to qualify. Mine’s 2002, my dad’s is a 1998. Same type of car, only his is a manual and mine’s an automatic…and mine is four years newer, a better color, better interior, has a nicer radio, and has been mine since it had 11 miles on it. We’ve been through a lot together. The sad reality is that there’s really nothing in my price range worth getting at this point, so the choice was either fix my car or trade it for something I don’t want. The price tag for fixing my car is roughly 1300 to 1500 dollars. My dad had mentioned the option of purchasing his (which has no issues) and therefore not having a car payment. I initially balked at this concept for MANY reasons. I didn’t want his car. Still don’t, actually. Reality sucks.

I work non-profit. Finances may provide enough, granted, but I got to the point of being upset enough to not care anymore. My dad deserves a new car. His is the oldest in the family, and he works his ass off for us to be comfortable and cared for. My car was purchased by him, then I have been in the process of paying him back for it. In reality, my car isn’t mine. He has had a fund set up to purchase a new vehicle should the opportunity or need arise…so he has the money sitting there waiting to go towards a new car. I don’t have this cafeteria fund. I have savings, sure, but not the amount that he does. There’s a GM model that he’s interested in, which I am neither interested in nor can afford. It makes no sense for me to trade my car elsewhere and lose out on an extra grand of trade in value…all the while my dad deserves something better. So I take the hit. The hit to the pride, the happiness, and the dream. I take his car. He takes mine as a trade in for his new one.

And it hurts. Dear God it hurts. I cried on the way to the dealership, in the car as I waited for the white one (can’t really say mine anymore) to be brought out, then on the way back home. I feel as though God is taking everything away one painful rip at a time. Looks, fitness, people, opportunity, and now my car. The car I was SO excited about the day I brought it home and have loved (even though people give me crap for it) ever since. I have many awful memories and associations with that car, but still it was mine. And now it’s not. I’m trading down.

It may be for a good cause, but it still hurts. I remind myself that it’s just a car. The thing is, it’s not just a car. It’s a representation of a recurring theme – that which I love and enjoy gets taken away.

What next.

The Blog About Weakness

{ April 18, 2008 @ 7:25 am } · { Blatant Overshare, Me, The Silver Lining, Them }
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There’s always later.

This is a phrase I have overused for years. Anyone close to me, however, would have no idea the frequency of it’s repetition. The reason for this is incredibly simple – it’s a mantra I aim at myself. In re-reading it there’s the possibility that it could imply a certain predisposition to procrastination…something I excel at, but which has nothing to do with the above statement. No, this statement is the command echoing in my mind whenever something happens to tip the scales of emotional/mental/physical wellbeing and there are others present. Basically, it’s the dismissal of my own relevance in hopes of glossing over a reality which I dread exposing more than I would fear public nudity. Exposed weakness, be it emotional, psychological, or physical is the most dreaded of human conditions for me. It is also the one which has slowly been inching its way to the unavoidable surface of my daily existence. In all facets, in all possible incarnations, it is rearing its damn head and sadly my mantra can no longer stand. This time, there is no later.

Maybe it’s because I grew up with boys that I’m like this. I know there was a certain level of pressure to be somewhat of a tomboy growing up. My brothers liked sports, so I played sports too. My brothers liked cars, so I learned about cars too. My brothers were all tough and physically strong…and I had to be too. Well, these three theories were just that…theories. They were ideals conjured in my head but lacked the reflection of reality. Really, I was a whining prissy child, an emotional and dramatic pre-teen, and a thoroughly depressed teenager battling between a new ideal and the old one – the war between an image that the runway and print world wanted and the state of awkward mediocrity I embodied. Still though, I never really shunned the whole weakness thing.

I’ve had involvement with a handful of guys since I was 16 or so. A few knew a lot about me. Only a couple actually knew ME. The me that wasn’t pretending I was something I wasn’t in order to earn their favor. It’s kinda sad when your parents have to tell the guy your with that “really, deep down, she’s got a tender heart”. Evidently that was something hidden behind walls of sarcasm and feigned indifference. But it wasn’t a fear of the whole weakness thing.

Although there are several incidents over the last few years which have solidified this carbon fiber exterior, there’s really one major player other than myself who can be credited with this grand achievement. Most who’ve been around for the last two years or so likely have a good idea of the reference. In case there’s any stragglers among the pack, here’s the basics.

I’d had three boyfriends prior to this one. One three month relationship that was ridiculously colorful from start to finish, one nine month relationship which provided a great deal of learning and growth as a human being but still I kept on the periphery of the heart, and a eighteen month relationship which ended long after it should have in my book but entirely abruptly in his. The next relationship lasted only seven or eight months total, but was the main source of the mortar which kept together the “nothing can get to me” mentality. This fact is only because he did just that…he got to me.

He’s the one I let the closest, the one I was most vulnerable with, and the one I thought at would point would be the one I’d marry. I was wrong on this last theory, obviously, but during what would be the demise of the relationship was when several key and lasting lessons were learned. First was the idea that emotion was not ok. Well any extreme emotion, however justifiable, was looked down upon and seen as weakness. Another lesson was the one where I was required to remain completely compliant and unaffected regardless of the stress or circumstances presented, or this too would be considered weakness. Lastly, I felt I was expected to posses and maintain a certain physique and level of physical strength in order to keep up and be acceptable. Though the last one is one I inferred from various comments and physical treatment, the first two were sentiments voiced in my direction by way of criticism of my failure to behave on par with these benchmarks. In summary, the lesson learned during a six week period of time was that weakness of any kind was looked down upon with disapproval and distaste. Any signs of the weaker side of humanity (tears, pain, sickness, sadness…etc.) were treated with annoyance and apathy, then eventually listed amongst the reasons why he stopped loving. For instance.

From the time I was a young teen up until this point two summers ago, I was not a crier. I rebelled against anything which could land me in the category of being a “chick”. Emotional, vulnerable, bitchy…whatever. The derogatory meaning of the term. During this stint, however, there were a few instances where the circumstances ended in tears. Most of these were a result of treatment or outside influences on the relationship. The times where I was in severe pain and (in separate instance) sick as a dog, the concern was non-existent and the expectation was to man up and deal with it. The result? The understanding that my opinion was irrelevant, my wishes inferior to that of anyone else, my feelings didn’t matter, pain and sickness were not acceptable, and through all this his wants and needs were the order of the day. Or six weeks, really.

What the hell does this have to do with reality now? It’s these lessons that ended up being the way I functioned from there on out. It’s why it was a completely foreign idea that a guy could be interested, attracted, and respect me enough to take all these things into account, in addition to protecting my feelings by guarding his own behavior. Last year in the case of the pseudo relationship during the summer and the subsequent one that fall, I didn’t know how to act around guys who expected and wanted me to show emotion and voice feeling or opinion. I didn’t know how to accept that I was wanted without the physical “want” being demanded or pursued. More times than I can remember were my automatic apologies and feelings of shame for showing vulnerability completely contradicted by an almost dumbfounded response from the guy involved, who thought I was ridiculous for deeming my state unacceptable or repulsive. I even was given shit for tensing so that only muscle rather than “squish” could be felt when a hand was rested on my leg. Playfully smacked, actually. Even so, the lesson I’d learned previously was so ingrained…

Admitting that I need in any capacity is like pulling teeth. Without anesthesia. Admitting that something hurts or bothers me is avoided at all costs. Sickness? Hell no, it’s just a cough…that’s lasted three weeks and involves frequent clearing of various matter from my lungs. Pain? Nope. That pulled quad feels super, and even better when I run on it. Yep.

Nope. Not so much.

Not anymore, that is.

To my horror the facade is no longer universally effective. The last few months have been a learning experience on every possible level, and now that every level has been demolished, it’s apparently time to re-build from the ground up.

And it sucks. In a major way.

I hate that there are many people who have seen the broken version of Natalie. Weather it be stone-faced in church, barely above functioning at the restaurant, or attempting to maintain composure at the school (while apparently doing a crap job of it), there’s been far too many instances of somewhat less than wonderful. And this lesson keeps coming…

God has spent the last few months stripping away every comfort which I have previously clung to. Everything I’ve pursued in search of solace, every vice which would quiet the turmoil, every crutch which I would lean on instead of Him…everything. He’s removed certain friendships which provided a distraction when things sucked. He’s removed the presence of certain characters in my life who were my source of affirmation and affection. I’m a very physical person, and am now isolated from any source of such attention (read: guys). And on the physical note, the image I previously held of myself has faltered to say the least. The majority of my physical strength and fitness has been lost…and now I’m at the weakest and most out of shape I’ve been in years. Not to mention slightly bigger than I’d like to be. Yeah, the vanity is cracked as well. My sense of comfort and safety at my job may well be switched up for a bit. And it would seem the last two years of repressing hurt and pain by the whole “There’s always later” have amounted to an ocean of grief which manifests its self all to frequently for my liking.

So what’s left? I mean, in general, I’m very self aware when it comes to my own issues and their origin. That’s all well and good, but what do you do when that knowledge is knows…where do you go? What do you do with it? What’s left?

God. And me. In that order, if my will has anything to do with it. Don’t get me wrong, I can spout of religiosities all day and present sound and convicting theological statements about God and life, but that ability doesn’t always reflect the heart. My head knows these things, but it’s living as if I actually believe it which is the challenge. It’s all learning. Well, re-learning how to live with a different mind set. It’s scary as hell and unfamiliar, but it’s the obstacle course I’ve landed on. I think it’d be safe to say I’ve been guided to this time and place, actually. It’s no accident and behind my own kicking and screaming lies the realization and acceptance that God is in control, whether I feel it or not.

So why write about it? If I hate being weak in front of people, then why tell people about said weakness? I don’t honestly know sometimes why I write these things in public forums other than the fact that I enjoy writing – it’s therapeutic and helps me process. But more than that, I think I can’t possibly be the only one who thinks these things and goes through this sort of process. Too many people wear the same facade that many of us present. We pretend we’re ok, but that’s so far from the truth.

I don’t have any cleaver or insightful end to this post. Above is merely honesty. To end it with some cliche hallmark bull shit would negate that. So, there’s that.

The Blog That Requires A TomTom

{ April 10, 2008 @ 8:59 am } · { PG, Them }
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I should have begun this blog at least two to three hours ago. The fact of the matter is that between an unexpected (but very welcome) phone call, and my recent purchase of The Sims 2 Castaways, I’ve managed to fritter away the hours with a series of prime examples of poor time management. So, what could have potentially made sense and been eloquent will now most likely be a mess of random thoughts expelled in a haphazard manner.

Here we go.

This weekend was interesting. Well, the week rather. Three characters. Three stories. They all overlap. They all changed my life.

One was a consistent friend from sophmore year on. He’s only ever been just a friend and will always remain as such. He’s safe. He’s honest. He’s trustworthy. I respect him. So much so that I trusted sleeping next to him one one of the nights of our stay.

That’s because one of the others lost my trust when I woke five times one morning to see him staring at me. Not cool. I’ve had enough.

And then there’s the last one. Really, he was the first. The first for so many things. He entered my life at 16, changed it at 17, our last encounter was at 20, and now at 23 I battle between feeling sad for him, desiring the attention from him, and keeping my distance from him. He’s in another state, so that’s helpful. I thought he’d lost his hold over me. He has, really. It’s in moments of weakness that I reach for the familiar.

Thats where another in the past falls. Familiar. The thing is, at this point he wouldn’t be familiar at all. We’ve changed. Things change. We grew up – but it wasn’t together.

Another hour plus conversation tonight. Not my initiation. That familiar ring tone which is rarely heard, but gladly answered.

And the most recent. I pray he is well. I know he is tormented to an extent. I hope he can find peace in God.

Which is where I need to find mine.

Not in the Recent.
Not in the List.
Not in the Familiar.
Not in the First.
Not in the Ex.
Not in the Friend.
Not in the Boss man.

My peace, my joy, my hope, my affirmation, my worth, my love, my security, my drive, my passion, my happiness, my affection…Father God, help me.

I’m a mess.

The Blog That Borders On Expose

{ April 4, 2008 @ 9:36 am } · { Blatant Overshare, Me, PG }
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Pain, I can’t sleep.

There’s a song by Four Star Mary which has been echoing in my head for the last few hours or so. Really it’s just the chorus that’s been clattering around in there. That simple repeated line…Pain, I can’t sleep. I looked up the lyrics a moment ago hoping that they’d be something profound and relevant to the shitfest writhing in my soul at the moment. As it turns out, they were a gigantic let down in that department. A big donut hole for my efforts. Luckily my “efforts” consisted of typing the line into the google bar, albeit with the added energy expended in order to hug the line with quotation marks, and hitting ‘enter’. Bam. Lyrics.

Can you tell my mind’s a bit jacked up at the moment? Damn. And I was trying to hide it.

That’s a lie.

No, that’s what I do during the hours that I’m awake and in the presence of others. Here’s a run down of my usual day. Actually, today – well, yesterday really = is a superb example of a day in the life of Natalie.

It begins with the familiar sound of Delirious coaxing me from dreamland and into the cold morning air of reality. Coaxing implies gentle and welcoming. That’s not really the case. The song may imply such nonsense, but every time I hear that song I want to banish it to the farthest corner of my overcrowded closet till it can be heard no longer. And go back to sleep. Sadly, my employers don’t pay me for sleeping. No, they pay me for driving a small group of bandits to and from the school. We’re getting ahead of ourselves here. We were still in bed. Exiting the bed is an activity with quite a broad range of estimated times for completion. This morning was good – less than a minutes. Two mornings…not so good – an hour and 36 minutes. Seriously. Depends on the attire (or lack there of, depending) worn to bed and consequently the potential temperature shock that awaits the exit from underneath the covers.

Ok, so out of bed. Then comes the step over the baby gate in the doorway to my room which serves the purpose of protecting said room from the certain ravaging of an overly curious maltese. The baby gate sucks, let’s be clear on that. More often than not I hit my foot, shin, or ankle on the damn thing. Sometimes, if I’m super lucky, I get to trip over it and fall in a loud clanging manner to the floor…while waking the family with the evidential sound of my lack of coordination. Anyway. Over (or through) the baby gate, across the landing, down the stairs (which only escape trippage due to me counting them out to ensure accuracy) and across the tile to the downstairs bathroom. Lets be aware, also, that there is a bathroom approximately three feet from my bedroom. Used to be my bathroom, actually. That is until I moved out, my older brother moved back in, then upon my return banished me and my things to the bathroom furthest removed from anything resembling convenience. This because he missed the first day of kindergarten and didn’t get the lesson on sharing. Or something like that.

In the bathroom dwells and entirely different kind of monster. It hides its self quite well and creeps up on me so when I turn the corner, BAM! It’s right there in front of me, staring me in the face. Oh wait, that’s me. In the mirror. A sight which, depending on the day, may be acceptable or completely repulsive. That’s not a day to day thing, even. That’s a morning to night thing. Yeah, I can look in the mirror in the morning, see my ribs, collar bones, and hip bones clearly defined, then turn sideways and notice the distinct different between the width of my chest, front to back, my abdomen…and so on…and think “Um. You’re bones.” Especially the view of my back. That can be disturbing. But it’s a whole different story by the end of the day. Usually it’s by mid-morning, really, that the opinion shifts. Then it becomes a “you’re so fucking fat it’s disgusting. Look at the thighs…I see unevenness. You’re out of proportion, even. Dude, like a triangle. A big, fat…”. See? Monster. Then there’s the whole facial inspection. If mirrors didn’t exist, my world would be so much simpler. And less time consuming.

This is getting us nowhere fast.

I shower (we can skip the details, I’m sure), hike BACK upstairs, then begin the process of selecting clothes. This is a dilemma completely reliant on how the morning mirror inspection went. If it’s a good day, then jeans and a fitting shirt will be the look of the day. Nothing revealing, granted. I work with kids with problems. Adults too, but that’s something else entirely. If it’s a ‘fat’ day, then jeans and a loose hooded sweatshirt are selected and donned. Then there’s the make-up. Lord. Depending on what’s going on, who’s going to be there, and how vulnerable I feel, the thickness and complexity of the mask varies from neutral to borderline excessive. The more insecure I feel, the more time, effort, and amount of product ends up covering what apparently isn’t good enough on its own. The better I feel, the less effort.

Then there’s the hair. Same questions are asked, only the result is the question of straight or curly. Care, or not care. All this hair shinnanigans takes place after descending from on high back DOWN stairs. Then it’s back UP the stairs to select the shoes. Adidas or Diesel. Sometimes if I’m feeling really unique then it’ll be a converse day. I don’t like them so much. They’re “in”, but I think they’re heinous on me.

Breakfast is negotiable. If it happens, then the exact caloric content is calculated and stored for ongoing reference to be accumulated and stressed over for the remainder of my waking hours.

I get on the van, pick the soundtrack, then get the kids. They’re wonderful. Not really, but they have their moments. Get to school. Read the clipboard of knowledge, greet the staff and kids I know won’t greet me back with a “fuck you, bitch” to start my day. The kids, I mean. Not the staff. I check my mailbox, check my master’s (the teacher I assist) since he likes to forget these things from time to time, then stow my belongings and head upstairs. That’s when the day gets interesting.

From here on out, it’s anybody’s guess what will happen. If the Boss man’s in a good mood, things are rad. We have a great rapport, the kids feed off that, we laugh and joke and all is well in Natalie Land. If, however, the Captain has not had his coffee, the kids aren’t medicated, and (heaven forbid) it’s windy outside, all hell breaks lose – then runs in fear from what these bandits will do while rampaging through the halls and destroying all in their path. Today, things weren’t so bad. Teach was in a good mood, as was I. I wasn’t as pissed off at him as I have been from time to time lately. We had a great underground dialog going on between myself and my professionally good-looking esteemed Leader. The day was fine. Until he threatened to call in MIA the next day. I asked why, he avoided the question as usual, I then stated my awareness that he wasn’t going to answer as per usual, he then answered with his plans for the evening…and it all went south from there.

I have this disease whereby I require the approval and usually the affection also from whichever male has seniority over me in certain situations. Especially if they’re part jackass. Dunno. It’s this thing I have. I also tend to care far more than I should and I take the time to give a shit about the lives of those whom I spend roughly 30 hours a week in the presence of. The catch here is when those lives involve details which don’t suit my fancy. Several scenarios can fit this bill, so specifics are irrelevant, but the bottom line is it’s a gigantic cow pie on the daisy field of my day.

So, I wasn’t happy. I hid it (as always) and went about as if I was the inpenitrible fortress of sarcastic strength and cocky stability which I pretend to be while in Classroom 4. All the while the tears are threatening.

I make it through the school day, get on the van, then resume the text conversation which usually flows over from the school day into the ride home as well. After that he’s at the gym or school or gallivanting with mutual friends and what not so the talk rarely continues past 4pm or so. These conversations, however, are usually the amusing facet of my day which keeps things interesting and keeps my mind from getting wrapped up in the kids and their bull. Today they were as well, but I fumbled a retort cloaked in a smart ass statement and felt like a dumb ass and wished I could reach through the phone and erase the moronic crap which my mind had thought, my fingers had typed, and my eyes had approved before hitting the send button. No such luck, sadly. It wasn’t that bad at all. I just tend to be ridiculously stupid towards myself.

Got home. Still kicking myself. Straightened the hair (which had been left wet earlier in the morning due to time constraints) before sharing with my mother the theory of my relating to male figures in my life. She agreed, but didn’t offer suggestions as to how to remedy this crap rut I usually land in. So, then kicking myself turns to flogging myself. I then shared a bit about my fear concerning my relationship status.

Lets cut the bull shit. Alright, so the day continued with me leaving to return to the school, crying while driving back due to the immense ache located in the heart-ish region of my being, getting back to school, replacing the mask once more, bs-ing with The Man, going to the meeting, pretending to act indifferent to various people (read: one person) there, going back to the classroom, staying and finishing various tasks which time has not permitted my completion as of late, leaving the school at 5, playing soccer at 6, getting home around 8:30, eating dinner, then baking multiple batches of cookies for my bandits as well as my Dad’s departing co-worker.

The point of this isn’t really the play by play. I didn’t intend it when I sat here, unable to put my mind to rest in order to sleep, and decided to vent through the written word for the past two hours. The whole reason I can’t sleep is the reason why I can’t seem to put this bastard down. There’s too much.

Want to know what I feel? I feel pain. I hurt and I’m scared. I hurt because of the loss, but I also hurt because of the guilt. I realize the HUGE ramifications not only in my life but in the lives of others (two fired superintendents, one fired VP of construction, one pending divorce, two little girls repeatedly traumatized, multiple families forever changed, friends disappointed, loss of a treasured outlet and pastime, an affiliate marred and damaged from what it was when I found it…the list goes on…and on…and on…and…) and all for what? Not what in terms of the outcome, I mean what in terms of how it all started. All this stemmed from one decision. One conscious desire to make fantasy a reality. One sequence of well played events which led to the thing that every time reminds me of the Jon Foreman song…”A kiss will betray us all”. Indeed it did. If I could have just kept my fucking fancy to myself and left other people out of it. If I could have kept God in view and not my own pain wallowing. One less beer that afternoon. One less shot. Someone else to drive me home. Not resting my elbow just so on the center console of the truck cab, so that I was exactly on the half-way line, so that one move by one or the other would certainly alter things…alter everything.

And for what. So I could love, be loved, and lose it? So I could learn the gut wrenching lesson of “this is why God says NO”?

And I’m scared. The fear is what drove me to tears this afternoon, not the guilt. Although all of the above has been thought and even voiced before it’s not really what weighs. Through repentance comes forgiveness, and through forgiveness comes ease of burden. There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ. This I know. The fear though, this is what got me. The fear that God will keep me in this state of want, that want for love and companionship, for years to come in retribution for all I’ve damaged and stolen from another. Then came the salve…that God knows how I am wired and knows my hearts desires, and though there is a lesson surely to learn – no step of the way will be more than I can handle. God is faithful. His plans are to prosper and not to harm. And his timing, however much I fight against it, is perfect. Each moment as it comes. It is in his hands, not mine. And surely, I will get to love again.

And the tears flow.

And sleep calls.