Coming to a Close

I'm beginning to wrap things up here on Blogit. I'm preparing to join the rank and file who have left this... busy and preoccupying forum. I haven't been around much in the last year since returning to the US. I'm working full-time, going through a divorce, and am now a single mom. Weeks go by before I think about this place, and it's begun to harbor a sense of obligation... "Oh, dear. Haven't been by Blogit for a while. Maybe I should drop in and say hello. I should write.

What have I to write about?"

Been too busy to be introspective and philosophical about more than my husband's derangement.

And now, Christmas is coming, and the New Year. I need to start cleaning things up a bit.
After much deliberation, Blogit is going to go. I've been copying and deleting my entries, one by one. Blogit had served its purpose during my lonely last year in Germany, during my final year of hausfraudom, when i had the leisure to think and mull while chopping onions and staring through a haze of tears out the kitchen window, or while mopping the floors and wondering if I had enough time to jot down an idea or two before I had to pick up my son from Kindergarten, or before my husband came home from work and freaked out if he saw me at the computer...

Back when i had time and energy to consider the importance and interrelatedness of things--and write about them.

Now, my head is full of work, and overtime, and ex-husbandry, and custody, and my son's well-being... What have I to write about when not even a half-assed poem can be pulled from my tortured heart?

Those of you who are left, I'll miss you. And I'll say a final goodbye before I go...

Du Droppe Ynne

Dropping by to say hello. Can't believe it's October already. Goodness.

My emotional life is in total upheaval. It's all I can manage to work, care for my son, see him off to bed, and veg out in front of the TV. I can't even read longer than a few minutes before falling into exhausted sleep.

My imminent ex-husband is a nutjob, plain and simple. I had been picking up our son every day from his apartment on my way home from work. He was belligerent and uncooperative, and made the pick-up process hell. I can't even get into stories about that, or else I'll be here all night reliving the madness.

Our last court date was meant to address his petition for immediate possession of our son. It resulted in Alex remaining with me for the duration. Also, instead of me picking up Alex from his apartment everyday and dealing with him incessantly tormenting me by being argumentative and difficult, my ex was ordered to drop off our son at my parents' house--where my son and I are staying--every evening so there would be no interaction between us.

That was a BIG load off my shoulders. A month later, I feel like a new person. Wow. I'm no longer the emotional shambles i had been. I feel a little bit of healing has been accomplished. But I also discovered the wounds are barely closed. Had some drama with the ex last night that ruffled my feathers. But I've worked out solutions, and manaed to let the ball roll where it will, following my ex's own momentum. We'll see where that takes us.

Touching Base

I took my son to the Ren Faire yesterday. I had asked a friend of mine to meet us there, but we hadn't managed to nail down a definite yes or no by Saturday morning. So, I figured just me and my kid would go it on our own, and I was quite good with that. But then Saturday morning, shortly before we set out, my parents decided they would meet us there later in the day. Great!

I used to work at the Faire. I played recorder in a duet for several years. It was hot, grueling work--and I wasn't even an actor. I trotted from set to set with my recorders and my partner, fending of crippling stage fright. I could act in front of a crowd, but I could barely squeak out a tune and keep up any kind of chit chat or banter between songs. But I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the sounds and smells of that place. I loved camping there among the other actors in the copse of trees behind the furthest, lowest portion of the Faire site. I loved nearly everyone I worked with, tho I was too shy to make many close friends outside the musicians' circle. Many people I admired and liked seemed too smart, too quick, too outgoing for the likes of me, a rather quiet and introspective sort.

My last season at the Faire was nine years ago. Nine. That's almost a decade. I've been away longer than I was there, and yet I feel as close to it as I ever did. When I returned last year for the first time since I married and moved to Germany, I was a nervous wreck. But people I knew were still there, and every single one of them recognized me. Every single one of them greeted me with a hug and a smile. It was a phenomenal homecoming. I couldn't have asked for anything better. The day I visited for the first time in eight years was no less than magical.

So, my son and I arrived Saturday about 9:15 am. As we sat together on the stage in front of the main gate, I imagined the smells of open fires and breakfast cooking, of the sounds of morning meeting, and remembered being laced into my costume: bodice over corset over skirts over chemise over bloomers over stockings as I sipped a frozen cappuccino, already beginning to regulate my water intake--just enough to remain somewhat hydrated, yet not enough to have to run to the privy more than twice during our 10-hour performance day. We were admonished daily to keep ourselves thoroughly hydrated, and that we should be peeing AT LEAST twice during the day. But have you ever crammed yourself in a dirty port-a-potty and had to wrestle down your bloomers and panties beneath an ankle-length shirt and two full, ankle-length skirts, the waistbands of everything bound beneath a tightly-laced corset on a hot, humid day, when everything sticks and the smells of that privy wafts around you, while trying not to let anything of yours touch anything of it??? No? Ugh. And I didn't even wear a hoopskirt and brocade outergarments...

Around 6 pm, however, I would sneak a tankard of Zinfandel from Katherine the barmaid (drinking alcohol was frowned upon, but, well, you know) and that would always tip the scales. By 7:30 pm, when I began to strip off my constricting costume, buzzed and sweating and woozy from heat and exhaustion, I would barely make it to the privy in time!

Ah, yes, those were good times. And I miss them.

So, I sat there remembering all of that until we were shooed off the stage by Odorferious Thunderbottom (OTB), Keeper of the Privies, who entertained us for the fifteen minutes or so before the gates opened. And my seven-year-old son, to my surprise, heckled that man like a professional, at one point rendering Mr. Thunderbottom retortless. OTB had three couples onstage, and he gave each one a multiple-choice question. The first couple was asked what OTB's official title was. There were four possibilities, two of which I will make up because I don't rememer them all. What is OTB's official title? a) keeper of the privies, b) village idiot, c) the Queen's boy toy, d) Sheriff of Nottingham's right-hand man. And without missing a beat, my level-headed-young-man-turned-professional-heckler shouted out, "The Queen's boy toy!" eliciting a laugh from the crowd. I was both proud and mortified. And my son, of course, had no idea what he'd just said, but he couldn't have chosen a better answer! And a little part of me couldn't help but wonder if I'd find him up there one day, say ten years from now, priming the crowd for a day at the Faire?

We had a good day. During OTB's opening show and my son's sassy brassiness, my friend called to say they would be there in about two hours. So, a day I had planned alone with my son, ended up surrounded by friends and family of all kinds. My kid did get shy again when he met his hero, Robin Hood. I know Robin Hood personally, and while I had explained to my son who Robin really is (an actor who is a friend of mine, his name is... and I know him from when I performed there... etc.), my son was still in awe. His previous brashness was instantly replaced by shy self-consciousness while Robin knelt beside him and made small talk. I think my son was flattered that Robin remembered him from last year.

I didn't walk around meeting a greeting all my friends from long ago. Not really. I stopped to say hello where I ran across them. But I was there with my folks, and my best friend and her husband, and my son. I'm in the middle of a divorce, and involved in some other personal entanglements, and all of that leaves me feeling emotionally drained. I remained mostly distant. I didn't walk around to see other people's performances, except where my friends or Alex had expressed an interest. In fact, I think we only saw two, no three, performances, two of the Robin Hood scenes.

I plan to go back this summer, on a weekend my son is with his dad, and I'll be alone. I'm looking forward to going there alone. Walking around, musing, completely within myself. Probably yearning to play music with someone. This time, tho, I'll visit sets and be more social.

well, well, well...

so i'm sitting on my bed tonight, too tired to play my computer game, but not quite able to turn off the computer. i keep feeling like there's some kind of unfinished business here, until i realize it's been far too long since i've written, and maybe i should finally make an effort at something. surely, i should write something? but what have i to say that isn't about my ex-husband and his narcissism? i don't know. maybe i can skirt the issue?

my eyes keep darting to the clock, and my heart jumps as i see the minutes, the half-hours, are slipping by too fast. and then i remind myself, "it's okay. you have tomorrow off. and the next day, too. and then it's the weekend. you can stay up and sleep in as late as you want."

within reason, of course, because tomorrow, i have to go back and pick up my check from work.

things are getting sticky with the divorce and custody: ex-husband is chronically misbehaving. i think he's losing his mind. or else it seems more profound to me because i'm no longer living in the midst of his madness...

in the meantime, i have three weeks of uninterrupted time with my son, with the exception of a daily phone call to his daddy. or rather, the many-times-a-day frantic phone calls from my ex to our son because the ex is suffering separation anxiety...

tonight, my sweet boy finally noticed i'm not wearing my wedding ring. i haven't worn it since i left my husband in april. this was a solemn discovery for him. "you're not going to be married to daddy, anymore?" he asked me.

"no, sweetie," i said. "that's why we're not living with him now."
we've covered this ground a handful of times, already, but it seems he forgets the bottom line. rather like all the times i've panicked about the time, tonight, before remembering i don't have to wake up at 4 am tomorrow...

It's done. I did it.

A week ago, I left my husband. Just packed up my son and our clothes and left.

Of course, i had already filed for divorce some weeks previously, and the papers were served the day I left.

It's nice being gone, but struggling with sometimes-overwhelming guilt.

But I'm glad it's done. Finally.

Now I can breathe easy.

Who I was in a past life???

I came across a website that, based on your birthday, gives an "analysis" of one of your past lives. Of course, it's all in good fun and can't be taken seriously. I was tickled by the one my birthday generated. Check it out...

Your past life diagnosis:
I don't know how you feel about it, but you were male in your last earthly incarnation.You were born somewhere in the territory of modern Tibet around the year 850. Your profession was that of a seaman, cook or carpenter.

Your brief psychological profile in your past life:
Bohemian personality, mysterious, highly gifted, capable to understand ancient books. With a magician's abilities, you could have been a servant of dark forces.

The lesson that your last past life brought to your present incarnation:
The timid, lonely and self-confident people are everywhere, and your task is to overcome these tendencies in yourself and then to help other people.

Do you remember now?

Well, no, I can't say that I do. But I like the idea of being a scholar of the mysteries. If only uncovering one's past lives were so simple...

Find out what yours says at the link below!
http://www.thebigview.com/pastlife/

Things I will do when I'm single again...

1. I will read, study, write, watch, listen to, buy and do anything I want, anytime I want, and leave it all out in the open and not hide it for fear of recrimination or fear of having it thrown away, or having to answer for myself to an ignorant clod of a human for a husband who has no tolerance for the parts of me that make me different from him. Including my gender. In short, I will be 100 percent MYSELF.

2. I will leave the bed unmade. Always. Except for when I'm expecting company.

3. I will no longer fear that, when the telephone rings, the person on the other end might be my mother-in-law.

4. On weekdays, I will leave the breakfast dishes in the sink until after I get home and dinner has been eaten.

5. I will burn incense and leave fragrant candles and sachets all over the place, and I won't have to smell the stink of metabolized alcohol anymore.

6. I'll go to bed any damn time I want and not have to wait until hubby leaves for work late at night so I can chain the door at his insistence (even tho I've told him that one good kick by anyone who wants to get in would rip the chain right out of the jamb, which makes it pretty much useless).

7. And on that note, I will chain the door during the day if I feel like it, even tho he won't let me chain the door when he's home. (figure that one out)

8. I will sleep with the windows open.

9. I will sleep with my bedroom door closed.

10. I will live in peace in my own home.

11. I will be MYSELF.

Things are coming to a head...

My husband wants to return to Germany.

Fat chance, I say.

I survived seven years in his country. He can't even handle six months in mine.

I've had enough of his rollercoaster ride, of his incessant manipulation.

I'm about to jump off...

Is This the Beginning of a Beautiful New Beginning?

Last week, my mom gave me a copy of The Secret. She, of course, knows of the turmoil in my life, turmoil that's now less about the issues themselves than it is about the decisions and actions I'm not making and taking to resolve them.

So, she gave me a copy of that book everyone's talking about. I'm so out of the loop, I'd never heard of it before she mentioned it, and I never even knew it had been featured on Oprah until a co-worker saw it on my desk and told me. I don't even know WHEN it was featured. Last week? Two weeks ago? A month ago? So it was surprising to learn that it is an insanely popular little compendium.

Thanks to my mom, I grew up dabbling my developing little toesies in the mysteries of metaphysics, so the content of The Secret is no surprise to me. In fact, it is really a rewording (and a rewording and a rewording and a rewording) of something my mother has been telling me for at least a decade: Thank the Universe for bringing to you what you desire in life before it happens, and that will attract those things to you- - everything from good parking spots to resolutions of life problems.

But this book, which i did not intend to discuss in this post but it just sorta spilled out of me, gives that philosophy a new spin, giving it new direction and focus. You can't just thank-you-in-advance for what you want from life, you must also change the way you think about those things in order to attract them to you.

So as a promise to my mom, I started reading.

And then I started taking notes.

And while taking these notes, I'm discovering in my heart the flicker of rekindled hope...

Ties that Bind

Someone's post a while back inspired me to ponder friendship and cause me to wonder what bring us together in the first place? Sure, there's the obvious answer--common interests, common workplaces, common experiences, shared history... Such friendships, however, often develop over time and may or may not be continued once one of you leaves the shared setting.

What I'm wondering is, what is it that brings people together and instantly bonds (or repels) them for life? I met my best friend at work, but it was more like a reunion than a first meeting, the bond was that immediate and that intense. Such people are those I can't imagine living without.

Another form that bond may take is not as intimate. You may share it with someone you don't necessarily fit with, someone you've never been able to have a proper conversation with. You don't even move in quite the same circles but for a bit of overlap. And yet, you feel this accord, this sense of metaphysical attachment. You are each glad for the other's existence in the world, even if you are not meant to move through it intimately, and there is always a hug or a smile for the other. Nothing concrete holds you within each other's affinity, and yet there each of you are with this unmistakable ribbon of kinship between you.

Why is that?

Some may shrug their shoulders and not desire an answer. Others might posit that brain chemistry and hormones are the cause. But if you're like me, you might instead be asking yourself another question: What roles have we played in each other's past lives? What have we shared in the past that has carried through to our present selves? How have we helped and loved--or even hated--each other then, so that we are still aware of our bond? Wouldn't it be interesting to find out, if there was a great big Oxford Encyclopedia of Past Lives you could flip through and say, "Ah yes, of course. That makes perfect sense. I think I remember now..."?

Just who, exactly, is the Tooth Fairy?

My son lost a tooth the other day, and of course we put it under his pillow and he got a dollar for it. As I listened to him prattle on about the Tooth Fairy, I realized something funny...

He thinks the Tooth Fairy is a man...

Had to smile.

Living Under the Influence

We like to think of ourselves as autonomous beings, that our personalities are our own, independent of others and their influence on us. But really, we live under the influence of everyone around us. Did your mother ever tell you that you were playing with your best friend too much and were behaving too much like her?

As fallible human beings with malleable psyches (albeit some less malleable than others and stubborn as mules), we tend to adopt the characteristics of those we spend time with--coworkers, parents, friends, significant others, spouses, lovers. We all steal verbal, physical and even psychological mannerisms from each other, and so our personalities are not purely our own. We are molded by the people in our environment.If you're involved in healthy relationships with healthy people in healthy environments, then you're cooking with gas. But if you find yourself entrenched in an unhealthy relationship or marriage, immersed in an unhealthy environment, then, even if you are a strong, stable individual, your odds of coming through the other side of that relationship unscathed are ZERO.

I often hear myself say, "I don't like who I become when I'm around my husband. This isn't me. This isn't someone I want to be." But it wasn't until recently that I began to suspect just how deeply his behavior and our mutually created, unhealthy relationship has affected me. In addition to a certain degree of PTSD I've recently struggled through (and there's more to come, I'm quite sure, once I take the leap and divorce the man), I've noticed that some of the habits I've picked up from him are creeping into my relationships with those I care deeply for.

For example, after a weekend of defensiveness and bickering, I may begin my Monday seemingly well. But while IMing a dear friend and things are starting to get tense between us, I'll quickly realize I'm bringing my weekend behavior into a treasured relationship I want to nurture. I often step back at that point and say to my friend--a gentle, tender soul I never want to hurt and who I've just stung, a person who truly makes me want to be a better person--I say to him, "I'm sorry. I was out of line. I had a bad night/weekend, and I'm carrying that over to you." And then I can more or less turn it off, while I ponder just how insidiously learned behavior can corrupt our lives.

Somtimes, I see my husband's behavior reflected in my son's, and it stops me in my tracks. I'm quick to point out the undesired behavior, and for good or bad I link it directly to my husband.

"Do you like it when Daddy does that?"

"No, Mommy."

"Then why are you doing it, too?"

That solves the problem very quickly.

It scares me how deeply my personality has been altered, in that negative way. It my not be a dramatic change, but the change runs deep. I know that, if I don't leave this relationship, I will continue to morph into the part of me I don't like. And I will lose that other relationship I treasure so deeply. And likely others, as well. Contentiousness will become my modus operandi, and I will become profoundly lonely, bitter and unhappy. I might even become a woman very much like my mother-in-law, a thought that makes my blood run cold.

Equally prevalent is the knowledge--and the dread--that once I do leave this relationship behind, I will experience PTSD very likely more intense than what I've already been through. (The first was brought on by leaving Germany--a place where I survived alone and with only remote support from my mom by phone--and returning to the US, a place of safety and security, and within easy reach of my entire support system.)

It's a struggle, sometimes, to keep that negative influence at bay. But at least I recognize it when it makes me ugly, and that's half the battle.

Biding my time...

Every day of our marriage, when my husband was working and I stayed at home, I met him at the door with a smile on my face and a hope in my heart that he would be in a good mood and stay that way through the night. Most of the time, he was pretty Jekyll/Hyde, and every night started out pleasant enough, but quickly deteriorated. I eventually realized that I couldn't expect more. So I didn't. And I dealt with it.

Now that we're stateside again, we're both working. As a sourcing agent for some large European companies, he works overnight to coincide with the European work day. That means he is already home when I get home from work and, for reasons unknown to me, still wide awake. Only twice, however, has he met me at the door with any kind of greeting. Or even greeted me from wherever in the apartment he's roosted. So, when I get home today, he is sitting at the computer in the living room, his back to the door I've just walked through, and he says not a word to me until I greet him as cheerfully as i can manage. "Hi! I'm home!" I think I sound pretty convincing. "Unh," he says in return. All right, fine. Can't expect anything more. And I don't. So I move on.

I go right to the bathroom, then change my clothes and head immediately for the kitchen to get dinner ready. Beef stroganoff from the slow cooker. I make the salad, cut the bread, set the table and call everyone to dinner. As usual, he waits until that moment to get ready for dinner. It takes several minutes for him to get to the table, and we have to wait. Can't expect more from him. And I don't. So I grumble a little because it still irritates me after all these years, and then we move on.

My husband begins to fill his belly and starts talking. Just a little verbal jab toward me at first. One easily ignored. But that isn't enough. We bicker. That's pretty status quo. I can't expect more. And I don't. So I deal with that, too.

But he keeps on, digs a little deeper and my tolerance is broken and I give him what he wants. I call him an asshole. He kicks me in the butt. I kick him back. He kicks harder. I throw the bread at him. He slaps at my face. We have a little face-off (haven't had one of those in a while), and I flinch when he raises his hand as if to hit me. I'm more angry than I am afraid and I call him a baby and that he needs a mother, and that I won't be one for him anymore. He says I'm dumber and weaker than he is and a product of my culture, so therefore beneath him. I said, "If that's so, what're you doing kicking me in the ass?" I say he may be smarter than me, but he is uneducated, and it shows in the garbage that comes out of his mouth...

See what I'm reduced to? It used to be much much worse between us, but this still sucks. This isn't me. This isn't me, at all. I don't like being like this. I don't like being around people who bring out this side of me. And I don't like how it influences my relationships with other people.

But just you wait. I'm only biding my time...

Read here nothing worth writing about...

How do I get back into the habit of writing?
What do I do with all those writing lists I've re-enlisted for and just don't have the time to read? What about that writing-prompt list?
Why aren't I writing anymore?

Well, the answer to that, I suppose, isn't hard to guess.

But even if I write drivel about not writing, it seems that's enough for now.

Just let the words flow, and maybe something worthwhile will come forth...

Just passing through...

still alive, still raking through the muck. still wondering in which direction i should point my shoes next... which is right, which is true, or can i do it all?

in this time that i should be making concrete decisions and moving forward, i feel oddly unmotivated and even reluctant.

follow my heart, you say? sure... but my heart hasn't led me to happy, productive places... except maybe when i auditioned for the ren faire 14 years ago.

not a very good track record.

i seriously doubt my heart can be trusted... or my decision-making skills.

which is right?
which is true?
stay or go?
wait or move on?
search or learn?
none or all?

what do i do???