Long story short--a brief history of events over Thanksgiving holiday.

In November, just a week before my planned vacation with Davy in England over the Thanksgiving holiday, I received a phone call from my son in Greece.  I was naked in a dressing room, trying on a new bra. 

As it happens, my ex-husband had been apprehended and was in custody in a Greek jail in Alexandroupoli. I'd been told by Authorities from the American Consulate in Thessaloniki and the American Embassy in Athens that I should get on a plane immediately and pick up my son. They would bring him to Thessaloniki, where I would pick up an emergency US passport for him, and we could come back home together.

So that night, I began my preparations. Not knowing whether I would make it to England as planned, I stopped over in London to meet Davy for the very first time at Heathrow. Enjoying my time with him, I was a little casual about getting through security on time. I actually didn't know that I had to be through security by a certain length of time before the gate opened. So, I missed my plane to Athens. Davy helped me change my flight to a later time, retrieve my luggage and check it back in again. Then, he hung around and we talked and drank tea together until it was time for me to go. We said goodbye, and I gave Davy my bottle of Starbucks Frappuccino to hold on to until we met again.

When I left London for Athens, I was seated beside a man from Beirut. He was around my age, and called himself Charlie. He'd been living in London for a good 20 years or so, and had just broken up with his long-time girlfriend. We talked and laughed (he was good-looking, too. Very casually dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt with stylish sneakers with squared toes), drank wine together...  He wanted to give me his phone number. He wanted me to come with him back home to Beirut for a bit. Extremely flattered that a guy like that would even pretend to be so interested in me--his motives were irrelevant--I said no, no, no. Thanks for all your flattery, but no. But he still tried to convince me, for whatever reasons he had on his agenda. He was very persistent.

Our plane was late to land in Athens, and I had to run like crazy to catch the next one to Thessaloniki, my final destination. He ran with me and helped to get me to where I needed to be. At the security checkpoint, I gave him a hug and kissed him quickly on the cheek in thanks. He turned his head and tried to kiss me again on the lips, but I turned away, accepting his phone number instead. "If you need anything, just call me. I'll come find you," he said. He dictated the number to me, but I didn't save it. I deliberately snapped my phone shut before hitting the save button and waved a hasty goodbye.

Around midnight Monday morning, I finally made it to Thessaloniki and into my hotel room . I'd been travelling since Saturday afternoon and wide awake since 5 am the Friday before.

Monday afternoon, I was told by my Consulate contact that I had to go to Alexandroupoli to pick up Alex, and that I should do it the very next day. I was also told that my ex-mother-in-law was suing me for custody of my own son, and that I needed to find a lawyer.

After 8 days of hell in the town of Alexandroupoli (I was in Greece 10 days altogether), the female judge was unable to reach a decision.  Because of Alfi's pigheaded vindictiveness, I came to the realization that if I didn't leave Alex there, none of us--not me, not my parents, not my family and friends, and most importantly, not Alex--would live in peace for years to come, or perhaps never.  So, during a bizarre outburst amongst Alex, my parents on the phone, and the Oma, I made my decision.  At 5:30 that afternoon, while tempers were still raging, I did something I'd always wanted to do.  In English, I vented all my feelings about my mother-in-law to her face, then told her to fuck off.  

One last time, I asked Alex if staying in Greece with his father and the Oma was really what he wanted.  

"Yes," he said.  

"Even if it means you might never see me again?" 

"Yes," he said, again.

Heartbroken, I nodded.  Making sure he remembered my maiden name, and that he had my parents' phone number, and mine, I gave Alex one last hug and kiss, and exited the apartment with bags in hand.  

But not before I swiped my son's American and German passports, which the Oma had so carelessly and arrogantly left on the coffee table during my stay.  If my ex husband and mother-in-law meant to keep Alex, I wasn't going to make it easy for them to travel and hide, again.  At least for a little while.

It was 5:30 in the afternoon when I left Alex at the Oma's apartment, and night had already fallen.  On foot, I navigated the dark side streets toward the nearest bus depot. As I walked, I called Davy and asked him to meet me in Newcastle the next day.

By 6:15, I was on a bus headed back to Thessaloniki, 4.5 hours away. I'd taken two Xanax at once, just to get through the trip without losing my shit in front of all those people, but still, I couldn't quell the tears.

Twenty-seven hours and three planes later, I landed at Newcastle, on the northeastern coast of England, where Davy greeted me with open arms.  I did not want to return home.  I did not want to reenter the real world.  I was in pain;  I'd just lost my son.  I needed to heal.  The remaining days of my vacation were spent in with Davy in a cottage at Seahouses.  

That bottle of Starbuck's Frappuccino was waiting for me when I arrived.  I saved that bottle until the morning I departed for Chicago, just a few days later.  In the meantime, I had a lovely, relaxing visit on the coast within walking distance of Bamburgh Castle.  Davy and I strolled along the coast, picked seashells, visited pubs, enjoyed scampi and fish and chips, and did a little sightseeing.  Davy was the perfect host, his presence sweet and comforting, and parting was bittersweet.

Returning home was necessary, and it took me a few weeks to recover and reintegrate.  I will never forget Alex and "the Oma" prancing out of the courtroom, their arms around each other, smiling, passing by me without a single glance from my son, after the judge had announced that Alex could return to his Oma's house, with or without me.  That sense of loss and desolation, a mortal wound to my heart and soul, will never leave...  

I've lost a son but gained a friend. I will never forget the heart-wrenching pain of that Thanksgiving holiday. 

Fiction: A Single Moment

“When are you coming downtown to see me? It’s been too long.” 

The words send an unexpected frisson of excitement through me.  My breath quickens, my eyes close. 

I imagine a dreary day, much like today.  We’re standing in a secluded area somewhere downtown. It’s a narrow alleyway, perhaps. Quiet, deserted. Tall brick walls rise on three sides of us. Traffic whishes softly on the street, but the sidewalk is deserted, the weather having chased most pedestrians indoors or to their cars.

My back is to you as I speak, looking at something, pointing it out. You move behind me, quietly, but I sense your approach as palpably as if we're connected by a taut, invisible cord. You are so close I feel the heat of your breath against my ear. For a moment we stand together like that, savoring the longing between us, not quite touching, savoring the tension. 

Finally, you lower your lips to my neck and softly kiss me there. I sigh.  You grow bolder, folding your arms around my waist.  You press your body against mine and nibble the skin of my neck. Tingles of pleasure surge through my core like bolts of lightning.  I gasp. 

 The desire is too strong. I shouldn’t have come here.  I knew so even when I agreed to meet you.  I knew my visit wasn’t only about old friends reuniting, old souls reconnecting. It was about this, this desire, this passion, this feeling of fulfillment, of complete understanding between souls, of pleasure too long denied—none of which, perhaps, should ever have been cast aside.  All of it rolled into an electric bundle of emotion that leaves our nerve-endings zinging with the possibility of what might have been. Of what might yet be. 

I turn around and wrap my arms around your neck, my mouth meeting yours.  Overcome by your own passion, you force me backward until I’m trapped between you and the wall, two strong and insurmountable forces that bind me, refusing me quarter.  Your hardness presses against my softness, urging me, coaxing me into submission.  Your hands caress my hair, my face and neck.  They slide over my body, beneath my shirt, across the sensitive skin of my midriff to my breasts, molding them to your palms. 

In the misty drizzle, I kiss along your jawline to nibble at your earlobe and along your neck. I love to bite you, to feel your flesh between my teeth, to taste the flavor of you on my tongue. I love to be bitten by you until I shiver and moan.  The sensation of your body against mine is bliss. 

The rain comes harder now, pelting our bodies. Our lips meet again, and I taste the rain on your mouth, cool droplets mixed with moist heat.  I drink you up, parched and needy.  When you  pull away, I moan plaintively.  You smile, your hips still pressed against mine.  We stand like that a moment, catching our breath, our foreheads touching, our pounding hearts bound between us. 

Tenderly, you take my hand, lace your fingers through mine and lead me out of the alley. The moment is too soon over, but there will come another. 

Because one always does.

What kept you busy when you were a kid?

I read a lot. 

 I played piano. tried to teach myself ballet and clarinet. 

 Played Encyclopedia Brown "pretend" (you know, role playing) with the neighbor boys (why did i always mostly have guy friends???) 

 Explored the very tiny strip of woods near our house to the very edges of its borders (about a block big). 

 Rollerskated in the basement with my best friend, Kathy, to the Olivia Newton John album (yes, vinyl), Physical. 

 Pretended the living room floor was a morass of molten rock, and pretended I floated on a raft created from a green rectangular ottoman after I had amputated its legs. 

 Watched Creature Feature on Saturday afternoons. And Son of Svengoolie Saturday night, right after Dance Fever with Denny Terrio. (Did I just date myself?)  

And my all-time favorite: pointed an 8x10 mirror toward the ceiling, pressed right up against my middle so I couldn't see the floor. Then, I looked down into the mirror and tried to walk around the house, perceiving the ceiling as the floor. Trickier than it sounds. And kinda weird, too, now that I think about it! 

My sister is 10.5 years younger than me, so I was basically an only child. 

Oh, the things children come up with to keep themselves busy...

If only it were just bad gas...

Let's see. What's happened this week, so far? 

 1. Wednesday, my car stopped working. I had to pay $1000 to have it fixed and $30 for a rental. I got my car back Wednesday night and drove it to work Thursday morning. It stopped working again. My dad took it in to another repair shop, and they said they couldn't find anything wrong with it. Maybe it's just bad gas, or moisture in the gas tank. Will have to see what the next days bring. 

 2. My fish died. and for the grand prize ball-buster: 

 3. My husband has kidnapped my son. Yes, you read that right. And yes, I'm dead serious. He e-mailed his lawyer this morning, the day they are due back from Germany, and said that they are staying in Germany, thus violating the Hague Convention. I've made phone calls left and right and can't locate them. He's in a shitload of trouble, if he can be found, AND if the German government agrees to cooperate. So much for my positive outlook on the New Year. 

 Yay 2008!

Some Snowy Pics of the New Year

It's a new year, and a time for new beginnings. I've learned lots of lessons in 2007, and have even reclaimed control of my life in a way I would never have imagined ten years ago. 2007 was a year of doors opening. I'm hoping 2008 will be the gateway to new paths and new adventures of personal development and spiritual awakenings. And, of course, a healthy romance or two! (Did you note the "healthy" part???)

I've spent the last two weeks sick as a dog. Today is the first day I've felt good in a long time, physically and emotionally. In fact, I'm feeling nearly inspired. Isn't that a great way to start off the New Year? Inspired? Perhaps I'll soon feel energetic enough to start writing again. Wow. Imagine that... To bad NaNoWriMo is already past...

My son is spending the holidays with his father in Germany. He's been gone about 10 days, now, and I miss him terribly. He's due back in Chicago on Friday, and supposed be back in my care on Saturday. Hopefully that will happen without incident.

It's recently snowed a lot, and I snapped these photos of our backyard and sent them to my wonderful love bug of a son in an email a few minutes ago. As beautiful as Germany is, I'm so happy to be back home in the States for good.

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???