I know with every fiber of my being that I am at a crossroads in my life at this moment. It's almost bizarre how things seem to be lining up for some big change to happen to me. Maybe some of the things are unrelated, maybe I'm just weirdly lucky and unlucky at the same time. Maybe I'm talking out my ass with no basis for anything. I don't know. I can't always articulate what I mean completely so bear with me.
Over the course of the last 10 months a lot has changed and a lot of things have been pushing me in directions I'm at times unclear about, but pushing me nonetheless. How much is coincidence, how much is destiny? How much do I believe is fate? I find myself questioning things I never thought I'd question, things about my own life. Is this what it's supposed to be? Am I where I should be, with who I should be with? Am I just having a midlife crisis? Why do I suddenly want so much more and believe that I can have it? Is this path leading me to a new career, one in food or one in writing or both? Or neither?
I've thought, at different times over the course of the past few years that I have incredible karma. I started to write about that several times and then thought I might be jinxing it. But I'm throwing caution to the wind here and I am going to talk about it. Back in, hmm, I'd say September, I found out about a contest where, if you referred the most people to a particular website you would win a trip to Los Angeles. I immediately believed I would win this contest. It was a total no brainer. The site in question had to do with soaps, I have my own soap site with a rather large following and all I needed to do was send a mass message to my readers with instructions on how the contest worked and I'm done. So that's what I did. And I did win, by a landslide I'm told. No one else even came close. So there it is, I'm going to Los Angeles in July.
And then, disaster strikes. The man lost his job. All the plans we had for tax return money went up in smoke so it could supplement his unemployment. My business makes money here and there, but it's sporadic at best and not something we could live off of. Now my winning trip is in jeopardy. How could we afford it. The contest won me airfare and two nights in a hotel. But I planned on staying longer. How could I now? This is money we no longer have. I am almost resigned to the fact that I will not be taking the trip but keep a modicum of hope alive. I have until July after all.
Strangely, last month I found out that after doing surveys online and in the mail for years, literally more than 10 years, I had finally won one of their contests. First prize no less. Another contest. What is going on here? This time I win a prize valued at $500. Nice. The choices are really sweet too, but in the end I chose a digital camera package. My hope for the trip moves forward. How could I not go when I'm getting this bitchin new camera so I can take great pics of everything I see and everyone I meet?
The camera doesn't come. A month goes by and it never arrives. It was supposed to take about two and a half weeks. Nothing. I watch the mail like a woman possessed every day. I wait and wait, but nothing happens. So I find a phone number and I call the survey company. At first I'm given the run around a bit. But then they finally call me back and tell me that since the camera is a Sony product and distributed from Japan, it might be some time before I get it because since the tsunami it's been very difficult to get things shipped from Japan. Hmm.... what to do? My choices were to wait (until who knows when), chose another gift or take the cash equivalent, which is $500. So there it is, I am now going to be receiving a check for $500 and my trip dilemma is solved. A fated trip, that forces somewhere really want me to go on. No I'm not saying some unseen unknown force caused a tsunami so I could go on this trip. But I am saying that I chose that camera that suddenly became unavailable and now I have the money I needed for this trip.
And then, All My Children gets canceled and I'm suddenly free to pursue whatever might be headed my way. Will I find out on this trip? Will I find a new path even if it has nothing to do with Los Angeles? It's all leading me somewhere and I'm so anxious to find out where. I get tense and anxious. I get irritable at things that I feel are keeping me in place, in a holding pattern that I want to break free of. I hope it all becomes more clear as the months go by. And I hope when I finally do see what it all is, I have the courage to pursue it.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Mixed Emotions
This week All My Children was canceled. It's still kind of hard to believe. 41 years on the air and come September, it will be gone. It's been a part of my life since I started watching it in 1979. And became an even bigger part of it in 1995 when I started reporting and writing about the show on the internet. And then it became a huge part of my life in 1998 when I started my own website for it.
How I feel about it is a little hard to say. I'm sad, absolutely. I'm going to miss it a lot. AMC has been very very good to me. I love the show, I love the characters, I love the actors and actresses who have been part of it over the years. Most of them anyway. I have beautiful memories of storylines I've loved and bad memories of some real clunkers. I have lots of memorabilia that I've collected or that fans have sent to me. I have countless autographs, photos and letters from stars. Hell I could make my own AMC museum! It's taken up so much of my time through the years, I've had to rearrange schedules around it or around events. And I never would have given it up. Never.
Which brings me to the other thing I'm feeling now that it's been canceled. FREE. It's like a noose that has been around my neck for years suddenly got taken off. I can see doors opening and new opportunities arising when I suddenly have more time to devote to other things. I'm not going to be tied to my computer every Sunday anymore. I'm not going to have to fight with crazy people who don't realize that I'm a real person but Erica Kane is not. I won't have to justify myself to people who look down on soaps.
It feels right. It feels like it's time for me to move on. I'm not leaving in a huff or in anger because I finally got sick of the crazies. I'm not leaving because the storylines have gotten so bad that I just can't take it anymore and have nothing positive to say. I'm not leaving at all. It's being taken from me and I'm OK with it. It's pretty amazing to feel this way. I don't think I ever thought I would. I thought I would be devastated that something that has been such a big part of my life for so many years was leaving. I'm sure come September I will shed some tears. I have no doubt about that actually. But I can't help but be excited to find out what the future holds for me. I hope whatever it is it brings me as much joy as I have gotten out of the PVB and AMC.
When I look back on the almost 13 years I've had the website, I see that I am one lucky woman. I have met so many wonderful people I would not have met otherwise. I wouldn't have had my many trips to NYC and Orlando for soap events. I would never have gone to LA for the Daytime Emmy's and had the experience of a lifetime. I would never have gotten the amazing phone calls and letters from different stars through the years, just to say thank you for caring about the show. I would never have had the opportunity I'm getting in July to go back to LA and meet more soap stars. And who knows, I may never have really honed my writing the way I have over the years writing about AMC. I may never have discovered how much that part of it is something I enjoy. And now, come September when it's all over, maybe it will be time to write that book that so many of my friends have been telling me I should be writing.
Thank you AMC for all you've done for me.
How I feel about it is a little hard to say. I'm sad, absolutely. I'm going to miss it a lot. AMC has been very very good to me. I love the show, I love the characters, I love the actors and actresses who have been part of it over the years. Most of them anyway. I have beautiful memories of storylines I've loved and bad memories of some real clunkers. I have lots of memorabilia that I've collected or that fans have sent to me. I have countless autographs, photos and letters from stars. Hell I could make my own AMC museum! It's taken up so much of my time through the years, I've had to rearrange schedules around it or around events. And I never would have given it up. Never.
Which brings me to the other thing I'm feeling now that it's been canceled. FREE. It's like a noose that has been around my neck for years suddenly got taken off. I can see doors opening and new opportunities arising when I suddenly have more time to devote to other things. I'm not going to be tied to my computer every Sunday anymore. I'm not going to have to fight with crazy people who don't realize that I'm a real person but Erica Kane is not. I won't have to justify myself to people who look down on soaps.
It feels right. It feels like it's time for me to move on. I'm not leaving in a huff or in anger because I finally got sick of the crazies. I'm not leaving because the storylines have gotten so bad that I just can't take it anymore and have nothing positive to say. I'm not leaving at all. It's being taken from me and I'm OK with it. It's pretty amazing to feel this way. I don't think I ever thought I would. I thought I would be devastated that something that has been such a big part of my life for so many years was leaving. I'm sure come September I will shed some tears. I have no doubt about that actually. But I can't help but be excited to find out what the future holds for me. I hope whatever it is it brings me as much joy as I have gotten out of the PVB and AMC.
When I look back on the almost 13 years I've had the website, I see that I am one lucky woman. I have met so many wonderful people I would not have met otherwise. I wouldn't have had my many trips to NYC and Orlando for soap events. I would never have gone to LA for the Daytime Emmy's and had the experience of a lifetime. I would never have gotten the amazing phone calls and letters from different stars through the years, just to say thank you for caring about the show. I would never have had the opportunity I'm getting in July to go back to LA and meet more soap stars. And who knows, I may never have really honed my writing the way I have over the years writing about AMC. I may never have discovered how much that part of it is something I enjoy. And now, come September when it's all over, maybe it will be time to write that book that so many of my friends have been telling me I should be writing.
Thank you AMC for all you've done for me.
Monday, April 11, 2011
The Horror of Prom Night
It's prom season and I can't help but think back to my own prom when I see all those dresses in the stores. I almost didn't go. I wasn't the most popular girl in school. In fact, being one of the few punk rockers in my high school was kind of alienating at times. I had a circle of friends sure, but other than that, most of the time I think people just didn't get it. So no one asked me. Part of me was sad, part of me was glad, part of me was annoyed because my mom had been planning my going to the prom for the past several years. Seriously. I'll never forget when I got a boyfriend when I was in 10th grade my mom said, "You'll have a date for the prom!" Um, mom, it's two years away. And of course, that relationship ended when he went to college and I was still in high school.
I did most of my male mingling very early in my high school career and by the time I was in 10th grade I was too weird for most of the guys. I was in love with Adam Ant and wore my homemade I heart ADAM (with a backwards D of course) button on my school uniform every day. I was going to Adam Ant, Duran Duran, Billy Idol concerts while most everyone else was going to see The Michael Stanley Band and Bruce Springsteen. All my punk friends were chicks. So no dates. I don't really remember caring either. We were having too much fun.
But I did end up going to prom. My BFF had a guy in school, J, who was so in love with her. He pursued and pursued her to no avail. She just wasn't interested in him as anything more than a friend. He was brotherly and she couldn't get past it. But he asked her to the prom and she accepted on the condition that he get his friend B to take me. I knew both J and B quite well. Along with their friend G, they were probably the funniest guys in school. B already had a contingency plan in place with another girl. You know, that promise you make that goes "if you don't have a girlfriend and I don't have a boyfriend when we're seniors, we'll go to prom together." B, always wanting to please J, blew off the other girl and agreed to take me. Wow, it really sounds pretty pathetic now that I'm putting it in print! The poor guy practically had to be blackmailed into going to the prom with me.
In probably one of the most ill advised moves ever, I bought a pale lavender full length dress with white trim. Ugh! I have always hated pastels. The dress was so precious and totally not me at all. I got my hair and make up done that day. Not me again. I suspect the mom influence in all these things. Yes, that makes sense. Give mom this one last time of seeing me look how she liked me to look because the day I graduated it all changed. Everything. Going to a Catholic high school in the 80's, we weren't allowed to dye our hair. I'm not sure why I waited until graduation to cut it, or to get contacts, but I did. So mom had prom and graduation and that was the end of long hair and big honkin ugly glasses. I had to do it. My sister totally screwed mom over when she went to prom. Sis graduated in 1975 and bought a black wrap around dress with full black lace back (meaning she couldn't wear a bra with it). Mom absolutely refused to let her wear it and went out and bought her another dress, this hideous floral number. Well when sis's date arrived (in his blue crushed velvet suit jacket no less) and they left sis grabbed the sleeve of the horrible dress and tore it right off. She came back in the house and told mom there was no way she was going to prom in a torn dress, so she had to wear the black one. Sneaky!
J and B picked up BFF and then came and picked me up. BFF was also in a lavender dress and both guys wore white tuxes with lavender accents. I could almost puke thinking back on it. If we didn't already know of J's love for BFF, he presented her with, what was called back then, a huge nosegay. Basically a large hand held bouquet of flowers, like a bride would carry. It must have set him back a bundle. The thing was enormous. B got me a lovely wrist corsage. My mom fell instantly in love with him. She probably started planning our wedding after we left for prom. In her defense, what mother wouldn't love B? He was sweet and cute and he was planning, at the time, on being a priest so she probably figured I was safe from the threat of sex. Everyone knows priests aren't interested in sex!
I don't really remember too much about the night other than it seemed like it took us forever to get there. It was being held at a party center that was not exactly near where me and BFF lived and the drive was long. No hotels for Catholic school proms! That sends a bad message you know. Newsflash, just about everyone was having sex back then. Everyone but me, everyone but BFF, probably a few others. So having the prom at a hotel wouldn't have mattered. Hell we all got rooms at a hotel for after anyway! And we did go, but it was a party not an orgy. The girl B ditched was there, having not found another date. Awkward!
I remember getting home around 3 or 4 am, and B just saying goodnight to me. No kiss, nothing. So I grabbed him and gave him a hug. Sheesh dude, I know we went as friends and you were a few weeks from the seminary but live a little! I was pretty cute back then.
I guess if I didn't go I'd probably feel like I missed out on something. But having gone, I don't think it was a big deal at all. In fact, it was kind of lame. The people you would expect to win king and queen were. The music was absolute crap. The theme was embarrassing ("Almost Paradise" you know, that horrid Ann Wilson and that dude from Loverboy duet). But how many people do you know can say they went to prom with a priest?
I did most of my male mingling very early in my high school career and by the time I was in 10th grade I was too weird for most of the guys. I was in love with Adam Ant and wore my homemade I heart ADAM (with a backwards D of course) button on my school uniform every day. I was going to Adam Ant, Duran Duran, Billy Idol concerts while most everyone else was going to see The Michael Stanley Band and Bruce Springsteen. All my punk friends were chicks. So no dates. I don't really remember caring either. We were having too much fun.
But I did end up going to prom. My BFF had a guy in school, J, who was so in love with her. He pursued and pursued her to no avail. She just wasn't interested in him as anything more than a friend. He was brotherly and she couldn't get past it. But he asked her to the prom and she accepted on the condition that he get his friend B to take me. I knew both J and B quite well. Along with their friend G, they were probably the funniest guys in school. B already had a contingency plan in place with another girl. You know, that promise you make that goes "if you don't have a girlfriend and I don't have a boyfriend when we're seniors, we'll go to prom together." B, always wanting to please J, blew off the other girl and agreed to take me. Wow, it really sounds pretty pathetic now that I'm putting it in print! The poor guy practically had to be blackmailed into going to the prom with me.
In probably one of the most ill advised moves ever, I bought a pale lavender full length dress with white trim. Ugh! I have always hated pastels. The dress was so precious and totally not me at all. I got my hair and make up done that day. Not me again. I suspect the mom influence in all these things. Yes, that makes sense. Give mom this one last time of seeing me look how she liked me to look because the day I graduated it all changed. Everything. Going to a Catholic high school in the 80's, we weren't allowed to dye our hair. I'm not sure why I waited until graduation to cut it, or to get contacts, but I did. So mom had prom and graduation and that was the end of long hair and big honkin ugly glasses. I had to do it. My sister totally screwed mom over when she went to prom. Sis graduated in 1975 and bought a black wrap around dress with full black lace back (meaning she couldn't wear a bra with it). Mom absolutely refused to let her wear it and went out and bought her another dress, this hideous floral number. Well when sis's date arrived (in his blue crushed velvet suit jacket no less) and they left sis grabbed the sleeve of the horrible dress and tore it right off. She came back in the house and told mom there was no way she was going to prom in a torn dress, so she had to wear the black one. Sneaky!
J and B picked up BFF and then came and picked me up. BFF was also in a lavender dress and both guys wore white tuxes with lavender accents. I could almost puke thinking back on it. If we didn't already know of J's love for BFF, he presented her with, what was called back then, a huge nosegay. Basically a large hand held bouquet of flowers, like a bride would carry. It must have set him back a bundle. The thing was enormous. B got me a lovely wrist corsage. My mom fell instantly in love with him. She probably started planning our wedding after we left for prom. In her defense, what mother wouldn't love B? He was sweet and cute and he was planning, at the time, on being a priest so she probably figured I was safe from the threat of sex. Everyone knows priests aren't interested in sex!
I don't really remember too much about the night other than it seemed like it took us forever to get there. It was being held at a party center that was not exactly near where me and BFF lived and the drive was long. No hotels for Catholic school proms! That sends a bad message you know. Newsflash, just about everyone was having sex back then. Everyone but me, everyone but BFF, probably a few others. So having the prom at a hotel wouldn't have mattered. Hell we all got rooms at a hotel for after anyway! And we did go, but it was a party not an orgy. The girl B ditched was there, having not found another date. Awkward!
I remember getting home around 3 or 4 am, and B just saying goodnight to me. No kiss, nothing. So I grabbed him and gave him a hug. Sheesh dude, I know we went as friends and you were a few weeks from the seminary but live a little! I was pretty cute back then.
I guess if I didn't go I'd probably feel like I missed out on something. But having gone, I don't think it was a big deal at all. In fact, it was kind of lame. The people you would expect to win king and queen were. The music was absolute crap. The theme was embarrassing ("Almost Paradise" you know, that horrid Ann Wilson and that dude from Loverboy duet). But how many people do you know can say they went to prom with a priest?
Sunday, April 3, 2011
My First Blog Award...
1) I have a fear of success that holds me back. Could I make something out of this writing thing? Maybe. Could my catering business be more successful than it is? Probably. I hold myself back from strong pursuit of both because of fear. This isn't new. Back in the mid 80's when a different type of career I was pursuing started to take off in a big way, I had a nervous breakdown of sorts and threw it all away because of the blinding fear.
2) I have a fear of failure. Quite the juxtaposition isn't it?
3) I have not told most of the people closest to me about this blog.
4) On any given day I could wake up and hate my life, hate my reflection in the mirror, hate my family, hate where I am and then something small and insignificant will change every one of those emotions.
5) For most people who know me know this isn't a big revelation but it's less intense revelation... I love vampires. I have loved them since I read 'Salem's Lot by Stephen King in like 1979? After that my love grew and evolved. I can't think of anything more erotic than a bite on the neck. Vampires are just fucking sexy.
6) I don't forgive someone who betrays me easily, or at all depending on the level of betrayal. I could move past things or go on with my life but it will take a lot for me to forgive it.
7) I could not live without music. Next to food and water to live, I need music. I need to hear it every day.
Well... that wasn't as hard as I thought it was going to be. And now for the blogs.
Blood, Sweat and Sunday Gravy - The stories, the poems, the person behind them... they all move me.
Exploring Food My Way - Mostly restaurant reviews from the Akron and Cleveland areas, great information and photos. And I'm happy to say Tom has become a good friend.
Pratt Falls - The best thing to come out of the wretched Charles Pratt's time as head writer on All My Children. I love these gals!
Memorie di Angelina - Beautifully prepared and photographed food inspired by the writers Italian Grandma, Angelina (the same name as my beloved Italian Grandma)
Adventures of the Hope Warriors - A journey through the trials and tribulations of having cancer and just happens to be about one of my best friends.
Chexydecimal - Gossip on crack! Pithy, witty and wise at the able hands of my darling Chexy!
Cake Wrecks - When cakes go bad is really fucking funny.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Pulling an Grandma is Now Pulling a Mom
Once upon a time, a daughter went to her parents house weekly to help them out with household chores and errands. On such occasions, the mother would occasionally buy said daughter (me), as well as herself and the father an instant lottery ticket.
Enough of that, this is no fairy tale. My mom has picked up right where Grandma left off on the instant lottery bandwagon. Grandma loved gambling of any kind. Generally speaking, I think it's a waste of money but if someone wants to buy me a ticket then sure, I'll do the scratchy scratchy. On one of these occasions, mom decided to splurge and bought three $5 instant tickets... one for her, one for dad and one for me. As is usually the case, I forgot about the ticket right after I threw it in my purse.
Several days later my mom calls me and asks me if I scratched my ticket. She sounds weird, mysterious and kind of shifty. I told her I forgot about it and then I said, "you sound weird, what...are you pulling a Grandma and thinking you won $150,000?" She says, "yes." Oh boy, here we go again. My Grandma was notorious for thinking she won the lottery. I cannot tell you how many times she's called me, convinced she was the next instant millionaire. But in her defense, she wasn't so great with the reading and writing, having only completed school to the third grade. So she often misinterpreted how to play or what the gist of the ticket was. Mom has no such excuse.
She asks me to get my ticket and then proceeds to tell me that on the back is an extra game and it is there that she believes she hit the jackpot. It's set up like a slot machine and you match oranges or cherries, etc. Or if you have a dollar sign, one of these $, you win the amount shown. She says she has a dollar sign and the prize amount shown is $150,000. "Are you sure?" I say several times. She assures me that is what she has. I had a dollar sign on my ticket, with a prize of $3 so I told her I would go cash it in and ask some questions then get back to her. So she waits on pins and needles and I go to the grocery store and chat up the lottery counter lady. She assures me that if mom does indeed have the dollar sign and the $150,000 prize listed, then she is a winner and she tells me how we go about redeeming the ticket.
Leaving the store, I call mom and tell her the good news. It looks like she's a winner! I am working that day so I told her I would finish up my job and then come over and we'll get the redemption process underway. She's excited. I'm excited and start planning my trip to Italy! I go home on Cloud 9 thinking about all my exciting plans that can finally come to fruition. And as I'm just finishing up my job, she calls and says, "I don't think I won." So I say, "What changed? You either have the dollar sign or you don't." Mom informs me that she's looked at it again and again and now it's looking more like an icon of an actual dollar than a dollar sign. Big diff there mom. The plane that was taking off for Sicily in my head just turned back around and landed in Akron and threw me off. So I tell her, hold onto the ticket and when I come for my regular weekly visit, I'll look at it. So that is where we leave it for the next couple days.
Wednesday rolls around, Wednesday traditionally being Mom day, and I head over. When I get there I ask right away to see the ticket. What I saw was not a dollar sign, nor was it a dollar icon. It was an unscratched area. Mom hates to wear her glasses. I don't know why this is, but she does. It's a constant battle every week with me yelling at her to put on her damn glasses so she can actually see what she's buying. It's pretty much a given to me at this point that she did not have her glasses on when she attempted to scratch off this ticket and basically missed the whole area except for one tiny little corner. You could not tell what was under there, it was hardly scratched off at all. So how she thought it was a dollar sign, a dollar icon or anything else for that matter is beyond me. I am trying to keep my cool but my fury is starting to take over. She had me running to stores to find out how to cash this non ticket in, a ticket that wasn't mistaken for a winner, she never scratched the fucking thing! So I scratch it, and it's not a dollar sign. It's not a dollar symbol. It's a fucking orange!!! Not even close to either thing she thought it was.
Do you think this convinced her that she should wear her glasses when she's trying to read something? It hasn't! It's still an on going weekly battle. Oy give me strength.
Enough of that, this is no fairy tale. My mom has picked up right where Grandma left off on the instant lottery bandwagon. Grandma loved gambling of any kind. Generally speaking, I think it's a waste of money but if someone wants to buy me a ticket then sure, I'll do the scratchy scratchy. On one of these occasions, mom decided to splurge and bought three $5 instant tickets... one for her, one for dad and one for me. As is usually the case, I forgot about the ticket right after I threw it in my purse.
Several days later my mom calls me and asks me if I scratched my ticket. She sounds weird, mysterious and kind of shifty. I told her I forgot about it and then I said, "you sound weird, what...are you pulling a Grandma and thinking you won $150,000?" She says, "yes." Oh boy, here we go again. My Grandma was notorious for thinking she won the lottery. I cannot tell you how many times she's called me, convinced she was the next instant millionaire. But in her defense, she wasn't so great with the reading and writing, having only completed school to the third grade. So she often misinterpreted how to play or what the gist of the ticket was. Mom has no such excuse.
She asks me to get my ticket and then proceeds to tell me that on the back is an extra game and it is there that she believes she hit the jackpot. It's set up like a slot machine and you match oranges or cherries, etc. Or if you have a dollar sign, one of these $, you win the amount shown. She says she has a dollar sign and the prize amount shown is $150,000. "Are you sure?" I say several times. She assures me that is what she has. I had a dollar sign on my ticket, with a prize of $3 so I told her I would go cash it in and ask some questions then get back to her. So she waits on pins and needles and I go to the grocery store and chat up the lottery counter lady. She assures me that if mom does indeed have the dollar sign and the $150,000 prize listed, then she is a winner and she tells me how we go about redeeming the ticket.
Leaving the store, I call mom and tell her the good news. It looks like she's a winner! I am working that day so I told her I would finish up my job and then come over and we'll get the redemption process underway. She's excited. I'm excited and start planning my trip to Italy! I go home on Cloud 9 thinking about all my exciting plans that can finally come to fruition. And as I'm just finishing up my job, she calls and says, "I don't think I won." So I say, "What changed? You either have the dollar sign or you don't." Mom informs me that she's looked at it again and again and now it's looking more like an icon of an actual dollar than a dollar sign. Big diff there mom. The plane that was taking off for Sicily in my head just turned back around and landed in Akron and threw me off. So I tell her, hold onto the ticket and when I come for my regular weekly visit, I'll look at it. So that is where we leave it for the next couple days.
Wednesday rolls around, Wednesday traditionally being Mom day, and I head over. When I get there I ask right away to see the ticket. What I saw was not a dollar sign, nor was it a dollar icon. It was an unscratched area. Mom hates to wear her glasses. I don't know why this is, but she does. It's a constant battle every week with me yelling at her to put on her damn glasses so she can actually see what she's buying. It's pretty much a given to me at this point that she did not have her glasses on when she attempted to scratch off this ticket and basically missed the whole area except for one tiny little corner. You could not tell what was under there, it was hardly scratched off at all. So how she thought it was a dollar sign, a dollar icon or anything else for that matter is beyond me. I am trying to keep my cool but my fury is starting to take over. She had me running to stores to find out how to cash this non ticket in, a ticket that wasn't mistaken for a winner, she never scratched the fucking thing! So I scratch it, and it's not a dollar sign. It's not a dollar symbol. It's a fucking orange!!! Not even close to either thing she thought it was.
Do you think this convinced her that she should wear her glasses when she's trying to read something? It hasn't! It's still an on going weekly battle. Oy give me strength.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Anger
My anger at times overwhelms me. And right now it is. My anger at being the one who has to field 5 am phone calls and go to the hospital. Does that sound selfish? Because it feels selfish. Does it sound ungrateful? Because it feels ungrateful. My anger grows as my dad's health, which is poor and will only get worse as his and my mom's need to have me do anything and everything I can for them grows. I feel like shit for being angry. I feel guilty. But the anger grows. I can't stop it. And I shut down because I know if I don't my anger will explode forth and unleash a lot that can never be taken back. Things like, "if you had listened to the doctors and followed their instructions, some of this wouldn't be happening!" Things like, "I can't be everywhere and I can't be everything to everyone." Things like, "Call someone else next time, I'm trying to live a life here too ya know?" And the sheer fact that these things are in my head sends me though massive cycles of guilt.
In one moment I think that I should just suck it up and deal because the alternative is so much worse. And then I think, is it? Is it really worse? I'm not saying I want my dad to die. But he is going to, eventually. One of these times when he is taken to the hospital yet again, it's going to be the last time. Isn't it better to just close your eyes and not wake up than to continue this game of what the hell can go wrong next? Guilt. Selfish. I'm the worst person, the worst daughter in the world because I do think these things. And I don't think them because he was never there for me, ever my whole life. I don't think them because we had no relationship at all until I was in my 30's. I don't think them because he spent my childhood drunk and never spoke to me at all. I think them because I'm angry.
I'm so fucking angry. And I'm tired. I never thought I would be this tired in my life. But sleep doesn't come. Guilt eats away at me and I lie awake and let it consume me. Guilt for these feelings, guilt for other feelings, guilt because I want to leave. I want to run away. Start fresh. Have a new life. I want it. I can taste it. And I'm trapped by my guilt. I'm stuck in place. All I can do is dream and wish. Wish I was anywhere but here. Wish I had the guts to leave it all behind. Wish I had the drive and means to make my own wishes come true. Instead, I'm here. Angry. Tired. Tearful.
In one moment I think that I should just suck it up and deal because the alternative is so much worse. And then I think, is it? Is it really worse? I'm not saying I want my dad to die. But he is going to, eventually. One of these times when he is taken to the hospital yet again, it's going to be the last time. Isn't it better to just close your eyes and not wake up than to continue this game of what the hell can go wrong next? Guilt. Selfish. I'm the worst person, the worst daughter in the world because I do think these things. And I don't think them because he was never there for me, ever my whole life. I don't think them because we had no relationship at all until I was in my 30's. I don't think them because he spent my childhood drunk and never spoke to me at all. I think them because I'm angry.
I'm so fucking angry. And I'm tired. I never thought I would be this tired in my life. But sleep doesn't come. Guilt eats away at me and I lie awake and let it consume me. Guilt for these feelings, guilt for other feelings, guilt because I want to leave. I want to run away. Start fresh. Have a new life. I want it. I can taste it. And I'm trapped by my guilt. I'm stuck in place. All I can do is dream and wish. Wish I was anywhere but here. Wish I had the guts to leave it all behind. Wish I had the drive and means to make my own wishes come true. Instead, I'm here. Angry. Tired. Tearful.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
To Write or Not to Write
How much ego does one have to have to write about themselves? I never thought of myself as necessarily egomaniacal, but on the other hand sometimes I think I'm pretty cool. I'm not sure that means I have a big ego though because just when I start to think "yeah I'm alright," I get a big case of self conscious or someone knocks me back to reality. It could be anyone, it could be on purpose, it could be completely accidental. And whenever it happens, I think of something my dad said to me once. I went to my parents house after work that day. I felt like a million bucks. I loved my outfit, I loved my hair, I felt so good and it showed. When I was leaving work that day and walking to my car a man stopped me and said, "excuse me, but are you a model?" And I thought I already felt good! Validated. It was fantastic. Then I got to my parents house and, still reveling in how good I felt I told them what the man said to me. My dad's response, in complete seriousness was, "Was he blind?" That's all it took to undo the good feeling I had all day.
Three words. That's all it took. It happens fast, that trip from the top of the world to the bottom of the shit pile. Maybe a few words like my dad's do it. Maybe an email complaint I get because someone doesn't agree with my opinion. Maybe a sideways glance in the mirror at the wrong angle. And then I wonder, why would anyone want to read anything I have to say? Who the fuck am I? What makes my stories any more interesting than anyone else's? Well, maybe they aren't. But there is one thing I always am when I write... true to me. If you haven't liked a post or more, that's OK. I can only be true to me. I learned a long time ago that you cannot please everyone so don't even try. And I don't. Instead I keep these words in mind that someone I care about told me, "If you write it, you own it. It's yours." Once I do that, it's out there, no going back, no regrets. I own it, for better or for worse.
And so again I wonder, why am I writing this blog? When I started it I was inspired by several things. One was friends illness that woke me up to the fact that at any time your life can change drastically without warning. If that happened to me, what's my legacy? And now that I think about that again, is a blog with my goofy stories a legacy? I guess it is, in some odd way. My other inspiration was a friend with a writing talent that moves me and evokes feelings in me when I read something he wrote. Moved in a good way, or in a bad way, it doesn't matter. Being moved does. When someone can do that with written word, it's pretty special. I didn't fancy that I could do that, but I wanted to try. And something really amazing happened. I love what I'm doing here. I love my voice. I love what I have to say. I love having a place to say it. I hope you do too. And I thank those two special people for inspiring me in two completely different ways.
Three words. That's all it took. It happens fast, that trip from the top of the world to the bottom of the shit pile. Maybe a few words like my dad's do it. Maybe an email complaint I get because someone doesn't agree with my opinion. Maybe a sideways glance in the mirror at the wrong angle. And then I wonder, why would anyone want to read anything I have to say? Who the fuck am I? What makes my stories any more interesting than anyone else's? Well, maybe they aren't. But there is one thing I always am when I write... true to me. If you haven't liked a post or more, that's OK. I can only be true to me. I learned a long time ago that you cannot please everyone so don't even try. And I don't. Instead I keep these words in mind that someone I care about told me, "If you write it, you own it. It's yours." Once I do that, it's out there, no going back, no regrets. I own it, for better or for worse.
And so again I wonder, why am I writing this blog? When I started it I was inspired by several things. One was friends illness that woke me up to the fact that at any time your life can change drastically without warning. If that happened to me, what's my legacy? And now that I think about that again, is a blog with my goofy stories a legacy? I guess it is, in some odd way. My other inspiration was a friend with a writing talent that moves me and evokes feelings in me when I read something he wrote. Moved in a good way, or in a bad way, it doesn't matter. Being moved does. When someone can do that with written word, it's pretty special. I didn't fancy that I could do that, but I wanted to try. And something really amazing happened. I love what I'm doing here. I love my voice. I love what I have to say. I love having a place to say it. I hope you do too. And I thank those two special people for inspiring me in two completely different ways.
"Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." ~ Dr. Seuss
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