Eight Minutes and Counting

I did a little Christmas shopping today and noticed that my receipt from one of the retailers didn't look quite right. I went old school and decided to call the store.

Sometimes my stubborness gets in my own way, it's been ringing on speaker for eight minutes and counting. Oh we've hit nine minutes.

There is obviously no one there. Or if there is someone there they can't hear the phone. Or they are all laughing at me, waiting for me to hang up. Taking bets. Taunting me.

Oh this conversation has made a fast left turn. Does anyone remember waiting for the phone to ring. I come from that generation of long twisted cords pulled into my bedroom and talking to my friend till we had nothing more to ruminate over. The Hot Guy. The Almost Hot Guy. Her party coming up.

I hang up, 11:12. The silence, except for my boys making quite the ruckus in the other room, is golden. Even if I didn't get through. I can try again tomorrow, go back with the receipt and try again tomorrow.

I had to hang up, the consistent brrring at even intervals brought on some serious memories of when I had been the one waiting for the phone to ring, wishing it to ring, begging it to ring. I would have done somersaults, cartwheels and cannon balls (I know those are for the pool).

Side Note: Last time I tried an adult gymanstic course I was 18 and my shirt went full up and the rest of what was underneath was visible. I can't remeber the bra I was wearing, hopefully I was wearing one, just that the humiliation of that moment never left me.

I was always waiting for some guy I had placed on the pedestal of liking to call, maybe I wanted to impress him with my gymnastics.

I was dissapointed, have been disappointed and am disappointed in myself for givng myself away before I even had a chance for even a cup of coffee with the boy and sometimes we got past coffee all too quickly...

Keep yourself first in line. Hold your head up. Don't pretend to not care if he hasn't called. Just don't pretend that you do, try to find a parking lot in your brain where the mess can live until it drives itself away. These days, of course, you are not just waiting for a call, but a text, a dm, messenger, snapchat and more. So if he really wants to reach you, he will. Back when was when you could always console yourself into thinking he lost your number and do something dumb like call him. Texting is much easier and therfore way more dangerous. Don't text, dm, message, snapchat or anything else. If he wants you, he will find you.

And from personal experience, let them go or they will think you desperate forever. In their minds you are that girl. They will avoid you even if they see you pregnant ten years later, or so I hear.

Take care of you as much as you can, the smallest of steps counts. Don't let anyone in until they deserve a seat at your table. Make your table your own. Love you as much as you are able, your love for yourself will only get bigger and brighter until you realize that you are ok with whatever happens. If you believe in True Love it will find you and it will call you back, or friend you on Facebook and eventually make funny faces with you on snapchat. But until then you may have to kiss a lot of frogs. And you might regress, that is okay, happens to everyone.

It is the nature of the beast. Sometimes you just have to stalk the heck out of your crush, respectfully, of course, see that he is living his best life and leave him alone for good.

And for a minute, I forgot about my incorrect receipt, tomorrow is a different story, there's nothing like a mom gone wild, showing up at her favourite big box store and shouting, oh how you've been wronged me. Different story.

Hope everyone is doing as well as they can this season. Our tree is up, poinsetta purchased and snowflakes on the door. It makes me feel cozy.

Sandra XXOO

Sanitize

I am the good girl.

The nice girl.

The fallen angel

who hasn’t been caught:

wrought out

found out.

Rinse and Repeat,

my mind is scabby and dry,

as I try and try

to sanitize all the shit

I refuse to own.

Sandra Djak Kovacs

Drink

I fall like a woman.

Held on either side

by a different man,

Dignity be damned.

My secrets need to be

washed clean even if

it means the grave

pursuit of one more bar

and one last drink.

Sandra Djak Kovacs

My heart

My heart cracked,

Not like you see

in the movies or

those sweet tiny broken emojis,

But, like a building gone down.

Blasted.

Imploded.

Finished.

Wounds heal.

This one is still raw

enough to give you salmonella.

Fuck. You.


Sandra Djak Kovacs

Everything's Going To Be Alright

I am a silet secret scar -

Wedged in your backbone.

When you fall I hope you die.

In my arms,

Where the loss, the decay,

The ugliness will cry out as I hold

you close and tell you everything's going to be alright.

Sandra XXOO

Sun

I am a bright beautiful sun,

Radiating light, Radiating life,

I am surrounded by black holes, but the darkness and vastness of the universe does not scare me.

My purpose is clear.

Sandra XXOO

Careful Catastrophe

I lost my first draft of this post.

Careful catastrophe, indeed.

I am just one person, brought up by parents who did truly love me, but moved me around a helluva lot.  I had ABBA and beauty pageants.  Those things got me through.  School was hard.  No real friends, but I did manage to make the odd one here and there.

Life has never been easy but it has never been that hard, I had parents who loved me. Truly, loved me.

And that I know is a gift.

I went to school and looked mostly like everyone else, not sure that was quite the gift.

But, that is my story, or a snippet of it.

I guess I just want to say here.  Life right now is a myriad of sucks.  More for some people, than for others.

Life ends for each of us.  We have our children to inherit the earth.  We need to give them a better place to start from than debt, demise and world disorder.  But it kinda seems like that is what is happening.

I do my best.  I teach my children.

I love.

I am loved.

But I am broken. I've been broken for a very long time and this world right now is not helping things along.

Might.

Might, I try.  Keep trying.  I do.

I am.

I am healthy for my kids, my husband.

But, the one thing I am not ashamed of is how much I want to have a big old house.  Strange day dreaming from a gal, who did have her own washroom once, for briefly one year, until her parents moved again.  But, I digress.

I want granite.  I want a two stoves and microwaves.  I want a pool. I want a wrap around couch.  I want all these things for my family.  I've always wanted them, but they are getting more and more real in my mind ( don't worry not losing my mind - just yet ) , but why can't we have what others have?  Why can't we?

And then I cry for those that are suffering each night and I berate myself for wanting things like a house.  When there are children uncared for, men and women unloved and unfairly judged.  Why?

The Why I can't answer, but I know that we all need to keep our dreams alive, side by side, and cheer each other on.  It's the only way.

The airplane safety run through is so very true, you can't help anyone else unless you help yourself first.

Sandra XXOO

The Last Time.

We have all done things for the last time.

Kissed the last boyfriend before marriage.  Or just kissed the last boyfriend.

Graduated Kindergarden  I don't believe I had the cap and gown ceremony my boys had, but I did graduate.

Graduated Elementary school, whether that's been split up by Middle School or just all the way through.  I missed my Elementary school graduation, I went to Europe with my family and really never thought it was all that exciting to be a part of the grad festivities.  I'd rather be a world traveller at 13.

I also missed my University graduation, thinking the money involved in graduating wasn't worth the ceremony.  And really what was the ceremony?  Just reiterating what all my papers said, I graduated and I did well.  I think had a 3.4 GPA, (it is a true testament to my perfectionist tendencies that I really don't actually remember the number), considering I flunked out of first year, I did a pretty good job of turning things around.  And my parents, bless their beautiful hearts were just happy I finally graduated.

The first time I gave up on studying was in grade 11, my honour status went from 100% to well below that.  I wasn't doing drugs, drinking on the weekends or having unprotected sex.  I was tired. I had been studying like mad since I was in elementary school.  I had memorized full on textbooks just so there was no way I wouldn't know an answer to a question.

I had to know the answer.

I always had to know the answer.  How the book finishes, reading late at night with poor light, maybe why I where glasses today, just to know how it ends.  I hated Choose Your Own Adventure books, I wanted to know how it went, how it was supposed to go.  I hated TV shows that were "To Be Continued," I hated it even more when, before the age of binge watching, they skipped a week to let you know how the story finished.

I've slowly, very slowly become aware that things don't always have a way of turning out the way they are supposed to.  Growing up Catholic there was always a plan.  God had a plan.  But I'm not so sure that plan has to do so much with what we DO, but more with how we feel.

When was the last time you felt joy?

When was the last time you felt desire?

When was the last time you woke up in the morning and wanted to live fully and completely?

Don't worry I'm not really asking you, I'm asking me.

And probably not for the Last Time.

Sandra XXOO

P.S. Happy Canada Day!  I love the country that has adopted me as it's home.  I wouldn't want to live anywhere else.  Thank you.

P.P.S. My relationship with celebrating our achievements has evolved and I sure do wish I had gone to my University Grad, the Elementary school one, still on the fence. :-)

The Day Before

It is almost two months to the day that the world went upside down.

For some earlier than that, for us, here in Vancouver, right around that date.

Just a few days before my friend had slept over.  She was attending the dental conference  (mentioned in the news).  Her home was much further from the venue.  My husband drove her, we stayed up late talking when she came home and off to work I went the next morning and off to home for her.

A few days later, I had gone out for drinks and dinner with my boss and a few of our colleagues.  I had overdone it.  And it took me some time to get over that, but then Covid comes along and makes me appreciate even the overdoing, mind you, I won't do it again.  One I won't get the chance, no bars, no travel, no anything for awhile.

I've been generally alright working from home, I do find I work more, my computer is in front of me and I can't help myself, but, for now I don't mind.  I'm lucky to have a job.  The boys are healthy.  The husband is healthy.  He is not working but he is helping around the house and makes sure the boys take long breaths of fresh air at least every two days if not each day.  He makes pizzas from scratch that are restaurant style.  I had to put myself on a water only diet for one day.  I'm back to eating.

We are closer, we talk more, all of us, the whole family.  I don't know where this virus is going, but it seems as unpredictable as every single astrological forecast in those tiny newspapers delivered daily.  Oh YES. I haven't seen those in awhile.

The stores are opening, the restaurants are opening, the schools are opening, but things are very different.  There is the Day Before when everything was 'normal' and there is now.  I'm doing my best to accept it, I am thankful for the gifts it has given me.  I'm still, like most,  concerned about the virus itself.

As long as it leaves us alone, we can go about our business in this strange new world.  The face masks I ordered for the family came in.  We look like four Ninjas.  We've got this.  You've got this.

Sincerely,

Sandra XXOO

Together and Apart

My family.

Hubby is not working due to COVID.

Boys are up ALL NIGHT playing video games and handing in the essential assignments so that we do not get emails from their teachers.

This morning I woke up earlier to get a head start on work.  The boys were up.  Frazzled, no sleep and the oldest worried that he had told his teacher NO I can't pick up my text books from school, only to realize that he could because he had gotten the days wrong.  Who can fault him?  I thought today was Monday and I work all week (even on the weekends- maybe that's where the confusion comes from).

I tried to find a way to recall the email he sent for one hour and finally had to give up.  Gmail does not have a recall function.  It has a recall per email, every email, i.e. before you send this email I will give you one minute to change your mind.  That's it, a timed recall.  This rarely works for anyone.  

The fifteen year-old said, "I did it on Outlook," but I had very clearly determined it was Gmail transferred to Outlook.

And bless his heart he said, "Thank you Mama for trying."

I love these children, these teenagers, more than anything, more than myself.

I went to give my son a hug after he came back from getting his stuff from school - only one child was allowed to get in at one time to pick up their things.

And my son said, "Hold on, Mama, I have to wash my hands first."

My kids, our kids, are not perfect, they use some pretty not that nice language while they play their video games and they cross socially acceptable lines (without knowing the consequences) when they say certain things, but I do what I always do and I let them know what is okay and what is not okay.  They may not change overnight.  Nothing does and peer pressure is real.  Kids say a lot of things and they have no filter.  They haven't started the Big Lie of pretending to be someone they are not.  I have good kids.  Beautiful kids.

And they have saved me.  They have saved me on more than many occasions.

I want to be around for them for as long as they are!

I want to be there when they get their first job, first girlfriend (kind of), first everything...

They are both soon to be young adults and they are not perfect.  I am not perfect.  My husband is not perfect (he may disagree... :-) )

When my boys were little,  I have to be honest there were some grand stand owns between us, between myself and a toddler.  I never would have believed I would have been that person.   The person that lost their shit, that yelled and they were kids, only kids.  I was so hard on myself.  I still haven't fully forgiven myself.

But life is never how we think it should be.  People are not always what they think we should be.

We are.  We are love.  My heart sinks into my abdomen, my heart raises up into my brain and shakes back and forth for these children.  LOVE.  SO MUCH LOVE.

At the end of everything.  During this Pandemic we have dinners together.  This is the beginning.  This is something I am going to do my darndest to keep going.

Even though we are all together in the house, we don't see each other because we are all on different schedules, but we are not the same schedule for dinner.  I don't fight them to get their sleep schedules in order.  They will figure it out.

And really when their Mama sleeps till 4pm on Saturdays.  No word of a lie.  Well,  I've worked hard all week, and so have all of they, fighting bosses, capturing cities and creating worlds.

We are all in this together.

Sandra XXOO

The Great Pause- Faith and Fear

People are calling it the Great Pause, for some yes and for others no, in the literal sense of pausing.  However in the metaphorical sense, most definitely.  Every one has been touched by COVID-19 in some way.

Some are still working and worrying for their lives.

Some, like me, are working from home and finding it, and I'm embarrassed to say, overwhelming. I always knew I had a lot of work flowing my way, landing on my proverbial desk, but somehow when that lands in the middle of a Pandemic while many are not working and you can't leave your office for the day, but stare at through the tiny slits in the corners of your eyes as you try and sleep...

My desk is beside my bed.  During the day I have lots of light, I usually shower in the mornings and even put make-up on, you never know when someone is going to decide to video conference you!

I haven't been out today, yesterday I went out only because I hadn't been out the day before.  I am becoming more and more immobilized, afraid.  But, by all accounts, many countries, including mine (Canada) appear to be flattening the curve as they say.  But, I am still afraid of so many things.  Especially the virus.

I wrote this poem:

Faith and Fear

At some point tears
will run from us.
Catch, oh please,
do not catch the disease.

Fear

Faith

Someone very smart
told me just make sure Faith
tips the balance.
Even a little.

The air is clear.
The ocean is quieter.
Deer and Dolphins
Roam where they
haven't before.

For now some
of us can nap,
others cry, and
it's all okay. We're
just roaming
where we haven't
been before.  Faith.

Sandra XXOO

Single Lane.

We are all in the single lane, at home with our families, or alone, or with our partners, whomever and wherever we happened to end up when the order was sent out.

Stay at home.

I love staying at home.  Except when I have to stay at home.  Quite the rebel, but I think we are all like that.

Freedom seekers.

And yet this matters so much that we do stay home so that we can create the Freedom to live on with our families and our friends.

So many cannot say that.  Too much death and despair, hopelessness and fear has overcome all of us. Not always the death.  Maybe not the despair.

But I challenge anyone looking for toilet paper after the third empty store not to shed a few tears.

Toilet Paper.

Toilet Paper.

And now yeast and flour.

Everyone who grew up watching Little House on the Prairie, like I did wants to make their own bread.

My grocery associate called me when the yeast came in, I thought I might go too far if I asked him to call me when the toilet paper came in.  But he called (for the yeast) and that phone call was one of the sweetest, except the one from my parents, that I have received this whole pandemic.

Pandemic.

I have a mask that I found in one of my old Emergency/Disaster kits.  It is a respirator mask, not the kind the healthcare workers would wear, but maybe something a painter might don?  I'm not sure.  I'm pretty sure I look ridiculous in it  But I don't care.  If someone is protected from me, because that's what it is all about, then, yes, I will wear it.  I might be silent carrier, I mean, I hope not, but this is what we are hearing. You never know who has it.

I stopped drinking more than sips of wine as soon as the orders to stay home were advised.  Maybe it is like when the kids were little, you never know when you might have to pick up that disaster kit and run.  That would be no fun on a hangover. (When the kids were small we didn't drink in case we had to take them to emergency or the doctor, or if they needed us in the night)

Right now I am ready for this to be over.  But that is not happening any time soon.  I am lucky that I a still working (from home).  My husband is not.  The kids play games and have recently started on line school.  We make homemade meals daily, and usually eat together as a family.  That didn't happen with as much regularity as it is happening now.

I love our dinners.

I love our talks.

I hope there is some way to merge, when we come out of this, the old way with this new weird and strange way. The best of both worlds.  In the single lane.

Please stay safe.

Stay strong.

We are in the thick of it, but we are stronger than we think (it's true even though I always felt resistance to that phrase).

We are a world together.  Hoping to love those we love and play with those we want to play.   Simple asks in a world where nothing, right now, is more simple than staying home.

Love to all.

Sandra XXOO

Too Far.

I have been living life in too many lanes.  Not telling anyone, and thinking no one had noticed.  But it was just that no one had said anything.

It all came to a head last week when I went way too far. I'm not going to get into details because I have finally found the grace to forgive myself.  Tell myself I did nothing wrong.

It was just a blip in time.

It won't happen again.

I've always been careful to not go too far.  To be the good girl.

I just finished watching Taylor Swift's Netflix special and I am sure I am not the only one who has that in common with her.  She states over and over that she was singing and dancing for the validation of her fans, for the validation of being a good girl.

That has been my whole life until it just about fell apart.  I'm not a singer/dancer/songwriter or multi-millionaire, but I am a woman. Mother.  Wife.  Employee

Those things come with responsibilities that are not easily cast aside, in my case it has been years worth of self-loathing and self deprecation that brought me to the closest edge I've ever been.

And friends, I got scared, damn scared.

I never said I was sorry.  Purposefully.  I didn't want to be sorry.  Except to one person.  Someone else said, "You shouldn't feel that bad."

But bad I did feel and my depression and anxiety over what I had done went into overdrive.  But I managed to pull out of it.  Not unscathed.  Still prickly and, at any moment, ready to throw the baby out with the bathwater.

And then the whole world went into the COVID-19 chaos and I had no choice but to show up soundly for my family.  They need me whole.

I need me whole.

I am not fully over it (the thing that happened), but right now it is water under the bridge as I stand and hold onto the hands of my sons and husband and just breathe.

We are all in this together.  All of it.

Sandra XXOO

Help.

I went to see a clinical counsellor and I started crying before she pretty much said hello.

I am proud of myself for getting up and going. God, I am lucky to be getting the help I need, my pyschiatrist referred me.  It is all covered under our Canadian medical plan.

But what of the Coronovirus?  I waited forty-five minutes for my doctor the other day.  I have to say that has never happened before.

These are strange times.  For now we are going on as if things are normal, minus cancelling our trip to Washington.  But, this thing may spread. Italy.  My heart goes out to Italy.

And I have been there, through Venice's packed streets that are now empty.  Everyone staying home to contain the virus.

I am no medical professional and can only speak from my heart and my heart says I love you. I love you to anyone and everyone I have had a decent relationship with, minus that first boyfriend, still working on that one.

But LOVE is the only way through now.  Medicine, of course, doctors, nurses, hospital staff, giving up their health to help the sick.  It is simply not fathomable to me.  I am not there.  Just like when you break your foot and the minute it heals you forget all about the pain and suffering it took to get better, to walk up stairs, to get to work.  I am not there.

Canada is, so far, okay.  But this could change, and my son, wise soul that he is, has his number, if it gets to this point, Mama I'm staying home.  He has an inner compass that guides him like nothing I  have seen before.

I want that knowing again.

I had a bee say hello to me today.  It was cold and no flowers were around, and it looked like it was reverberating light.  Spinning in front of me.  Saying there is more to all of this, more.  Just stay. Stay in your moment.  Stay with your kids.  Stay with your husband.

See your counsellor.  Do what is right in your heart  You know.  We all know.  Close your eyes and sleep.  It's okay to take a small rest amidst the thunder.

Sandra XXOO

The Edge.

When we overdo it, we want just the edge to come off.

We stand on the ledge between forever and now sniffing the air for relief.

Relief from too much of what we have eaten.

Relief from too much of what we have had to drink.

Relief from too much of thought.  Too much work we can't keep on top of.

Never being good enough.  Never knowing the sweet nectar of success.

We are expected to love, especially as women, especially as mothers, especially as partners:

Love is a loaded word.

I love my work.

I love my dog.

I love my man.

I love my children. [always]

I love my body. [big fat lie, but it's not all that bad]

And what if my dog died twenty years ago and my work is driving me mad in all sorts of directions and well, my man, is my man.

Love is a loaded word.

I overdo it when I'm not sure which edge needs filling.  I over do it when I do know.  Usually the body suffers the most as I tip too many nachos along with too many beers and too many thoughts right after the other, until that numbness caresses the neurons that feed into other neurons and the sad story I have been telling myself can finally end.  I finally begin to feel the fuzz around the pain.  And I can soothe myself.  It was just a silly story, nothing to fret about.

Numb.

It doesn't matter if he didn't return your email.

It doesn't matter if your boss is wrong.

It doesn't matter if I gain five pounds.

It doesn't matter that I still cry over my German Shepherd twenty years later; almost every third night.

I've never known how it is to belong anywhere, or at least that is the story I tell myself.  I am full of it.  Full of that story

But my kids, I think they know, they clearly know where they belong right here with us, but even with them, I can feel a film of imaginary cellophane scroll down between us as they interact with the many teenagers they've brought to our house.

"Why our house?" asks my husband.  "Why are there six teenagers in our house on a school night?"

Clearly he hasn't had enough beer.

And I have.

I gather myself together.  We take care of the teenagers.

And another day goes by where I have talked to the trees, yelled at the sky, shopped, made dinner, put in laundry and cried that morning listening to country music all the way to work.  I am falling apart, so minutely that it may not be obvious to the naked eye, but eventually where I stand, there will be only the phantom of someone I once was trying to become.

I fight to sleep until I fight to wake up.

Love is a loaded word.  I need to fill up.  On that thing that is all over the place right now, in lights, in action, live in person: SELF LOVE.

Who are those people?

I better find out, I have a good feeling it is the only that will take this edge off.

Sandra XXOO

Trust

From the latest Instagram post of the @lionswhisperersa, this man has a bond with the lions, if you don't follow his feed you should at least have a look at it.  His latest post is of a lion licking the back of his head in admiration, yes, licking the back of his head, he says:

"Trusting and developing relationships with animals has always come easier to me than trusting and developing relationships with people.  Animals, yes even wild ones, have no hidden agendas, unlike their fellow human cohabitants.  Which one is more likely to turn on you and therefore which one is more dangerous I ask?"

I had a hard day at work.  I posted it to my socials and I felt vulnerable and probably a bit like a target.  But I got a wonderful and kind response.  However, the work part of it still remains the same, as do I, minus a gallon of tears and a bottle of wine.

I do trust some people, okay, one person.  I trust one person at work.

The rest I tend to worry about on various scales depending upon their stature and their relationship to me. It is an unpaved and gravelly road that I am not adept at navigating but insist upon pursuing.

I am good at my job.

I am just not good at my emotions.

I don't even want to move up, well maybe a little, but it is not some grand goal.

I just want to be be considered a good contributor, a solid employee and someone you can count on.

All of those things mean the world to me and if I catch wind of someone with a "hidden agenda" who is not of this belief, I want to tear them apart like the lion does his prey.  That is my legacy and that is my name.

I trust in myself.  I protect myself.  Some days it's just a little harder than others.  Even the lions don't catch their prey 100% of the time.

Sandra XXOO

One More Day

Still here!  And the family life is going and glowing at the same time.  Like many, work is posing its own set of problems and family as well. In our case, the boys are good, its Grandma, who is under the care, thank goodness, right now of the right people, but has dementia.  And my husband, her sole caregiver is overwhelmed with a new job and looking after the most important woman in his life, next to me.

And me, well, I've gotten up today, barely showered, got semi-nicely dressed and put a little make-up on.  I damn well try.   I semi-succeed.  My life feels like a strange show no one wants to watch on Netflix.

I went to work and worked. Well.

But, I am drowning and I am not sure how I am going to lift myself up.

I went to yoga.

I did the dishes.

Somewhat, semi-succeeding at keeping my head above water.

My son had his first live band show and he was amazing.  That was this past weekend and I was so proud of him my heart nearly fell out of its chest as I cleared the way to make sure I was front and centre to record him.  I love him so much.  He plays the drums and he is good, really, really, good.

It broke my heart.

His joy, his worry that his band members wouldn't arrive.  His performance.

Perfect.

My children.

My husband was home to go with us, and we had some time together.  It was altering.  With his new job we don't get to see a lot of Senior Kovacs.  But it was nice, so so so nice to have this weekend together.

A family.

My younger son had a sleepover.  I made brunch.

Life is full of beautiful and full of wonderful moments and yet, I am not fully present.  I lag. Like the damned internet as my son will say, "The Internet is garbage mom, my game won't work."

I am not fully present.  My game is lost.  I am lagging.

I am half-here and half-alive in my head where life is different.

In my head, I don't even know, we are happy.  We are happy now, mostly.  I think I am the secret ingredient, and, not the good kind.

I want more.

I want more.

And I'm not sure what I even mean by that.  We create our own lives.  It's time I started taking my creations and acknowledging them.  If I want to be happier.  I have to move up from depression.

I'll work on it.

Nothing is guaranteed.

I really appreciate the twenty or so folks who read this blog.  I really want to thank you.

Honestly.

It makes me feel less alone.

Here's to one more day.

Sandra XXOO

Missing

I am crying like a teenager whose first boyfriend left her.

This music, classical, strange that I have come to it so late has unleashed something akin to a dam being broken.  I am lost here in these notes.  I am high and I am low.  I don't know which way to go. I follow the rhythm and I cry and I cry some more.

I've been missing this most of my life.  All my life.  But better I discovered it now, on the brink of breaking, older and wiser, rather than the youthful nuts and bolts of death by devotion and quick un-devotion.

My boys have enjoyed Vivaldi because I have him on my playlist and they say, "Oh this is pretty good Mama."

But my GOD.

And I mean my GOD.

This is too much for one person.

I'm listening to Virgil Boutellis-Taft, Incantation.

My life may never be the same again.  Just as when you meet your first lover, young and stupid, the music of your body plays along.  Until. Well we all know the until when.

The synapses in my brain where the repression is strong and not yet, of course, unleashed, is calling, but the door is closed.

Knocking.

No one is home.
_____________________________
Knock, Knock.

Whose there?

Mickey Mouse's underwear.
_____________________________
At least that is how the knock, knock joke went when I was just a baby of nine or ten.

These days the children, the teens, the pre-teens, seem much more resilient than I ever was.  But then again that is really not a feat for the ages.

Resiliency is something I've come to realize only over the last forty and eight plus years is something I have in spades.  I survive. I am alive. Always.

But now.

Now that I've been broken by Virgil, the missing parts are floating up and calling.

They want their say.

And my answer is a firm: NO.

Stay put.

You know how to do that.

You know how to shut the bleep up.

So do that.

Don't be the one that unleashes anything because you will be sorry.

Even though the missing parts of the story are begging to be told.

Sandra XXOO

Numb

As mentioned in my previous post, NUMB.

It is one of the main reasons I continue to survive.

I am NUMB overall to that which I do not want.

I am angry.  Sometimes.  A lot of the time.

Annoyed with my boys too many times.  Although, I do think that is rather normal, somehow, here the love transcends.

But underlying every one of these feelings is: NUMB.

Novocaine.  If it weren't for the NUMB the guilt of not being good enough would overcome me.  And I know I wouldn't withstand it.  It's been too many years and too many memory stores, the guilt would take me in it's validated arms and hold me tight until there was nothing more to hold.  It would absorb me.

I've felt guilt for no reason and every reason since I was fourteen years old.  It covered me like a heavy blanket and walked around with me all day every day.  Numb is a major improvement.

People do die, you know, from the pain of things:  The spiritual, virtual, mind spatial things of things.

People say a lot of things:  I'll always be there for you, Call if you need me, Don't worry everything will be all right.  I bleed for you.

All of us have said things we don't mean.  And all of us have said things in earnest, but we don't quite know how to translate the earnestness to action. Its ok.  We only have one person we need to be telling things too and that is ourselves.  Let's shore up there before we get ahead of ourselves.  Of course, I am speaking for myself, entirely.

We are individual seekers.  We are ourselves and we are whole at the same time.

People change.

Their minds.

Or their minds, like mine, play tricks on me and make me believe the impossible is true.

Numb.

I am like everyone else.  Minus the part where I think I don't feel,  I miss those I miss.  It doesn't mean they miss me. I love those I love.  It doesn't mean they love me.  (I may be off the mark, but I'm pretty sure all those that I love, minus Ricky Martin, love me back.  Yes. Ricky Martin. It's a story).  I dislike those I dislike, and most of the time they dislike me too. It's just the way things go.

Things go on.  We are not going to be here forever, but for right now, to get through, to keep going, to keep loving, I need to feel less.  Strange but true.  Doesn't mean that I don't carefully review my husband's Valentines Day card.  We both agree the one I gave him is by far better.  True, not just because he has to agree with it.  After seventeen years together he knows how to love me.  Even in this season of less.  And that helps the Numbness to begin its thaw.

The beautiful bouquet of roses, that once smelled so sweet, are beginning to fall apart petal by petal. It's just one of those things.

He loves me.  He loves me not.


Sandra XXOO

Left to the curb...

I feel things heavily, darkly, like a hole in the earth should just swoop me in and I should cease.

I have serious case of Major Depressive Disorder and Anxiety.  And I haven't felt like a human in as many years as my meds keep increasing in dose.

I am broken.

And to the broken ones the pain of being discarded like a piece of trash is so much heavier than it is to someone who can process that they are good enough, they are okay.  Those of us who are not okay raise our heads slightly from the curb we've been dropped off at this day, this hour and hope things will soon be over.  But we manage to drag our smelly asses back to our homes and slip into bed for a little while longer, hoping that this time things will be different.

I have felt nothing for years. Except unworthy, not good. Dumb and Numb. Sounds like a stupid movie that should be made about the absolute ridiculousness of this disease.

I know on a heart level, a brain level, that I am good, I am smart.  In fact, I've always been one of the smartest (based on silly scores) in school, but it is what I based my value on.  I was always poised to succeed, despite this darkness in me, I lived two lives, one smiling for school pictures and getting shockingly good grades, whereas the other half wanted to stop existing.  This has been going on since I was fourteen and, friends I am tired.

I am tired of feeling too little and too much.  I give up.  Chasing the light is tiring and yet, when it shows up, it blinds me and I am fully in its grasp fully, trusting everything it promises. And, for a while there is an extra skip in my step, my armpits get shaved, I wear makeup and wear nice outfits.

Its only in recent years that I have become more open about my affliction (not sure how else to say this?), strange that I also had cancer and that was so much easier to talk about.  But this, this can skew the perception an employer can have of you.  It can make you act in strange and inexplicable ways in order to gain the approval of those that are above you.  And in doing so you just make yourself (myself) look more like the mess I wasn't only moments ago.  You become untrustworthy in the corporate world where every face better damn well show the same dry business face day after day.

And for the record I am a good and decent employee.  I work hard. I look after things and for the first time in one year I took two sick days.  Days where I didn't shower, get out of bed or notice the snot on my pillow from crying so hard that my insides hurt.

I am in awe of those people that walk around just being themselves.  I am myself and so many more as I try to please that person and that person and that person.  All I want is to be liked.  All I want is approval.  When I am in the midst of episode.  Which, in case, it wasn't clear, I am.  Spiralling.

I withdraw.

From the world.

But she won't let me go so easily.  I went to work today.  Showered.  Hair unwashed.  Looking a little like a hippie hobo.  But I did it.  I got out of bed today and I worked.  But I can hear it whispering to me:  "Settle down," the dark says, "we've got you, there is never a need to go back. You can trust us.  You cannot scare us away, no matter what."

And I want to find a cave where I can lie down, curl up and never get up.  But I don't think it works like that when you are a mother.  When you remember your love for your children.  Respect your husband for his insane continued partnership with you.  Even when you tell him.  You tell him, you can't go on.  And he reminds you of the children.  But there is never a need to remind me.  I love those boys more than any darkness, more than any infinite hole, more than anything.  And my husband knowing me, knowing me so well says, "But you'll call me if, for a moment you forget."

"I've got to call my husband."

Sandra XXOO

(P.S. I'm fine for now - no need to worry)

Sometimes...

Sometimes we can't say what we want to say.

We are shy.

We are worried that we will be thwarted.

We are afraid of other people's reactions.

But our truth is our truth and the sooner we say something, the sooner we know where we stand.
Whether or not you say it to everyone and anyone. Know that it is within you. Know what you feel and don't string people along.  Friends. Book Clubs. Religious Organizations.  Tell them.  You are done or not done, depending on where you stand.   Otherwise you find yourself in the land of purgatory, the in-between place, neither here nor there.

And sometimes that place is the only place you can be until you sort it out for yourself.

Until you find your way, your faith.  Your truth.

"The truth will set you free."  Once we recognize ourselves in the mirror and know how we want to walk in the world, find our faith, our core strengthens.  And we are free of the ties that bind us to whomever we might have thought we were.

Even though, as we all know, the truth looks so very different from whichever angle you are viewing it from.  Sometimes it is unclear and that is also okay.  Sometimes the truth is in the waiting.

Sandra XXOO

For something that can't even happen, what's the point?

What's the point?

It can't, won't, don't even think about it, happen.

Why go on?  

For something that can't even happen.

Why live? 

When the one thing you want, or many things, really, I mean, have you perused an Architectural Digest recently.  Those homes are the shit.  Those pools.  The kitchens. The floors.  I am addicted to them.

OMG.

Should I throw in the towel because I don't have a home in the right postal code/zip code?

Should I say what the fuck am I still doing here and run home to my modest townhouse where my family lives.

YES.

The children.  

Parents, despite their many faceted annoyances, don't look me in the face and lie, children, regardless of age, are sometimes, and sometimes, more than sometimes, annoying.   As we speak, I have a sleepover downstairs and they claim they are not being loud.  

They are loud.  

But the children, they have happened, haven't they?  And they are our love.

The marriage.

The life. Built. Together.

All happened.

The stuff that cannot even happen, who the fuck cares.  

Right. 

Who cares?  It is on the peripheral.  It doesn't matter.  It doesn't matter at all.

Ignore the double step in your heart when you wish for that perfect couch, keep calm and carry on.

My life is good, and sometimes I ache for glitter and gold and I know it is possible.  I don't need anyone or anything to tell me otherwise.  

Most of the time.  

Dreams are the fabric possibility is sewn from.  

In my fantasy house the pool sits next to the ocean and the waves billow as I sit and sip my sangria surrounded by my many dogs.  The kids are at school and hubby is working in his photo studio.

Cannot even happen, though, so maybe I should quit dreaming and make sure the dishes are done, the garbage taken out and work taken care of.  

I should behave like the Sandra everyone knows me to be, dutiful, wifeful, motherful and I should stop dreaming of a different life, where holidays are the norm and life is bigger.  Everything is bigger, and more and more is allowed.

But for somethings, for something that cannot even happen, I better scoot myself back into that Sandra.  Dreams are hard to hold onto, especially when they keep getting crushed.  Anyone can only handle so much before they either have to encase their heart in cellophane or go find Dorothy and beg for the Tin Man's heart.

Sandra XXOO 

In my head

Pretty sure that this is a song.

Just googled it and Ariana Grande comes up.  I'm sure I've listened to her and I'm sure she is great, but I am not as familiar with her music.  Something to look up I'm sure.

"And where did that come from?"

In my head.

In my head.

My head swarms with stories that are both real and unreal.  Who's to say what is right and what is wrong.

Well.

I guess there is a right and a wrong.  It's just up to me and those that I've decided to cast to figure out.

Tears.

Fears.

Happiness.

All of this lives in my head.

My focus for the New Year is to really work towards the Happiness.  The Happiness is where shit feels good and why should we compromise.  Why should we feel less than when we can be more than?

The choice is ours.

If we raise ourselves we raise others.

It is not a selfish pursuit.  Feeling good makes others feel good and particularly it makes life that much better.

I'm not sure how I'm going to get there just yet.  My head.  Like I said, not the greatest at deciphering the good from the not so good.  I'm working on it.  Maybe I'll even listen to that Ariana Grande song. Or maybe I won't.

Sandra XXOO