Merry Christmas

Mom has to work the day before, the day of and the day after Christmas so this year promises to be an interesting one. Tomorrow Dad and I are busing out to church for the Christmas Eve service at 4:30. Mom's picking us up from there after service then we all go back to her place for a dinner of chicken wings, seasoned rice and potatoes. The morning of the actual day, since Mom has to work, the rest of us only get to dive into our stockings. Mom usually works until 3 or 3:30, so I get to start dinner around 2:00 so it's ready when she gets home. After dinner we all open presents (thank you's all around) and then Dad and I go home Christmas night. Dad because he has to work and me because some mail-order packages the day after Christmas and I'd rather not leave them until the weekend.

I'll probably then stay home through Sat in order to get to church and Mom can either pick me up from there or on Sun. Depending on what Matthew gets for Christmas I may be skipping church the week after New Year's. All Mom said when I told her I might get Matthew a new game for his Gameboy was, "Let me just say that after Christmas his Gameboy will be obsolete." Meaning she got him a new game system, like a Wii or an X-Box. Hmm....

Baaa

Micah 2:12, Matthew 9:36, Mark 6:34, 1 Peter 2:25. All these verses (and many besides) depict the followers of Christ as sheep. Sometimes that's a good thing, sometimes it's bad. Some characteristics of sheep are: they're intellectually stupid (I think their i.q. is somewhere in the single digits); they get lost easily; they're helpless, totally dependent on the Shepherd; they're often unaware of danger in their midst; they're submissive and non-resistant.

Now, as is the case with most church services, there's a lot of standing and sitting and standing again at different times during worship. We stand for a hymn, sit for the Pastoral Welcome, stand again for two more songs, sit for the offering. It can get confusing if you're not paying attention. Case in point (and this ties into us being sheep). In my church, to indicate that the congregation should stand for a song, the worship leader makes a kind of upward sweeping motion with his hands. It's been done this way as far back as I can remember. Well I don't know if it was all the snow we got this past Sat that threw people off a bit, but when the piano started (for what we soon realized was the offering song) the worship leader made a half-motion with one hand and half the congregation stood. There was an awkward moment, then some of them sat while more people stood or leaned forward preparing to stand. Then the ushers came forward and everyone figured out where in the program we were, so they all sat down.

Whew, big sigh of relief, glad that's over.

The next time we all had to stand for a song, the worship leader went over the top with the gesture, bending a little at the waist and lifting his hands up over his head. I guess he wanted to make sure no one misunderstood that time.

Wal-mart is evil.

I've been listening to the radio alot lately for the Christmas music, and every once in a while I hear a commercial for Wal-mart. After the voice is through expounding on all the wonderful things you can buy and how much money you'll save, the last line of the commercial states, "The more you save, the more Christmas you can give."

What?!! Christmas is about celebrating Christ's birth, which leads into his life and the saving resurrection at Easter. This commercial, though it does promote the spirit of giving, is basically saying that the more money you have, the better your Christmas will be. Now on the one hand I understand that with the money you save you can buy friends and family better gifts than if you had less money so, I don't know, maybe they'll like you more. But whatever happened to "It's the thought that counts." Instead of spending hundreds of dollars getting the easy gift, some bit of plastic that will break in a week or a shiny gadget that whoever it is really, really wants but isn't practical, why not put some genuine thought into it.

Commercials like this are part of what make Christmas a stressful season. People think they have to get everyone they know exactly what they want or it won't be a merry christmas. They end up spending more than they can afford, and for those of us without the funds we get stressed because we get gifts and we can't return in kind.

But hey, it's the thought that counts, right?

Thanksgiving

I realize it's late but, Happy Turkey Day!

With Nikki in TN, it was just Mom, Dad, me and Matthew for Thanksgiving at Mom's place. Since Mom had to work on the actual Thanksgiving Day I was drafted (not unwillingly) to take over. On Wed I prepared about half of what we had to eat: candied sweet potatoes, vinegar carrots, plain potatoes (peeled and cut up), and of course the turkey had been thawing since Tue. On Thur I cooked and mashed the plain potatoes, put the turkey in the oven (upside-down according to a tip from Lunds & Byerly's), cooked the sweet potatoes in the oven, boiled the corn-on-the-cob, made stuffing, and baked the biscuits.

Besides setting the table with fancy dishes and napkins and candles, Mom helped with the order of the layers for the candied sweet potatoes and what ingredients went into the carrot dish. Other than that, I did the actual cooking and all-in-all it turned out well. The hardest part is the timing, trying to get everything to finish close to the same time. There was also apple pie w/ice cream for desert but we were all too full to even consider it.

Since Mom had to work on the day after Thanksgiving Dad stayed the night in the guest bedroom. That way Mom would be able to get to bed early-ish because she had to get up at five am. I think Matthew got more of a kick out of it than I did. I see Dad all the time so it was cool that Matthew and Dad got to spend some time together, even if it was just watching movies all day.

Now that I've shown my culinary skill, Dad may expect more from burgers and frozen dinners. :) Mom asked if I could do this again next year. I said sure if she wanted me too.

lost, found, & a tasty sandwich

Church tonight ran a little later than usual so I missed my first bus which messed up the connecting to the second bus I take home. Long story short, church gets out at 7p so I'm usually home before 8. Tonight I didn't get home until almost 9:30 and Dad freaked out a little. I walked in the door and he immediately hugged me and wouldn't let go. I was surprised because missing the bus has happened before and he didn't get emotional that time. He said something about a missing kid on the news (I haven't heard) so maybe that contributed. But anyway, here I am, safe and sound.

Yesterday for lunch I made a peculiar sandwich. There's nothing quick (meaning frozen/microwavable) in the apartment so I had to do some creative thinking. I started with bologna and cheese but I toasted the bread. But that didn't seem quite enough, then I saw we have a bag of apples in the fridge. Little red and yellow stripedy things a bit smaller than a billiard ball. I thought, "Apples go good with cheese and also with Miracle Whip (ever have Waldorf Salad?)." So I grabbed an apple, quartered it, cut out the bits of core and sliced it really thin, peel and all. When the bread was done I spread a thin layer of Whip on each slice, then put down apples, cheese and one slice of bologna. Whooo-boy is that good. I don't know if I'm the first to discover it or if it's just never been named, but it's a nice variation on the old Bologna & Cheese.

looking up

I've found that the worse things are, the more I write. Things are good, maybe even great. So much better than I've ever been. Which would explain my absence. That and I've spent the past two weeks house/pet-sitting for my mom (without a working computer) while she and the rest of Messengers were in the Philippines. More on that later, the trip not my house-sitting.

Now what was I going to write about.....umm. That's the problem with having the internet at the tip of my fingers. My mind wanders and I'll think of something I want to look up and I go off on a tangent, and then it's 20 minutes later and my original train of thought has left without me. For you it'll just be a second for your eye to move to the next line, but between this sentence and the next there will likely be a real-time gap of up to 15 minutes.

Nope, can't think of it. Guess this will be a short one then.

I got a job!

This past Fri night after rehearsal, Joy (a previous cast member not in this current run) said that the place she works at was looking for someone to work evenings. I asked what kind of job it was, she didn't give a very clear description. She said it's a pet boutique and that "it's really easy." That's a subjective idea, but I figured, what-the-hey. She asked if I could come in yesterday around 5pm so she could train me in. I said sure.

The store, 4 Paws Pet Boutique, is in Calhoun Sq Mall.














I'd say the overall feel of Calhoun Sq is maybe a notch below Southdale. The building is small for mall standards, and being located in Uptown is a bit of a detriment, I think. If people are in the neighborhood they're probably there for the restaurants or to go to the theater. But what do I know, I've only been there a grand total of three times.

The shop itself is cute. It has everything you need "for the urban dog or cat": clothes, chew toys (of the plushie, rubber or squeak variety), treats of course. They even have doggie sunglasses and rubber-surfaced running boots. The really nice thing is it doesn't get busy until around 7pm and just before closing at 9, and by busy I mean four or five people in the store at the same time. Other than that, Joy said to bring a book. I think the hardest part is learning all the different procedures on the register. I've got a regular sale pretty much down, even using a card reader. But there are returns and refunds and voiding a sale (which we did a lot of yesterday because I kept hitting the wrong button). I'm taking it all in stride and reminding myself that I've never worked in retail before, I'm not going to be perfect on my first or even second day.

Today I went back in for a more formal interview with one of the bosses. It was a nice relaxed chat, mainly discussing my scholastic history and the possible hours I'll be working. She said things are a little hectic right now with another of their businesses, with employees and whatnot, so she and her partner are going to have a sit-down tomorrow to hammer out a schedule and will call me on Thur morning with the details. I told her that's fine. I figure I haven't had a paycheck in about four years, I can wait another week or so. Like I told my dad, I'd rather have a few days of training without pay than to be dumped in the middle of shift with no clue as to what I'm doing.

Update

Huh, I don't think I've ever been this long in posting before. And not for any particular reason, just because not much has been happening. Of course, not much happens all the time. Um....

While over at my mom's this past week my grandma called and asked if I would go to a baseball game on Sat to get her a bobble-head figure. I said sure before I knew I'd be spending the night at the Metrodome, as in sleeping in a chair outside the gates, in order to be one of the first in line. It might not have been so bad if I had gone home on Sat after I got the doll, but I decided to go to church (it was only four blocks away). So even though it's been five days I'm still tired. Needless to say I'm not doing that again, it was way more fun than I ever want to have again.

I was a little nervous about the whole thing because there were some hiccups in the works. First, grandma called to ask on the Tues before while I was at my mom's, so I wasn't prepared to stay out in the cold (it got down to 37° that night) all night. Then when grandma came to pick me up after rehearsal on Fri to take me to the Dome, she got a flat tire. Luckily there were a group of four young gentlemen who came over to help, unfortunately after they got all the lug-nuts off they couldn't get the tire to budge. By then the rest of the Messengers group came down to the parking lot and stood around in a group and gawked on the pretense of trying to figure out a solution.

Of course it was Dave who saved the day. He walked right to the center of the group of four guys, sat down in front of the stubborn tire and proceeded to kick the heck out of it, first on one side of the hub then on the other. After three good stomps the tire popped loose and everyone present applauded and cheered. On the one hand I was glad that the tire would finally get changed so I could get to the Dome and get this business of sleeping outside for a bit of plastic over with. But on the other hand the thought, directed at Dave, occurred to me of "stop doing that." Granted he didn't help to be helping me, he just helped because it was the right thing to do.

I thought I was over this whole situation, over him, but I guess I'm not. I thought I wasn't angry at him anymore, but he kind of surprised it out of me on Fri. Though now that I think of it, I wasn't angry at him specifically. I was angry because Dave isn't staying in the box I categorized him into, the 'bad guy'. That's where the thought of "stop doing that" came in, it's harder to be angry at Dave for being the 'bad guy' if he keeps doing good things.

a shameless plug 3

I am currently reading a book called 'The Sword of Mohammed' by Hale Meserow.

The back cover description is as follows:

"What would you do if suddenly your car didn't run, your lights didn't work, your furnace and air conditioner were disabled, your refrigerator became a warm storage cabinet for rapidly decaying food? How would you survive? Where would you go? And suppose on top of that there came a horde of marauders riding swift horses into your city intent upon killing you for your beliefs and stealing your property?
"In this fanciful but not far-fetched page turner, Hale Meserow portrays a world where the ultimate weapon of mass destruction has instantly propelled the United States into a vicious, dog-eat-dog, stone-age madhouse of chaos. This weapon IS out there, and the government fears it's coming!"

Right now I'm only halfway through and I think it's good. It's no Stephen King but this is only Meserow's first published book. The first half is a little dry with some extended sections of explanation, something like the political style of Michael Crichton. After the halfway mark the story starts to get exciting. I recommend picking up a copy.

hungry, in pain, irritable

A few days ago I was eating some jelly beans, not being particularly careful, and I chomped the inside of my cheek. Normally this isn't a problem because it's in an out-of-the-way spot between the upper and lower jaw or at least toward the front of my mouth. This time however I bit with my back teeth and, I'm finding out, harder than I thought.

Instead of easing up and letting my mouth heal, I continued with eating as usual thinking the nagging discomfort would go away. Well here it is three days later and my mouth still hurts. I've been subsisting on Slim-Fast and milk-and-yogurt since yesterday in the hopes that limited jaw movement will speed the healing process. Hopefully this pain I feel is just because it's an open and irritated sore (which is what it feels like when I dare to poke my tongue anywhere near there). I think so, if it was infected and festering I think I'd be in a lot more pain.

On the way over to Mom's for the weekend we passed a Burger King and the flame-grilled smell just infiltrated the car even through the closed windows. Then earlier tonight I had this sudden craving for buttery garlic bread. And all I get is vanilla Slim-Fast, liquid yogurt and a lot of stale spit.

the 35W bridge

You've probably already seen the news, but I figured I'd post about it anyway.

Today at just after 6 pm the highway 35W bridge spanning the Mississippi River just north of Downtown Minneapolis collapsed.










This is what the bridge looked like before when it ran from Northeast Minneapolis across the river.








This is what it looks like now.




(For more photos and reports go to www.wcco.com or www.kare11.com)



So far as I know, no one I know was involved. I called my dad first thing and made sure he was alright because he was out working. My mom works in the southern part of the city and has no reason to have been anywhere near the bridge so I'm not worried about her. With Nikki in TN and Matthew in Seattle (visiting the Messengers director's sister and niece) the only family left to worry about is my Dad's mom, his sister and my older sister. My older sister already checked in asking about Dad. My grandma I'm also not too worried about because she's not out and about much (my other grandma called and asked if I was watching the news, so no worries there).

fish or cut bait

I have decided that in order to make any substantial progress in sessions with Doc (and get on with my life) I need to quit skirting my issues and be brutally honest, mainly with myself. This also means not giving vague answers when Doc asks me a question or saying "I don't know" when I do know.

With this in mind, tomorrow's session should make for an interesting and nerve-wracking ordeal. I'm going to explain to Doc as best I can the conclusions I've come to over the past two weeks and then tell him up front, "Ask me a question and I'll answer to the best of my verbal ability." That way if I backslide and he senses I'm fudging on the truth he can call me on it. I've gotten away with downright lying to Doc before probably because he didn't feel he could push me on the matter without causing me to stop talking altogether. Giving him that permission is a very scary thing for me. But I trust him finally, not just professionally but personally. I have no delusions that it'll be easy (by no means), but as I'm being honest with myself I know it has to be done.

Wish me luck.

I have a weird cat

Have you ever had a cat licking behind your ear? It's a most disconcerting sensation. That's Pumpkin's new favorite thing to do. She'll jump onto my shoulders and go after my ear like it was a chicken flavored Pounce® treat. I'm just glad she doesn't do that when I'm trying to sleep. Pumpkin's also discovered that if she takes a swing at Dizzy she can make him fall down.

Dizzy has Cerebella Ataxia, which means the signals from his brain don't always get to his muscles like they should. This means he wobbles when he walks and often falls down if he turns around too fast or tries to scratch behind his ear. Now I didn't see this discovery of Pumpkin's first-hand, if I had she would have gotten a thorough soaking. My dad said he saw Pumpkin swing at Dizzy, probably because he got too close for comfort, and Dizzy fell down. When he got back up Pumpkin swung at him again as if to say, "Hey, this is fun." The little brat. Dad says he reprimanded her which may explain why I haven't seen her do that again, but she's swung at dizzy since then for no good reason and I swatted her on the butt. She wasn't expecting it and whipped around with a look that said, "What was that for?"

Like she didn't know.

an addendum to 7/14 AM

After days of introspective analysis I have come to the realization that I don't trust Doc Sig. Oh sure, I trust him as a Doctor, to not divulge my secrets because of the possible legal ramifications. But even after all these years of talking (during which his record hasn't been exemplary, but no major trauma suffered) I haven't let him in. I convinced myself that Doctor to Patient was enough, and I wonder why I'm not making progress.

Doc once described my inner self, my personal space, as a room where I have metaphorical objects representing certain memories or opinions or special interests, basically what makes me me. At certain times I've let people into this room to see these objects, to see the real me. Sometimes these people aren't very gentle and stuff gets broken, then I'm reluctant to let them back in. Normally (continuing with the visual) this room has a door that I can open and close, lock or unlock. Until now most of my sessions with Doc have taken place either in the doorway or the hallway with the door open. So far I've only trusted Doc to look, afraid of what he'd do or even say once he got up close and saw the dirt and cobwebs (again, metaphorically).

Well at my previous session he stepped inside without, I think, even realizing it. After all the years of talk, his gesture of a scholarship finally convinced me that he's a friend. I doubt a Doctor would do that for a Patient, but a friend would in order to help another friend out.

So now he has access. Like I said before, his being inside is not unwelcome, just unexpected. I consciously let my walls down because I wanted to be able to trust him more, it was just a surprise to see all of a sudden how far down they were, how 'open to attack' I let myself become. As such I've been working through some unrealistic animosity towards Doc, not just because he got through my defenses but because his schedule was booked this week so I haven't been able to see him. The unrealistic part of me says "He doesn't want to see me, he doesn't want to help me, he's not really my friend." Thankfully I recognize this for what it is and I'm not turning it into resentment or anger. Or in the opposite direction, an apathy towards his offer of help.

not doing well

I have another appointment scheduled with Doc in two weeks, but I've come to the conclusion that I need to see him sooner than that. This whole situation (with the scholarship) has scrambled my brain. Not the actual scholarship, just everything else this generosity has stirred up. Ever since my appointment I've been lethargic when I'm not thinking about it and a little panicky when I do think about it. I explained as best I can in my previous post, some things can't be put into words is all.

It's not urgent (almost, but not quite). If it was I'd use the cell number he gave me. I just need to talk to Doc sooner than two weeks. I may not even have to use my money to pay for it either. Mom will probably pick this one up. Why not, Dad pays for all the others.

a great kindness

Every few sessions Doc and I discuss me getting a job and eventually moving out and being independent. He said that's the whole goal of these continued meetings, to get me to a place where I can accomplish that. In addition to it being a confidence issue on my part, I only have an Associate's Degree and a lot of places won't accept somebody without a Bachelor's. Doc said it often doesn't matter what field the Bachelor's Degree is in, it just shows the employer you're committed to putting in the extra effort.

Well, at my previous appointment we were discussing the job situation again and this long pause ensued. Then Doc said, "Would it give you a boost if...?," and he made like he was looking for something around his desk. He continued, "What I'm going to do is" and here my memory gets muddled because Doc essentially said he'd pay for me to get my Bachelor of Arts in Theological Studies at the Christian college of which he's President. He said it's a correspondence course (meaning I get workbooks mailed to me, I complete them, then send them back) with 80-some books totaling 7 or 8 thousand dollars.

This was on Thur night and I'm still in shock.

It's not just the money, like I said he's the President of the school so I'm sure he's able to give a, call it a full scholarship, if he so chooses. When he said I could get my Bachelor's at no cost I was appalled at how fast my suspicions came up. It goes back to the opinion I have of myself, which more and more I'm finding is really out of sync with how others see me, both positively and negatively.

And it's this self-deprecation that contributes to the other part of my shock. The question that's been buzzing in my brain (only recently articulated) is "why?" This question is so troubling to me because my usual defense of "you don't know me" doesn't work with Doc. He does know me better than anyone and yet he's willing to do this for me. Which is where the "why?" comes in. Knowing me like he does, why is he still willing to do this for me? The answer I come up with is, "That's what friends do, they help each other."

This revelation of "yes, he's my friend, I can trust him" makes me realize that despite my best efforts, Doc Sig got inside all the barriers I've put up over the years to protect myself from getting hurt. This happened gradually over many years of repeated visits, little by little he insinuated himself into my confidences. I'm not saying I had no part in this, at certain times I made a conscious effort to drop my guard. I just found it disconcerting to suddenly wake up to the fact that I let him in. I sometimes find myself staring at the wall or ceiling with a bewildered look on my face wondering, "How did that happen?" Like I said, I'm in shock, it just has many facets.


By the way, Dizzy and Pumpkin are getting along much better.

in the interim

We cut it pretty close, getting the apartment totally empty by 8 pm on the 30th. Needless to say tempers flared and we took some time apart to cool off. Things were patched up before too long however and I ended up spending the night at the new place. Then I spent the next night, and the next. After four days I figured I needed to come home before my cat Pumpkin forgot who I was.

So that's how it's been for the past two and a half weeks. I'll spend a few days at Dad's place then Mom will pick me up and I'll spend a few days over there. The only time I use the word home is to describe the place I'm staying at the time. I now have a better grasp of the old phrase "Home is where you hang your hat."

In other news, the whole development where Mom lives is under an Association, I guess it's something like a board of directors but not as exclusive. Anyway, one of the Association's rules on pets is two (or is it three) cats, so as of yesterday Dizzy came to live with Dad and me. Dizzy is the sweetest cat you could ever find and so far he doesn't have a problem with my cat Pumpkin. It's Pumpkin that's being a spoiled brat about the whole thing. She just catches sight of Dizzy and she starts whimpering and growling, even though Diz has made no aggressive move whatsoever. After years of living with three kitty brothers (and sometime bullies) Dizzy has learned to anticipate antagonism and then avoid it. So when Pumpkin gets all huffy, Dizzy goes right back under the bed to hide. I may have to take the squirt bottle after her to put her in her place.

Doc Sig is back, he got back on Mon and I have an appointment with him tomorrow. (Sidenote: Mom gave me $100 for helping her move.) Since so much has happened since I saw Doc last I'm tempted to use some of the money Mom gave me to add a back-to-back appointment for next time. That way I won't feel like I'm wasting a whole appointment on bringing him up to speed or get frustrated because I'm leaving stuff out to get back to my problems. Luckily he only charges $35 a session.

100th Post: being a helpful helper

For the past few weeks I've been helping my mom move stuff from her apartment to her new house. She's been in the buying process for what seems like forever, and she finally got the keys I think the second week of May. It's a brand-spanking new four-unit condominium, and she had a say in some of the specifications of the interior of hers (the type of wood trim and cabinets; how many outlets and where; a fireplace).

For roughly four days out of seven for the past three weeks she's picked me up in the morning and Matthew, Mom and I pack up the apartment into boxes, load them into her car, drive to the new place and then unload. The going's been slow because we usually only manage one trip a day, so lately I don't hold back on stuffing her car as full as possible to make up for it. I stay the night every few days to save Mom the time of coming to pick me up, this past week especially because she has to be out of the apartment by the 30th. She picked me up this past Wed and I spent that night and Thur night, so three days/two nights spent altogether. I took today off because I needed a break. It wasn't just the time spent there, with her always nagging Matthew and not giving him a chance to use the brain in his head. Mom rented a truck for Fri to move all the big stuff (i.e. beds, a small freezer, the entertainment center and tv) and Lotis and her husband Renato came over to help. I'm assuming the truck was a stick-shift, otherwise Mom could've driven it. So driving, along with most of the heavy lifting, was Renato's job. Lotis carried the spare and left-behind things (shelves, pieces of bed) to the truck while the men (Renato and Matthew) took the heavy stuff.

Lotis being there wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Until now I've only seen her around Messengers with her no-nonsense, "I'm the boss" persona so I was afraid she'd be that way at Mom's too. Not so much. I was also anxious because I'd heard Dave might be coming over later. He didn't, and I was both relieved and disappointed. A week ago I would've just been disappointed but like I said, spending three days at Mom's took its toll on me psychologically. I felt the same aversion to people that I did on the way back from Canada with Messengers. This time it's just toward Dave and Lotis and I think I know why, but I'm not getting into that now.

Yesterday, Fri, Mom and Matthew spent their first night at the new place. Matthew really wanted me to spend the night again but I said I needed a break, a night sleeping in my own bed (not to mention a shower). Tomorrow she's picking me up early so we can get a full day in and I'll probably spend the night at the new place. What I keep looking forward to with great anticipation is this coming November when Messengers goes to the Philippines. Mom said I can stay at her place and house/pet sit. I'll have the place to myself for a week. Sounds like fun.

Mom's surgery: Part Two

Where did I leave off...? Ah, yes.

Mom had her surgery and everything went swimmingly, so Dad and I took her home the same day around 3pm. When we arrived at the apartment she said she felt dizzy and light-headed, she wasn't sure she could make it up to the apartment. Dad and I told her that there was no rush and to just take her time. But after 3 hours she didn't feel any better so we all agreed she should go back to the hospital (she is a nurse after all and knows better than the rest of us if something's off).

By the time we got back to the hospital the mild abdominal discomfort she'd had at the apartment turned into a sharp pain across her stomach. It was about 7 o'clock when we first got back to the hospital and she had to endure this pain, which became worse as time went on, until the doctor decided she needed to have another surgery at 12:30 or 1:00. When Mom went into surgery her doctor personally escorted us from the ER waiting room to a quieter waiting area where we could sleep if we wanted (and also so he'd know where to find us afterward). Considering I'd been up since 6:30 that morning I'm not surprised I fell asleep.

Some unknown time later I woke suddenly straight out of a dream. Dr. Shibley was sitting in the waiting area. He started explaining about what he thought happened. He said that during Mom's first surgery what probably happened was that a vein got nicked and slowly leaked into her abdomen, which is why she felt ok before leaving that morning but not by the time we got her home. Shibley wanted to keep her in Intensive Care overnight so she could be kept a close watch on just in case. She ended up staying until Sat afternoon because her hemoglobin was low and had to have a couple blood transfusions.

She's back home now, safe and sound, ready to get back into packing up and moving into her new house.

Mom's surgery: Part One

On Wed the sixth my mom was scheduled for a Laparoscopic Hysterectomy. (For those who don't know what that is, look it up. It'll be educational.) Since she was having the surgery at a nearby hospital I originally planned to bus in to lend moral support, but she called me the morning of and said she would pass by the apartment on her way to the hospital so would I rather she just pick me up. It was earlier than I'd planned but I answered an emphatic yes because a ride beats taking the bus any day. Plus I brought my Gameboy so as not to get too bored.

Once she checked in at the hospital it was a few minutes' wait until one of the nurses took Mom to a pre-preop info session/prep. After a few more minutes of waiting I was able to go see her in the room where the anesthesiologist and then the surgeon came in and explained the procedure and what Mom should expect. The anesthesiologist was all business, a little stiff with his bedside manner. The surgeon however, whose (last) name was Shibley, had a very interpersonal way about him. I felt that when he talked to me and my mom he was focused on the moment instead of just wanting to get the conversation over with so he could get to work. It's like with Doc Sig, I felt that Shibley didn't see Mom as just another surgery but as an actual person. Maybe I only think it'd be otherwise because I watch too much t.v.

So after the nurses came and walked Mom to surgery I went back to the waiting room to...uh...wait. An hour later Dr. Shibley came in and said the surgery went perfect, couldn't have gone better, and Mom was currently in Phase One recovery (waking up and being monitored just after the surgery) which would take about an hour and a half, after which I could go see her.

My dad only had to work in the morning on Wed and so intended to meet up with me and my mom to give her a ride home. He got there about 15 minutes after I was escorted in to see Mom. Another nurse came in and made sure Mom had the pertinent information about post-op activities, the do's and don't's, and checked that Mom did indeed have a ride home and that there would be someone present to keep an eye on her. We answered yes on all points and so Mom was discharged around 3 pm.

Unfortunately she had some minor complications and we ended up taking her back that same evening, which I will not get into at present. Hence the name, Part One. She's fine, but I need sleep and so will finish this tomorrow (or the next day).

Messengers' small group

The Messengers are meeting over the Summer in small group, roughly every two weeks. Originally these gatherings were to be at Dave's for the simple reason that his family has the largest house and so it's easiest to accommodate a dozen people. However, since it is only a dozen and not the full compliment of close to twenty, the group has moved to another member's house. So far they've only met twice and I've only gone once, but I intend to continue. This is what Lotis was saying about gradually reintegrating over the Summer. I'm just glad it's not an all-women's group like last Summer. I got my fill over the Spring.

minor change

In my 4/8/07 post ('finally') I put up some pics of the family cats. At the time I was one cat short but have since found a pic to post and changed the text around a bit to suit the adjustment.

Enjoy :)

it's been a week?

I know that nothing interesting has happened because the past several days have all blended together. Well, I shouldn't say nothing. Three things took place, but near or during the weekend.

1st: Book group was on Thur, the last until Sept thankfully. During the last meeting some of the women were talking about being thankful for the friendships that came out of the experience. "Speak for yourself" is what I say. I had difficulty forming friendships during Messengers (which is a Thur & Fri once a week for four or five months), I'm not going to be able to do much with two hours a night, once a month for four months. I'm not wired for easy friendships, which is why I say 'thankfully until Sept'.

2nd: On Sat Dad and I went to a seminar at church entitled "A Christian Response To End-Of-Life Issues", where three experts on the subject (two M.D.'s and a Ph.D.) gave talks about subjects from 'Practical Issues In Caregiving' to 'Euthanasia'. It was informative in a dry kind of way. It didn't help that the seminar was at 8:30 in the morning so I had to get up at 6:30 to catch the bus in time. I don't remember much of the ride home because I was nodding off in my seat.

3rd: Happy belated Mother's Day! Yesterday, Mom took Matthew, Dad and me out to lunch, then we all took a short drive out to her new place. Ooh boy, it's nice. I'll have to get her to take me out there again soon so I can get proper directions/street names and some pics to post. I jokingly told her that I'm going to find a way to bus out there every other weekend. Maybe not so jokingly.

after further review

I've had some time to think about this proposed letter. The following points have been raised.

1) Tell me again, why does John need to be made aware of this?
It's about dissension in the ranks. It's like if the kids are fighting the parents need to know; or employees of a company, the boss needs to know so whatever problem there is can be straightened out. However it's labeled, it still makes me queasy to think of having John's near-undivided attention focused on me.

2) This wasn't my idea.
As far as I know, Dave and Lotis consider the matter pretty much closed and behind us. In the beginning I was the one who thought I hadn't gotten a fair chance to fully explain, but not so much now. Doc is the one who says the solution of 'making space' was a mishandle of the situation that favored the Messengers ministry over my own needs. I was just too timid to stick up for myself. I see his point, but if it were up to me I would cut my losses and move on, even if moving on is code for 'forgetting this whole embarrassment ever happened'. And it's for this exact reason I will defer to his judgement and, with a couple provisions, tell him to send the letters. The provisions being a)I want to know (generally) what he's going to say in the letters before he sends them, b)he needs to answer the John question, the one I asked above, and c)tell Dave and the rest of them if they agree there should be a meeting, to talk to Doc and not call me with questions.

3) Wouldn't that just steam Lotis's clams.
The main reason she wanted to make space, to have me take time away from Messengers, was because (I'm paraphrasing here)"if there was any hinting of inappropriateness, it could be harmful to the ministry." She was afraid the 'wrong' people would find out that her precious ministry could be compromised and there'd be some kind of Formal Inquiry. That right there tickles my vindictive nature, almost enough for me to give Doc the green light, no questions asked.

Almost.

eek, a can of worms!

Had an appointment with Doc Sig today. I gave him an update on Janne and going overseas. I said I'm having second thoughts mainly because I haven't heard a peep from him in two months. No e-mail, no IM's, nothing. Hopefully he didn't have a relapse of the flu that put him in the hospital.

At my appointment, Doc Sig suggested something very scary. He said he could send a letter concerning this whole Dave/Messengers/'making space' issue to John Piper, Lotis and Dave. When he said this I finally grasped the meaning of "recoiled at the very thought." My skin went all tingly and I felt what seemed like an instinctual reaction to disappear. Put plainly, at the mention of bringing John into this mess I felt like I was in trouble. Or was about to be.

The letter that Doc proposes to send would be in an official capacity from his office at his practice. In it he would try and expound on the situation from a psychological standpoint (the why behind what I did? what I meant to say?). He would tell them that there were misunderstandings and that I didn't get a fair chance to explain. What I'm worried about is these particular people finding out I've been seeing a therapist for half my life. Doc said there would be no specifics in this letter, but what does that mean? No personal stuff? It's all personal, especially to John. Having this letter addressed to just Lotis and Dave is one thing, but I don't know if this is how I want to come under John's scrutiny. I guess I'm afraid of being overrun by the louder opinions of Lotis and the authority of John, because my first instinct period is to duck-and-cover and assess the damage after the storm is past.

Something else Doc suggested was being an impartial party in a meeting of Lotis, Dave, John and me. Double-eek! I can just see myself sitting around a table with three authority figure, four if you count Doc. I have trouble sitting closer than the third row during one of John's sermons. If I were to sit across a table from him, having to make eye contact with him? I may end up squinching my eyes shut and putting my hands over my ears, essentially having a denial fit (i'm on a beach, the wind is blowing-lalala i can't hear you) maybe. Either that or I'd sit stark still like a threatened wild animal, the whole fight or flight thing. I did that during that original meeting with Lotis, Dave and Renee in the coffee shop. I was intellectual and understanding and calm on the outside, but I think I would've jumped a foot at any loud noise.

Suffice it to say, right now I have things at least manageable. People are unpredictable and exploding (exposing) this can of worms to others (John) and adding new elements (Doc Sig and the fact that I need therapy)..... Let's just say things wouldn't be boring for awhile.

starting to wish I had a car

Yesterday, Sat, I went to church as always. Nothing big to report on that subject (church and John and motives, etc.). Under normal circumstances it takes me 40 minutes to an hour to get home from church by bus. Last night however it took almost two and a half hours. This is why...

Service let out at around five after seven. I left right away because I needed to break a $5 bill to get change for the bus. Apparently Sat night is the neighborhood shopping night and I didn't get back to the bus stop until after the bus had already been there. The next one was scheduled to arrive at 7:49, but it didn't get there until five minutes to 8.

By the time I got to the stop I transfer at to get to the apartment, it was just before dusk. I don't know the exact time because I had stopped checking my watch. I was in a situation I couldn't control (and getting frustrated) and I knew seeing my wait-time go from 5, to 10, to 15 minutes wouldn't help. So, some undetermined time later I was on the final bus home, or so I thought. It turns out that this particular bus takes a slight detour than the one I wanted. I say slight but it's a good 16 blocks out of my way.

At 9:00 PM, now very dark, I boarded the real final bus. 10 minutes later I got off at my stop and still had to walk 3 long blocks to get home. When I walked in the door my dad said he was beginning to wonder if I'd gotten mugged. That right there was actually the worst part of this whole ordeal. I like the dark and didn't mind getting home late. It was having my dad worrying about me that was frustrating.

"it's different"

My dad must've said this at least three times, which is usually a cover for not liking something. But afterwards he said he had a good time and was glad we went.

We got there early as a matter of course (remember I don't like being late) and people were still setting stuff up. Because of this my dad and I ended up just standing around for a half-hour. I was anxious and uncomfortable and then my dad informed me he was having second thoughts. Even though I was just as nervous I laughed it off because I wanted to stay.

Between 10 and 10:30 AM other dads and daughters started showing up. Most were young but there were some older daughters too. By 11 o'clock there was quite a crowd so my dad and I didn't feel as conspicuous (my dad put it best, "the more people there are, the less they're focused on you").

The tea was loosely based on High Tea which is usually British (High Tea is around 5 or 6 o'clock instead of in the afternoon). This tea was set in a medieval theme with a King and Queen. All the guests were formally announced with fancy made up names to fit the period, and I think because I knew the King and Queen it wasn't near as uncomfortable as it could have been. Luckily our seats were in the way back next to a wall so we were out of the way. I didn't know anyone at our table but after we did a round of introductions I started to relax and ended up having a good time. It wasn't fantastic but it was a fun experience. Dad said, "Well, now we can say we've done it." My sentiments exactly. I didn't go for the food or even expecting to have a great time, I went for the experience.

Because of all the food (there were eight courses and tea throughout) dad and I decided not to stay for church. We were both full (almost like Thanksgiving) and the caffeine from the tea was wearing off. Also John wasn't preaching and sometimes I have trouble staying awake for him. I wouldn't hear half of what this other guy said because I'd be fighting not to nod off. So we came home and tried to keep busy until bedtime. At least I got to listen to Garrison Keillor tonight.

tea (and all that that implies?)

Tomorrow my dad is taking me to a Father and Daughter Tea event that's going on at church. When this event was first announced during this past Saturday's service, I thought "hmm, that'd be nice," but then my past experience/common sense kicked in and I dismissed thoughts of the event from my mind. Then on Mon Dad asked me "Did you want to go to that?" It surprised me because he doesn't do the Father/Daughter thing, at least he hasn't for quite awhile, but I said sure. So I called up the person in charge and signed us up.

Part of the reason I didn't think much about going at first is because of the word tea. I associate this word with fancy cups, dresses and the color pink, high society and social refinement. I don't do frilly, girly dress-up. I'm a tom-boy and have been since I was about ten years old. My idea of dressing up is pants that aren't jeans and a shirt with buttons and cuffs. My idea of a fun get-together is beer, pool, and loud music. Also, this tea was mainly meant for young girls and their dads but was then opened to any age group. Hopefully I'm not the only attending daughter over 20.

Because of these factors I'm a little nervous about tomorrow. I have nice clothes so that's not a problem. Also the King and Queen (it's supposed to be a British High Tea) are old friends of mine from Junior High church group, so I don't think I'll be as uncomfortable as I would around strangers. It's the playing it by ear that I'm nervous about, the pretending. I don't like personally being a part of make-belive in the real world, probably a hold-over from some reprimand during my childhood. That may also be the reason I don't like to read books written in the first person, I prefer to be separate from the story. But my dad will be there, a kind of security blanket if you will. I'll just have to refrain from derisive snickering, rolling my eyes or arching my eyebrows as a cover for my anxiety.

up and down

In Jan of this year I published a two-part post about a change in my perspective, my outlook on life if you will. It had to do with a Messengers' prayer meeting coupled with an All Night of Prayer at my church. The confluence of these two events collaborated to put me up, not just emotionally but in a practical way of understanding. Since then I told Dave my secret (one of them anyway), consequently got booted from Messengers, and was for all intents and purposes excluded from rehearsals. Add on top of that my joining a book study where I don't know anyone, and Doc Sig being out of town. Right now I'm back to where I was before Jan, not caring much for church except to see John on a regular basis. By the way, in this past Sat pre-service prayer we all laid hands on him. Let's just say I've become very proficient at suppressing my outward expressions, so no one suspected I was giddy at the mere thought.

In a side-note, I figured out why I get so agitated when I think of talking to John. He makes me feel stupid. I know he doesn't mean to, but it is what it is. He has numerous degrees from universities around the world (I know for sure he studied in Germany for a time). He's written dozens of books, the majority of which go right over my head. Except for the summer when he's on sabbatical, he writes a weekly sermon for a congregation of thousands. What could I possibly have to say to a man of his caliber? Nice sermon? Keep up the good work? Forget about quoting scripture. It's be like the Pharisees quoting to Jesus.

busy weekend

Doc Sig is back! Yaaayyy!

He got back on the 9th. I called his office the day before and set up an appointment for a week later. I figured he'd be booked solid for at least that long. Between therapizing, presidenting a school/college program and also pastoring, I think he works too much. He gets migraines.

This Thur, the 12th, is book study; Sat the 14th, is church; Mon the 16th, I have an appointment with Doc Sig; the next Thurs, the 19th, is a farewell for Ed because he's going off on another missions trip (I think I heard Kazakhstan, one of the 'stans' anyway). This is the busiest I've been since I "took a break" from Messengers.

What else, what else, what else? Ummm.....

Can't think of anything else for now. Maybe tomorrow or the next I'll do a political rant. It may be long.

finally

The cast party for Messengers was this past Fri, at which time my mom returned my digital camera. So here come the kitties.


This is Rocky, aka Muffin-Head (because there's nothing upstairs but crumbs). He's not the brightest crayon in the box but a sweeter more lovable butter-ball you couldn't find. He's a Ragdoll cat, I've heard quite high-end when it comes to breeds. The funny thing is he was a stray. My grandma found him in some bushes by her credit union. Considering his breed I doubt him being outside was intentional. But my mom immediately fell in love with him and as such was not too quick to put up 'Found Kitty' posters.




This is Max. Despite his surly countenance here, he's very sweet. He adopted my younger brother Matthew and only him because Max is skittish around any family member that isn't Matthew. Max will let Matthew pick him up any which way, head-butt Matthew and lay down on top of him. The rest of us he's a little scared of but tolerates because he gets fed I guess. Max was also a stray, he just wandered up to our house one day and decided he'd found a good thing so he stayed. I don't know if he's a special breed, though I think a plain black and white in a world where patterns are coveted makes Max unique.




This is Dizzy. We gave him this unusual moniker because it fits him perfectly. When his mother was pregnant with him she got sick with something and Dizzy ended up with cerebella ataxia, which means he doesn't have full control of his muscles. Because of this, he walks like he's drunk. He wobbles around the apartment and sometimes falls down if he turns around too fast. It's actually very cute and endearing. But this doesn't mean he's stupid. Dizzy has adapted miraculously and could go up and down the stairs at the house we moved out of. He'd learned to lean against the wall and just take his time so he wouldn't tumble all the way down. The other cats tend to pick on him a bit, but he has the sharpest claws I've ever seen and can hold his own. We got Dizzy at the animal shelter. We originally adopted him because we felt sorry for him. We felt sure no one else would want him because of his condition. Now we know he's not inferior, just different. He's turned out to be my favorite.



This is Buster, a gray tabby who was also a stray. We acquired him from a then-neighbor who found him and couldn't keep him, so we got him. He's my mom's baby (a spoiled brat) who would not sit still for a picture, I had to dig this one out of my dusty digital library from a few years ago. It took us the longest time to come up with a name for him, but after a week we got to know his personality better and found that he'll do whatever he can get away with, then brush off a scolding like "Who? Me?" So we named him Buster, as in "Listen, buster. I've had it up to here with you!" We all agreed it fit.


And now the pièce de résistance, my kitty, Pumpkin.


-cue the trumpets-

Isn't she the cutest? She's a Tortoiseshell. She's a licker (a comfort thing I think) and she loves to play-fight. She's my baby and I love her to death. I've been around cats my whole life, so not having one around makes it feel like something's missing. So the first thing I did when my dad and I moved out was to check out the shelter. Pumpkin was the third or fourth cat I looked at and part of the reason I stopped was because I'd always wanted a Torti. As soon as I picked her up she snuggled into my shoulder and I knew right then that she was coming home with me.

a shameless plug 2

My dad and I just rented a movie called 'Death of a President.' It's a fictional 2008 TV documentary about the assassination of President George W. Bush on Oct 19, 2007. But that's not the main point of this movie. True the filmmakers did a masterful job of blending reality with fiction, but Dubya getting gunned down is not the sole reason to watch 'Death of a President'. If that's the only motive you would have to rent this you'll be disappointed because it happens fast and you don't see much (but let yourself get swept into the story and it's shocking nonetheless). The point of this movie is to show what can happen (and is happening) when the media and politicos jump to conclusions and personal and political agendas take the place of truth and justice.

Truth be told, it was morbid curiosity that made me get this movie off the shelf. I'm too young to know for myself about the last presidential assassination (I think it was Kennedy) and I figured (hoped) this is as close as I'll get. But I like this movie because it makes plain some of the forces behind the decisions that are made, supposedly, for the good of the country. What's scary though is that anyone who watches the news consistently and keeps an ear to the ground will not be surprised by what this movie talks about. It's all circling the drain. This movie just brings it all into focus and adds a personal/patriotic gut-wrench with the fictional assassination.

my kind of weather

Weather-wise, today was a typical March-to-April day.

I try and get to church every Sat (except if I know John won't be there of course) and I have to catch two different buses to get within walking distance. While waiting for the first around 2:30 this afternoon it was lightly sprinkling, overcast and chilly with a breeze. By the time I got to the transfer point to catch the second bus it was a not-quite downpour. I seem to be cursed with waiting in the open because all the stops I have to wait at don't have shelters, so I was soaked after five minutes.

Right now you may be asking why I didn't bring an umbrella if it was raining when I left. The thought crossed my mind as I checked my watch for the second time in five minutes. Then I mentally reviewed my list of why I didn't/don't use an umbrella.

1. They're unwieldy in confined spaces, such as a bus door.
2. It's one more thing to carry, and I already had a backpack and jacket to keep track of.
3. It only keeps my head dry and doesn't keep the wind out, the rest of me gets wet and cold anyway.
4. When I get where I'm going it makes a puddle, most likely on the carpet. If I wanted that I'd buy a small hyperactive dog.

Besides, there's something in the depressing aspect of getting totally soaking wet that appeals to me. When people see me trudging stolidly through pouring rain, shivering and looking like a half-drowned rat, I find comfort in that the outside mirrors what I feel on the inside the majority of the time.

eureka

Why is it that so many 'ah-ha!' moments come after 3 in the morning? Is it just the fact that it's dark and there are less distractions present so one's mind is free to stay focused on a problem?

About three weeks ago I cited an online article on anger written by Dr. Ralph Blair, a psychotherapist from New York. In it he states (and this is loosely paraphrased because the article is long and a bit technical) that we can feel angry when someone or something doesn't live up to, or behaves contrary to, our expectations or beliefs. He also says that the feelings accompanying this lack of expectation fulfillment (fear, doubt, disappointment, disillusionment, embarrassment) can make us angry. Let's face it, no one likes feeling bad. In most cases the root of our anger is a type of subconscious frustration at our inability to change a situation outside our control. The instinctual reaction is to point the finger at someone else, 'something they did made me angry.' But the truth is I'm angry because they're not behaving like I think they should or expect them to.

Like with Dave (or even Bill). I'm not angry at him for rejecting me, I'm angry for not being able to make him accept me. If I understand this article correctly, I'm not technically angry at any one person for what they did TO ME, but rather that the situation didn't go the way I wanted. And saying it's they're fault takes the focus off my unrealistic expectations. It's just easier to blame them and feel sorry for myself than make a genuine effort at changing how I see them and what to expect of them.

Like Doc Sig's been saying all along, I need to work on these unrealistic expectations. But they say experience is the best teacher. Even after months of advice I had to figure it out for myself. Such is life.

P.S.
No pics cause I forgot my camera at my mom's. But hopefully some time this week.

back home, sound and relatively safe

Even though my mom and brother won't be home until late tonight (I'm thinking 10pm or later) all the pets are taken care of: food, water, clean box for the cats. So I had my dad bring me home early. Where my dad and I live is only a ten minute drive away from my mom's place, but I missed my own cat and my familiar things.

I recently commented to another blogger who is in the process of moving, that feeling at home is more than a place. It's a sense of familiarity and safety. For me it's just familiarity because most times I don't even feel safe inside my own head.

Tomorrow I'll put up some pics of the cats, my mom's and my own Pumpkin.

quick update on the possum

The day after that post one of my dad's co-workers used a payloader to transport said possum (after nudging it off the fence and into the scoop), loosing it behind one of the buildings. This co-worker said the possum slowly "ambled off into the weeds." As far as I know no one's seen it since. But from its behavior I don't think it was long for this world. Poor thing.

apartment-sitting

The Messengers left early this morning for Canada, not to be back until late night Mon and I'm apartment-sitting for my Mom. So except for Sat when my dad will pick me up for church, I have five days (counting Thur) all to my lonesome. But the weather's nice and there are some woods nearby so I'll be able to get out and walk so as to avoid going completely bonkers.

I miss the neighborhood out here. It's not quite the suburbs but it's a lot quieter than the middle of the city. Even though the airport is just across the river, by the time the planes get here they're at higher altitudes and therefore less noisy than where my dad and I live.

Look what my dad found.

Technically it wasn't him that found it.

After my dad left for work this morning he called home and said, "You'll never guess what's sitting on the fence here." I hesitantly asked 'what?' (sometimes my dad has an odd sense of humor). He said a possum. Being a city kid I said No Way in a tone of total disbelief. He said that according to his boss it had been sitting there since early morning. He said it hadn't moved except to look around and didn't seem bothered by human presence, so they thought it might be sick. My dad also said that they'd had trouble with something getting into the busses (my dad drives for Minneapolis & Suburban) and this was most likely the culprit, probably scavenging for food scraps.

As of this post it's still there, but the boss said that since it hadn't bothered anyone they would leave it alone (not call animal control). I care about animals as much as the next person (perhaps more in some cases) but if this possum is still out there tomorrow then I'll call them myself because it probably is sick.

or....

Forget bipolar, how about borderline personality disorder. It's possible, my sister had/has it. Unfortunately Doc Sig is out of town on business or some such until mid-April. But he gave me his cell number so I may just give him a call.

further proof of loose wiring

1) Bethlehem Baptist Church (my church) does not stop for John Piper, a fact which I was slow in realizing. Though it does suffer a 'summer slump' in monetary offerings while John is on sabbatical, I think the only time there would be the possibility of cancelled services is in the event of his death. If that were the case, however, his memorial or funeral would have to be limited to family only. Otherwise nearly the entire church (all 4+ thousand of them) would try to attend. I think as far as our church goes, John Piper is akin to Billy Graham but on a smaller scale. Given this publicly appointed fame, I thought for a short time that my book group might be postponed. But no.

2) Yesterday my dad and I went to a local mall to see a movie. While there I made a point to stop in at the Yankee Candle Co. store to see if they had a particular scent. The leader of the book group I'm part of said at our last meeting that a friend of hers gave her a small candle of this one scent (about 3 inches in diameter by 4 inches tall), which by now was almost burnt out, and said she hasn't been able to find a replacement anywhere. I recognized the candle's label immediately but didn't say anything because she said she doesn't usually like to spend money on extraneous things. So long story short, instead of just looking I am now in possession of a much larger candle of the same scent which I intend to give her as soon as I figure out how. It's harder than you may think because I don't know her. I've been to her house only twice, both times for group, otherwise our paths would never have crossed. And did I mention I have a crush on her husband? Though not a crush per se. Very much, though in some ways dissimilar to what I feel for Dave.

I keep coming back to this problem. A curse on my father for his indifference (this could extend back for generations considering my great-grandparents were extremely Swedish).

3) After Dave's (probably definitely misconstrued) attempt at communication, my imagination went to work thinking he'd call and ask if I wanted to have dinner with the family. This fantasy was soon dismissed though, I've (almost) learned my lesson.

catch-up and confusion

I'm ok. I am mad at Dave, but right now self-doubt is putting a halt to any and all action I might take. So he's ok too.

I was cruising Google the other day and came across an article on anger written by Dr. Ralph Blair, a Christian therapist in New York.

http://www.ecwr.org/resources/ralph/speeches/anger.html

The introduction is focused on examples of anger in political and religious arenas, then it goes on to Paul's Ephesian letter in the Bible. The third section is where it starts to get good, where Blair talks about what anger is. It's long but it's worth reading. This article helped me step back and think, it was very informative and rang true in a lot of places. Just like that I was no longer charging headlong into destruction. I know that probably sounds a little Shakespearian, but that's the closest I can get to describing it succinctly.

I'm starting to wonder if there's some bipolar in me because I do this a lot. I come to the brink of anger and hostility, then someone or something makes a very persuading point or argument and I'm alright for awhile, gregarious even. Go figure.

Tonight was the second meeting of the women's book study group I'm in. Nothing of note to report other than the usual anxieties of being social with people I don't know. After group I again got a ride to church to get a ride home from my mom after Messengers' rehearsal was over. When I first got there I peeked in the room quick-like to let my mom know I was there (and I secretly dared Lotis to say something) but spent the rest of the time in the hallway reading.

Lotis didn't say anything, but after rehearsal was over Dave and his kids walked out and past me. I'd already passed him twice on the way in but kept my head down and my mouth shut in respect for the space I agreed to make. However, as Dave walked past on his way out he said hi. I said hello back figuring he just didn't want to appear rude. He then continues by asking how I've been, I say "fine, fine". Then he tells me he saw my dad drop by earlier. By now I'm confused and wondering to myself, "So are we talking now?"

The reason for my confusion is that Lotis was adamant about creating space, a kind of cool down so I could get myself 'straightened out'. So why was Dave attempting to engage me in polite conversation? Was it simply that I was there and he didn't want to be rude? Or have I been doing a better job than I thought at seeming to be over him? Because I'm not.

I can admit it now, I am obsessed with Dave. Not a dangerous, stalking kind of obsession, but what I have for him is unrealistic expectations coupled with a twisted mix of fatherly affection and physical attraction. It would probably be less so at church or Messengers' rehearsal because those places are neutral (in a way). But even there.....

So here I am again, torn between two wants. Do I let whatever this is play out or do I do the right thing? But what is the right thing? I don't even know what his current perception of me is. Is he testing the waters because he thinks I'm doing better? If that's so, how do I tell him to stay away when I said I would keep my own distance?

I'm over-thinking things again.


Also, John's dad died at 12 AM on Tue the 6th. You can go here to read John's account.

"Hello, My Father Just Died" - a 'Taste & See' article from desiringgod.org

what the hell?

This was either a one-time thing or I'm more of a spur-of-the-moment harmer than a planned out one. Maybe it really is all in my head and I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I scratched on my hand last Thur, so healing is well on its way. After my unplanned disclosure in today's earlier post I was feeling decidedly on edge. I thought, "If this whole self-injury thing I'm doing to myself is for real, let's just see." I tried to peal the scabs off my hand but only got four of seven, because it hurt dammit!

So I guess physical pain is not my way to cope. Too bad for them.

I could've been watching CSI

I kept the scratches on my hand hidden during church precisely because they were not inflicted in the mindset of attention-seeking. But wasn't I also saying in my previous post about not being ashamed about it, that if they couldn't understand it would be their problem? I guess I was just afraid of not being believed if/when they asked and I told them that it was simple (naive) curiosity.

However....said infliction happened four days ago. Since then (after further analytical consideration) I've come to the conclusion that

better me than John or Dave or Bill or Doc Sig, or anyone else.

What the hell, call a spade a spade for fuck's sake. I'm mad at Dave (as well as others) and it was him I was thinking of when I was scratching. I was thinking of how I want him to hurt because he hurt me. I trusted him, he was supposed to understand. Instead of taking out my anger on him (like I've wanted to for weeks) I took it out on me. Hell I'm just as much to blame and for a multitude of reasons.

So there's the truth of it. I wasn't planning this revelation, but there it is.

In other news of church, another guy from my short-list was at prayer group. He used to be the youth leader when I was in the church's Jr/Sr High group. Had a huge crush on him (this was pre-surrogate dad) and we were and still are friends. John is currently in South Carolina with his 80-something year old father who is on his way out, probably very soon. John left this past Fri and didn't preach on Sat, another pastor had to fill in. So I went out in the snow and mush for nothing.

hear me, I beg

A fellow blogger, Tom Atkins from 'The Creativity Blog', once asked that people reading his poetry not assume his emotions are accurately reflected in any given poem, or series of them for that matter. He said that some were written in the heat of the moment, but that others were composed over longer periods and encompass a wide range of feelings. It is on this premise that I based the tagline of my own blog, "start from the beginning" because no one post shows all of what I try to communicate. At times I have posted twice in one day or for three days straight in an attempt to find the words that fit. Many times I have purposely not written about something in particular for fear of being misunderstood or taken out of context, as what happened with Dave. I've already put a lot of me into this blog and would be severely dismayed to find myself flagged by an errant reader and subsequently suspended from Blogger for no reason I could see.

On that note, I give you the following.

Much of my life is a dichotomy, a collection of opposites. I examine many things from an intellectual standpoint but then base my decisions solely on the perceived emotional fallout (I am currently trying to change this). When I was younger (in grade-school) I felt older than my years, now that I am older I feel stunted in my psychological/emotional/intellectual growth. I plan out scenarios in my head for how a given situation should play out, then keep silent and distant from any interaction. I make it a point to examine an idea six ways to Sunday from an intellectual point of view, then commit some immature or spontaneous act of randomness that could be misconstrued at least a dozen ways. This last especially. Sometimes I over-intellectualize a decision (like being honest with Dave) and by the end of my own argument I can't see the forest for the trees and end up leaping before I look.

Self-injury is not something I do, but last night (spur of the moment) I scraped 7 gashes into the back of my left hand with the end of a paperclip. I did this partly because I just wanted to see what all the hubbub was/is about (my sister used to do this kind of thing to get all kinds of attention). But attention-getting in the normal sense was the furthest thing from my mind at the moment of action. In fact it was only afterwards that I thought, "Oh right, I'll have to hide this come Sat." It was after the fact that I started thinking of what I would tell people who asked, and I know they will ask. I don't see the big deal, but so far the only one that's seen it is my dad (and his reaction was a little disturbed/disturbing). I'm thinking now that I'll get more attention than I ever wanted. But that's what I mean about jumping into it with both feet and not considering with common sense what I'm doing.

Doc Sig says I am afraid to be spontaneous because I've been burned in the past, but it seems every time I am spontaneous (i.e. trying to find something that's genuinely me) something like the above pic happens. I don't know how to channel my tentative attempts of individuality into a socially acceptable area. Part of me says I shouldn't have to as long as I'm not doing something that endangers anyone. All I can do is explain as best I can that I am in no danger of going off the deep end, it's no big deal. If by then they don't understand, that's their problem not mine. I can hear some saying that if I keep up this behavior no one will want to be around me, it will bother them even if it doesn't bother me.

snow or arctic temps, not both

More snow fell today and now it's three feet deep in places. The roads are actually fairly clear because the temp is around 35º, but the parking lots are buried and the plows are running out of space to put the snow piles. The Rainbow near my apartment is perimetered with several 10-foot high piles. I wouldn't be at all surprised if a car or two has been entombed somewhere in all that.

Like I've said, I love the snow. I just don't like having to slog through the melty mush that gets ankle deep (not to mention puddles at every corner).

We got white stuff.

Thought my first posted photos would be of the five or so inches of snow we got yesterday and overnight.














There's a step in there somewhere.
















Buried to its bumper, one of many.


The weather guys say this isn't the last of it this weekend, and more is likely by Wed or Thur. But that's fine, I love the snow (it's the freezing temps I can't stand). It hasn't been this deep in a while and I was in it up to my shins today and deeper helping my dad dig the car out so we could run errands. It was fun, actually. The cold sensation through my jeans brought back memories of playing in the snow as a kid, not caring how soaked I got without snow-pants. Good times.

a word on posting photos

As I've mentioned previously, I finally got my butt in gear and got an account on Flickr, so now I can put pics on my blog. However, my internet connection speed is dial-up (I know, archaic, but it's cheap and my dad is footing the bill so I can't complain too loudly) and if I start putting up tons of photos, it'll take me forever to view my own blog.

So I compromise. A photo here, a photo there, maybe every third or fourth post? We'll see.

By the way, what do you think of my profile pic?

a first (final) step?

While going through the flotsam of my room in an attempt to clean up, I came across a shoebox. It was similar to the one I had for Dave but this one was for Bill, my old highschool teacher.

I say was and not is because I made an active decision to get rid of it. After doing an internal consult, I found that the response wasn't a defiant "No!" but a tired and relieved "You can let it go now, it's ok." So I took all the stuff inside (papers, photos, notes of conversations), tore everything into small pieces and threw it all away. It was hard, letting go of something dear isn't easy, but it wasn't the gut-wrenching nightmare I had feared. Bill may not yet be completely gone from the dark and obsessive crevices in my mind (perhaps never will be), but getting the physical reminders/temptations out of sight can only help.

feeling....ucky

The day after I knew that I'd be flying overseas for sure and soon, I started not feeling well. Nausea, lethargy, possible fever(?). Hopefully it's just a bug and not my body's subconscious protestations about my upcoming risky endeavor.

I'm thinking towards the latter, something like the butterflies I got before my first time on the road with the Messengers, but worse because it'll be just me and it's an ocean away instead of across the border. Also, I don't do well with keeping secrets from those I wish knew. But I'm a peacekeeper by nature with a weak stomach for emotional turmoil, and them knowing my plans would trigger all the questions (especially from my overprotective mother) with answers that won't convince them.

So I'm hoping it's a bug and not that, or the onset of the flu.

a phone conversation with Janne

This morning/last night Janne called on the phone and he and I talked for an hour and a half. We started finalizing times for me to fly out to finally meet him, some things I should expect (this is my first time flying commercially) and how long I could stay, when I would come back and for how long. Not much really, but it was good to hear his voice.

I had an appointment with Doc Sig tonight. Again he was rehashing his doubts about me going overseas. I didn't have the heart to tell him to shut up. I've been seeing him for almost 12 years and I know he only does that because he cares for me as a friend would. He keeps throwing bible at me, which normally I would agree with, but in this case it's just frustrating that he's using the same argument in an effort to convince me when I've already told him it won't happen. It's kind of sad actually. But I'll be leaving for Sweden in two or three weeks and Doc SIg will be out of town until April, so that's one thing off my mind.

I never realized how complicated travel can be. First I have to get to Chicago/O'Hare Airport (either by Greyhound bus or by plane, which involves gates and tickets) then fly out of O'Hare (also gates and tickets, possibly e-tickets). I've never traveled except by car, and the only time I've been outside the US is to Canada, which doesn't really count. Add to that the fact that I'm just gathering the info but it's Janne's money and final decision, sort of. Needless to say I'm nervous.

an IM conversation with Janne

Last night (technically early this morning) Janne and I had a fairly lengthy IM conversation. I told him about what happened with Messengers, about my feelings for Dave, and Lotis wanting to 'create some space', and he agrees it was stupid of them to exclude me over an overblown misunderstanding. Janne gave me further assurance that I have the right to tell them to fuck off, though I highly doubt I'd actually say that to Dave (maybe Lotis). Janne unknowingly agrees with Doc Sig that if they don't want me around it's their problem, and that outside of the initial incident (the collectings in a shoebox) I have nothing personally to apologize for.

So at last count it's me, my dad, Doc Sig, and now Janne on one side of the opinion and Lotis and Dave on the other side, essentially 2 to 1 (though if it were brought to the attention of the church elders I'm sure we would then be grossly outnumbered).

This led to us talking a little about religion (he's an atheist), the theory of evolution vs. a belief in God, the difference of it being stated as fact when it's a belief. As he put it, big issues. But it was a good conversation. Other than some basic stuff like what he does for a living and some of his likes and dislikes (music, books, etc.) I don't know much about him as a person, the inside of him that makes him tick. But then it's hard to do that when talking through a computer and not face-to-face.

when did this happen?

Tonight was the first meeting of the book group I signed up for. As I've said they meet the second Thur of the month, and Thur is also a Messengers' rehearsal night. Since my mom was going to rehearsal anyway she gave me a ride to the group (they're only 4 blocks from each other). After it was over I was going to walk to the church and she would then also give me a ride home.

At the end of rehearsal Lotis, the director, walks up and whispers to me that the next time I want to come I have to get permission from Dave's wife, Renee. Oh, excuse me, I didn't know Renee was in charge of who can and cannot come to rehearsals. I thought for sure that Lotis is the director but maybe something changed in the few months I've been gone. (Again, how do you convey sarcasm in writing?)

Now I can understand that I should get Renee's consent if there's a meeting or get together at their house. I can understand her not wanting me hanging around Dave period. But I didn't go to the church to be around Dave, I was getting a ride from my mom after rehearsal. I shouldn't have to get permission from Renee when she has no jurisdiction over Messengers, she has no final say of who can be there and who can't. It goes back to Lotis not wanting to rock the boat, not wanting to endanger her precious ministry. She doesn't want to upset anyone that she thinks is vital to the Messengers' group. I'm just one person, but there are currently (now including the sound person) five members of Dave's family involved with Messengers, six if you count Renee who cooks many of the Fri night after rehearsal meals for the group. What do they want me to do, wait outside the building and then hide so there's no chance of Dave seeing me? Gimme a break.

Like I said before, sacrifice the one to save the many.

My dad suggested that the next time I go (next month after group) that I should bring a book and just wait in the hallway. That way no one can say anything, they can't tell me I can't be in the church building. Dad said if they made a stink about it he'd take the issue before the church elders. Tempting. I can't wait to share this new tidbit with Doc Sig.

But honestly, when I saw Dave at rehearsal, I'll admit there was a pang, but it was more about the group camaraderie I'm missing because of an overgrown misunderstanding. All this hoopla has made him so not worth the effort. I'm pretty much over Dave in that way. It's too bad they don't see it.

Renee,
I know what I did was wrong. I invaded Dave's personal space, I stomped on your territory, how many times do I have to say I'm sorry? You need to get over yourself. I have.

belated resolutions

In early Jan I posted about an All Night of Prayer at my church. After that I made a short list of what I wanted to accomplish within the next few months concerning my growth as a Christian.

1)Read my Bible and pray every day.

2)Go to church regularly.

3)Join a small group, preferably a woman's group.

As of now, number 1 is the only one I'm having trouble with.

On the 27th I wrote about a coffee/small group event that I attended at my church. This get together was a jumping off point for the women of Bethlehem Baptist (all three campuses) to get organized into a book study group, homemaking skills group, or one-on-one mentoring. My first choice was homemaking. It seemed personally non-threatening, and because practically the only thing I know how to do is sew buttons.

Well, there were no groups like that within range of where I live (somewhere I could take the bus if I had to). So I moved on to a book study group. The only one close enough was still almost to church, but I know the neighborhood and the necessary bus routes to get there so I signed up. It meets the second Thursday of every month, except for in the summer.

Now comes the tricky part. Janne (the guy in Sweden) recently got back in touch with me and said that the reason he's been incommunicado is a friend of his died and Janne had to take care of paperwork and real estate and such. Things have quieted down somewhat and he says that he wants to bring me over in late Feb for two weeks, then I'll come back home for a week or so to make sure I don't make the decision to stay there based on emotions alone. So depending on when I go to Sweden I may end up missing the next Thur meeting in March.

not for the likes of the 'normal'

When people ask me what I do, am I working or going to school, I answer no on both counts. Then I recite my pre-approved list of stuff I do do in my spare time (meaning always). Included in this list is 'writing'. Without fail they perk up at this, as if I'm writing a novel or something. I wish.

I've been good at writing ever since I can remember, whether it's a report or short story, but it was always for school, never for myself. What I've found is that when I write for myself, the only things I write are my vengeful fantasies. Part of me knows this is not a good thing, that writing about kidnapping, torture and murder can get you in a whole heap of trouble. But then the other part says that's only true of those people that know me personally and have an idea that the things I write have a grain of truth, that they are actual wants (though if they really knew me they'd know I'd never act on them). So my problem arises when I try to change things around enough to make it true fiction and yet still have the story ring true for me (not to mention being believable).

So when those people ask, "What do you write?" I tell them it's like short story journalling. They're probably looking for a genre (romance, horror, adventure) but how do I explain that what I write is not for the general public without them then asking more probing questions? Usually I just say I don't feel comfortable about other people reading my writing, which is close enough. I think my telling them that I'm afraid of being thought psychotic would be a little too much information for the merely curious (or anyone other than Doc Sig). But I keep at it, trying to tone down my writing to exclude wanton acts of violence, especially against those I know. I think I'll get a separate writing notebook and make it a personal policy to have no dark and violent stories in it, period.

an appointment with the Doc

Holy shit that man can talk, and talk, and after the first five minutes I glaze over and zone out. Then he asks me what I thought of what he's been saying. Sneak attack! Every time without fail the first word out of my mouth is "Um," because I'm trying to jumpstart my brain back on track to make some kind of coherent comment. Tonight I finally got tired of him doing that and I told him, "I've noticed that you talk a lot. Just talk and talk and talk. (While making opening and closing motions with my hand.)" I didn't have the guts (or was frustrated enough) to tell him to "shush, just shut up and let me talk." Probably next time. I went in tonight with a specific topic of discussion, but he kept talking so I never got to bring it up.

So for nearly the entire 50 minutes he told me of his concerns about my going overseas to see/be with a man I've never met. No matter how I explain it to him he says he can't understand why I'd want to do this. Well, he's into his second marriage so I doubt he remembers very clearly what it's like to be so heartsick and lonely for a companion that it's hard to eat or sleep. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure he has the best of intentions (and we've seen where those can get someone) and I respect his opinion very much. But this is my life, my decision. So butt out, Doc.

if hell froze over

I'm not entirely sure, but I think I may have had some kind of mini breakdown today.

After church tonight I tried to locate Joy for a ride. No luck, so I started looking for someone else I knew who lived in my direction to ask for a ride home. Again, no luck. Ed was there but I'd previously made a decision to not ask him for a ride in order to respect the church's mandate on 'avoiding the appearance of sin' and also for Ed's sake because of any issues he may be working through (plus I'd overheard he was having some guys over to his place for dinner and most likely Christian fellowship: no girls allowed).

As I was donning my jacket I had an idea the trip home would not be pleasant, but I had no idea how bad it would actually be. Some of the following may sound fantastical or out of proportion, but those readers who live in the north will know.

I was not even a block from the church when my nose was too cold to feel. This should have been my first clue to turn back and make another attempt at a ride, even with strangers. By the time I walked the three blocks to the first bus stop I couldn't feel my nose and my lips and chin were almost numb. Luckily at this stop there was a shelter to get out of the wind. The next one wasn't so good.

The ride between stops one and two is long enough that I'd gotten feeling back in my extremities. But there is no shelter at this second stop, no buildings or trees, nothing. I decided to stay standing so as to keep my jacket as closed as possible and so I could jump around to keep my muscles warm. The problem with this transfer point though is that coming home I miss the connection by only 5 minutes. But then it's a twenty minute wait till the next bus. After 10 minutes (I think, I'd stopped checking my watch so as to reduce heat loss) I was pleading with God and Jesus to make the bus come. I couldn't feel my chin or nose or cheeks and my ears were fast disappearing. I kept repeating "please, please, please" while shifting from foot to foot. When the bus finally did come I switched to saying "thank you, thank you" over and over. But this wasn't the last stop I had to wait at tonight.

The next ride between stops is shorter so I was still frosty when I got off this time. This stop is only three long blocks (our 'blocks' here are shaped in rectangles, hence short and long blocks) from the apartment, but three blocks into the wind at this temp is hell. There's a shelter at this stop but it's angled in such a way as to channel the wind instead of block it. So I was huddled against the front panel trying to block my face from the wind, never mind trying to save anything else. And again I missed the connection by 5 minutes, so I had to wait another twenty-five for the next bus. After five minutes I again couldn't feel my nose or my feet, my fingers hurt. I figured the pain was a plus, if I could still feel them then they weren't frozen. At ten minutes I started counting seconds, eliminating the minutes until the bus would come. After four minutes I kinda fuzzed out and sort of forgot why I was counting but just kept counting because there was nothing else to do. I lost track after five minutes when the wind started gusting inside my jacket. And then I spotted the bus down the street. Thank you God! I had trouble finding the handle on my bag I was so eager to get out to the corner so the bus would see me and stop.

When I finally got inside the apartment building I nearly collapsed against a wall I was so grateful to have made it home in one piece (I was whimpering with relief). Upon entering the actual apartment, lo and behold there's my dad watching tv. He said he'd gotten home at around 6:30. Hah! That's funny! (so not funny). I could have saved myself all that misery if I'd bothered to call his cell and ask him if he was home yet and could he come get me. I'd considered it when I was at church, but he'd said he was working till ten today so I didn't call. My bad, not his fault in any way.

Holy Crap it's cold out

I had to get up at 6:30 this morning to catch the bus to church for a coffee/small group event at 8:30. While on said bus at 7 I saw that the outside temp was 18º, when I came home at around noon the temp had dropped (yes, dropped) to 10º. How is that possible?! Isn't it supposed to get warmer around the noon hour? Right now the sun is shining and there's a little drippage off the roof, but the public television weather report is saying it's 12º with a windchill of -5º. This kind of cold must be invoked by satan himself, it's just evil. I've had to rethink my way to church in order to work in some bus shelters I can hunker down in while waiting for the next bus.

There is no way I'm riding the bus home though (the temp is supposed to drop to 0º or below). I'll have to put up with a ride from Joy.

public face

Quite frequently I visit a blog called A Diary of Great Disproportion in which a woman named Rozza chronicles her journey back to some sense of normalcy since her breakdown, as she says. In some ways she's worse off than I am (which, though I know is wrong, I find comforting) but in other ways she's doing better than I am at accepting her problems. A lot of the time I hear myself in some of her postings, another reason I find comfort in reading her blog.

One thing that stuck out about a month ago was her saying she "public faced" someone. It reminded me of a line in Paul McCartney's song Eleanor Rigby: "...wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door, who is it for?" I'm sure everyone has different faces for different people. The healthy, 'normal' ones are able to drop them at will. For others (like me) it's not so easy.

I have different degrees of 'public face' for different people or situations depending on how familiar I am with said person or situation. The face I wear at the pre-service prayer at church is different than the one I wear for my dad or even my therapist. These faces are differing degrees of openness on my part, differing levels of trust. And some of these 'faces' have taken years to be worn down and the trust levels built up enough for casual conversation (Dave) or even just eye contact (John). Sometimes all it takes is the right words (Lotis and Messengers) or the right wording (Doc. Sig.) at the right time to make a huge impact.

turning a quarter century

My 25th birthday is on Sat.

I was chatting online with someone recently, and I've mentioned it here, about how I haven't felt my age since I was 17 or thereabouts. Many times I have felt very young but not in a good, healthy way. Sometimes I have felt older than my years, but this is usually accompanied by a kind of exhausted weariness. After this person and I had talked for a while they said that I just sounded lazy, and that they were sorry to have let themselves spend an hour being depressed by me. That struck a nerve.

I tried to convince myself that this person was totally wrong, they don't know anything about me or my personal history or my family. But I came to realize that's only half the problem, it's a reason but not an excuse. Now that I'm 25 I have no place for excuses any more. I'd say the reason I haven't felt my age in so long is because it was right around 17 when I stopped growing, stopped progressing as a human being. I've been stagnant, stewing in a filthy psychological and emotional mire, building on the foundation of my dysfunctional childhood instead of breaking new ground. Shriveling and rotting from the inside for nearly eight years. But as comfortable and familiar as this mess I'm in is, I don't want to shrivel up and disappear. So it's decision time, a turning point if you will. I need to decide if I'm going to work my way out of this cave I'm in (stepping outside my comfort zone to seek aid) or give up and sink completely.