Why I Write

I write becaue it helps me process. Because some day I hope to write something that more than just I want to read. Because I can.

Days of Random Happenings That Fill One With Joy

I had an hour long talk with Stephie - who was once, offically, my step-daughter and is still a child in my heart. The conversation filled me with joy and I felt like a proud parent of this amazing, talking child who grew up to be an amazing, talking young woman.

And now, I'm listening to The Soloist on NPR. You can hear it here: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=89819987

An incredible story about a homeless musician..."through no fault of his own" became homeless. My, how I wish the world would approach homelessness with this fashion. He even talks about how hard it is to house people who have lived outdoors for so long, the fear, the change, the paranoia that comes. If only, we all could love freely those who cross our paths.

I"m 44.....

...who I am is who I am, I'm not really going to change. Perhaps improve, perhaps become more of who I am, but I'm not going to change. I remain a person who requires a great deal of alone time. People drain me and in order to recover, I need alone time. I live on "the compound" - which I suppose at times looks much like a commune. We share meals, share wine in the garden, talk about who's taking the girls to the barn...and yet when I come home from work and close my blinds, they know, leave her alone. Not that I'm angry, just want to be alone and not share in the regular flow of evenings. No one gets angry, no feels slighted, it just is what it is. It's who I am.

I live in the grey. I really appreciate the dichotomy and ambiguity of me being able to think aloud, head one direction, change my mind and then change it back. I am directionally challenged and get lost regularly. When I really need to be at a specific place at a specific time, I print a map. My life is much the same. I have a map of when to finish school and a time frame for that. The rest of my life is rather directionally challenged. I don't have a plan, I'm going with the flow. For much of my life, that flow was dictated by others. Doing things I didn't want to do to keep peace, not doing things I did want to do for fear of what others would think of me. No more living like that.

I am radical (rad·i·cal –adjective 1. of or going to the root or origin; fundamental: a radical difference. 2. thoroughgoing or extreme, esp. as regards change from accepted or traditional forms: a radical change in the policy of a company. 3. favoring drastic political, economic, or social reforms: radical ideas; radical and anarchistic ideologues. 4. forming a basis or foundation). I am not going to go along to get along. I love to be reflective and ask questions like "why" to the point of hitting the void. I do it to myself and I do it to everyone around me. Last week I asked someone - who I really don't know all that well - why he never got married. None of my business, but his answer showed an ability to reflect deeply and evidence that he had pondered this himself. LOVE it!

I am also ambiguous (–adjective 1. open to or having several possible meanings or interpretations; equivocal: an ambiguous answer. 2. of doubtful or uncertain nature; difficult to comprehend, distinguish, or classify 3. lacking clearness or definiteness; obscure; indistinct: an ambiguous shape; an ambiguous future). I don't think I should have to choose one side or the other. I can see things from many perspectives, enjoy experiencing the same things from different perspectives. I disagree with myself sometimes. I'm a radical feminist but love the mudflap girls. Hate conformity, but took the mudflap girls off my car when I moved here so as not to offend the neighborhood and my co-workers. There isn't just one meaning, there are many realities. Mine is mine, your is yours - sometimes those collide, other times they co-exist peacefully.

Finally, I'm not in control. I tricked myself for a long time thinking I could control myself, those around me and life in general. I've grown up and know that I can't. I'm even able to just move along the tide of becoming, all the while being me.

This is who I am...and all the different parts come out at different times. I'm rarely boring, never quiet, you always know where I stand even though neither of us may know where I'm going. Enjoy the experience and all the different parts of me or not. It's okay with me either way. I think Billy Joel wrote "either way it's okay, you wake up with yourself." The only person I'm gonna wake up with every day is me. The only person I have to look at in the mirror is me...I hate the chicken skin forming on my neck by the way. Aging is a bitch!

Seeds of Discontent

discontent noun
1. a longing for something better than the present situation [syn: discontentment] [ant: contentment]


con·tent (kən-těnt') adj.
Desiring no more than what one has; satisfied.
Ready to accept or acquiesce; willing:

These past few weeks have been filled with discontent. Perhaps my life has been filled with discontent. Some time ago I had a long conversation with my father on the meaning of life. I don't recall he and my mother being filled with angst regarding whether or not their life had meaning. Worrying if they were making money in the right fashion, if thier job was satisfying, if they were contributing to society. And yet, these thoughts are never out of my head. Am I contributing to the community in which I live? Is there something more? Is this all there is? And if so, is it worth it? Yesterday I asked my neighbors (aged 53) what their greatest accomplishments were. One said her daughter, one said that if she ever got there, her greatest accomplishment would be forgiving someone that had wronged her. I wonder, will I ever be content? Desiring no more than what I have? I don't long for stuff, I long for accomplishment. For adventure, moving on, moving forward, learning more. Discovering something, someone, somewhere different.

If I died today, what would be my greatest accomplishment? Have I accomplished anything? And, what if this is all there is? If I spend the rest of my life lounging in the garden, walking on the beach, reading books to expand my own thoughts, is that enough? What if I never accomplish anything? Is a life lived without a goal in mind, an accomplishment being worked towards, worth living? If I'm not working towards something - what is the point of my life?

These are some things I want to do before I call it quits: hike in the Grand Canyon, live on the beach in Mexico, drive around the United States in an RV, go camping with a horse and a dog, ride a motorcycle (not be a passenger), publish a book.

It's not so much that I long for more than I have (discontent) it's content (willing to acquiese; give in) that I'm unwilling to do. Giving in: sounds like giving up to me. But, what am I giving up?

Do the rest of you question yourself, your life, your motives, to this extent with no satisfying answers?

The people we miss....

is always strange. Elisabeth misses Dre like crazy and though she's stopped talking about it out loud, it lingers there and impacts her days. I miss her dad. There are times when I want to call him to chat. In the past 15 years that we have known one another, we've gone through periods where we talk on the phone for hours. I miss that -- although right now I have nothing of significance to say. Maybe the familiarity. Maybe someone who has seen at my worst and there's nothing to hide. I don't know what it is. I miss my sister. Perhaps for all the same reasons. The people who impact us the most continue to impact us even when their presence is not constant.

The Meaning of Life

Catching Up

It's been weeks since I've written - here or in my journal. My insides are so unsettled, questioning everything with no clear direction. My life completely lacks meaning and I'm struggling with that. Or perhaps, the struggle is with living my own life and not being or doing for others. Several weeks ago my kids took the opportunity to tell me most of what they think is wrong with me. Had it been done with respect and sense of love, perhaps the outcome would be different. But it wasn't. It was angry, mean and there was little to no love involved in the delivery. They seem to have moved on - I'm stuck. I have defined myself for so long as "mom" and even though I've not done it perfectly, those five people have influenced every decision I've made, all of the guilt I feel has to do with them, my future plans had them in mind. I feel stripped now and can't move away from the cloud that descended that night. Or perhaps what happened is a veil was lifted and I'm looking at the world with a whole new view of ugliness. What is real for me now is that my defintion of self has come from outside rather than inside. My sense of self has been in defintion of relationship, as a mom and Boomer's girlfriend. Trying to balance those two opposite requirements has left everyone feeling let down - especially me. Now how do I define myself? Where does meaning in my life come from? It's certainly not in the work I'm currently doing. That lacks any sort of value - other than helping me look at myself and define what is worth while to me. Elisabeth has four more years of school and those years, for me, are a time to figure out really what I want to do when she's on her own. I also want to be the best possible parent to her - so maybe she won't stand on a street corner and tell me what a fuck up I am. I know I've not been good at relationships and that my family is a difficult one to penetrate. My inability to define "me" outside of parenthood as made any connection difficult. That being said, Boomer has hung in there through 7 years of change, drama, my anger, her insecurity, me being discontent with life, changing my mind, changing it again, and now being completely undone. This love is not perfect, the situation is not ideal but I do know that she loves me. That's a first - for me to know that someone loves me.

Tim's Teaching Me New Trick

Comedic Inspiration

"How do you know where the line is if you don't cross it?" - Dave Chappelle

He goes on to say, "The truth is permanent, everything else just falls by the wayside." Sometimes this moment in history isn't as important as what's going to last. Tim wrote this week about missing an opportunity to take a stand. http://apesmaslament.blogspot.com/2008/04/on-doing-what-you-need-to-do.html If we all miss opportunties to take a stand, how will history change? Someone needs to be willing to cross the line and be thought of in this moment in history as "over the line" in order for the lines to move and the longer story to reach its destiny. History changes not by obeying the lines, but by moving them. What is it that I stand for? And am I currently standing way behind the line? What am I going to do to get back on the front lines in the fight on poverty and incarceration - the two issues that matter most to me and in reality are one issue intricately linked with hidden agendas and controlled by purse strings of the wealthy.

What would you do with a lot of money?

Someone asked me last night what I would do if I got a lot of money. "I'd give it away." They said, "Wouldn't you buy a big house?" I said, "I'd buy a space big enough for me and Elisabeth and give the rest away." In disbelief, the next question was "To who?" It's such an easy response, "I have five kids. They all could use some help. And if I were to build a big house, it would be for other people to live in. You know, that woman who lives under the bridge because her child is male and he's not allowed in family shelters after a certain age. Or the Black guy who did drugs and got caught, went to prison, has a felony drug conviction and can't get education funds, public assistance or housing assitance. The White guy he got arrested with got his charge reduced and was on probation for six months. Never lost his job. Or maybe the lady who thinks the only thing she has that's worth anything is her vagina. You know, that woman who sells it rather than having it stolen. The woman who was once a child who is now picking at her skin, selling her genitals for a hit of crack. She is someone's child." The conversation ended there. People hate asking me random questions. The problem is, no one thinks anymore. No one considers "what if"....So consider, what would you do if you got a lot of money? If your answers don't include your ENTIRE community, you need to think again. Because the choices you make, affect everyone around you. The whole pebble in the water theory. When you spend recklessly without thought to the prisoners who make your clothes and your license plates, when you drive to work alone every day rather than take the bus or car pool, when you would rather go into debt to carry a Coach purse than contribute to the well-being of someone in your community, you need to think again. So, what would you do if you suddenly came upon a lot of money?

Success

To laugh often and much; to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children ... to leave the world a better place ... to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded. —Ralph Waldo Emerson"

As I struggle with being in the process of becoming, one of the greatest internal questions is what is success? Have I been successful? At this point, according to Emerson's definition, I'd say yes. But I'm not doing what I want. I do get to walk on the beach, in the rain, I'm laying in bed right now with an awesome dog, my kids love me (most of the time) and I think if you asked Pam Baze she'd say she breathed a little easier because she knows I truly care about her. I want to teach and write so much that for me I'm not yet successful because I'm not doing that. I want to make change in my world and not just maintain the status quo. I need to question authority at every opportunity. I'm still like a toddler asking why until I hit the void and there are no more reasons. My favorite question: What are you thinking? If a healthy partnership indicates success, I'm a complete failure there. I want a rock, an anchor, that will always be there for me. After I'm done trying something, changing my mind, making too quick decsions, satiating curiosity, sharing a drink with homeless people in the park, spending WAY too much time and money in the book store, I want them to still be there. To offer me the consistency that I can't provide myself. It's a lot to ask from a person and unlikely that anyone would willingly sign up for that.
I like living on the beach, but are there beaches where brown people live? The whiteness of my world right now feels bad - wrong - incomplete. It's like art that lacks color. So what does success look like? And how will I know when I've acheived it? It looks something like this:
- a partner at home who doesn't freak out every time I chase a new curiosity.
- a house on the beach in a community of diverse ethnicities, cultures and traditions.
- me teaching at a community college.
- me sitting in a chair on the beach writing.

Maybe I need to move to Mexico.

Life is Not What One Expects...

...or at least not what I expected. Every time I think I figure one part out, it switches up on me. What I have learned through it all, is this: I can really do what it takes to make things work. My day started today with an almost 2 hr. drive to Portland for work, and 1/2 way there - a blown out tire. Which I changed by myself on the side of the highway, in a dress and boots. Yes, all by myself. Something has happened in our world, very few people care enough to stop and help anymore. A DOT worker - Dan - stopped right as things were finishing up. But trust me, this is only the second time I've ever changed a tire, I was there for a while as dozens, perhaps hundreds, of people passed me by.
On to my meeting with the head of HR and the VP of a multi-million dollar, multi-state corporation. Our meeting was about the patriarchy, oppression and unfair treatment that the females in my office experience. I wish I could say I was shocked at the outcome, but unfortunately, I was right. The outcome of being called a bitch, having work maliciously undone, having (male) subordinates flat out tell me no when given clear instructions: I'm being too sensitive, perhaps I'm misinterpreting, perhaps it was a mistake the document was password protected preventing me from doing my job (by a guy who just took a typing class because he didn't have computer skills, but he accidentally went through all the steps to place a password on a document!), perhaps I need to use a different set of skills (although none were suggested). My day ended in the HR office being told "when people say something you don't agree with, change the subject." No lie. And that bitch from a patriarchal male old enough to be my father could be a term of endearment. Again, no lie. This from the head of HR.
For anyone who knows me - even slightly - telling me to just "change the subject" when someone says something offensive, racist, bigoted or privileged is just a joke. Are you kidding? The female who said this to me is Jewish - do you think her ancestors just "changed the subject" in order for her to have the opportunity for this position? Indeed, our society will never improve, relationships never be enhanced and those being oppressed freed from oppression if we avoid hard topics. Can you imagine telling poverty advocates to change the subject instead of fighting? Can you imagine homeless advocates "changing the subject" when yet another apartment complex is destroyed in the mighty condo sprawl? I would love to have had the spirit of some early feminists in that room with me today. Elizabeth Cady Stanton would not have changed the subject. She would have stayed on the subject until everyone listened.
I ended my day with my baby girl who is 14 today. We went to pizza, had cupcakes, played video games and now we're gonna fill our heads with American Idol babel. She will NEVER change the subject, be a subject of discrimination silently, subject others to oppression, or sit idly by why tough subjects are avoided. She has a mom and older sisters who have taught her to speak up, stand up and don't settle.
When I asked Elisabeth what the best part of her first 14 years was, she responded: knowing Dre. Her biggest goal for the next 14 years: graduate high school and go to college. You go get 'em Lis. I love you and am so blessed to be your mom, listen to your incessent phone calls, watch you change into a strong, articulate, beautiful human who is full of compassion and grace. You have made my past 14 years better than I ever imagined. Thanks for all you do to challenge me to be the best possible woman I can be.

Hindi

Somehow, I changed my settings and the previous post was translated into Hindi. Although I have no idea how it happened, I"m leaving it as is.

गोइंग Back

हाउ बिज्ज़रे, थिस इस ट्रांस्लातिंग इन्तो सोम क्रेजी लंगुअगे! इ वोंदर इफ थिस इस हाउ आईटी'स गोइंग टू लुक व्हें इ पोस्ट थिस! इफ आईटी इस, इ कोउल्ड से अन्य्थिंग। वहत लंगुअगे इस थिस? एंड वही इस आईटी दोंग थिस? अन्य्वय, इ'म गोइंग बेक टू सिएटल। अस मच अस इ लव थिस एनवायरनमेंट, इ कैन'टी वर्क फॉर कार्पोरेट अमेरिक्क्का, इ कैन'टी लाइव लिके इ दोन'टी गिव अ सहित। इ दो। एंड इ वांट टू लाइव माय लाइफ विथ पुर्पोसे एंड इंटेंशन।

Unexpected Friends

Today I sent out a spontaneous e-mail to several friends in Seattle asking them to be crazy and get in their cars, drive to Oregon and BBQ with me. One of them did. Tim brought Mica and Kay, we BBQ'd, watched the sunset on the beach and had amazing conversation. I'd forgotten how much I missed talking to someone about encampment protocols, drugs, music (The Emotional Crisis Soundtrack - exactly the soundtrack most of our lives are lived to), I've missed sharing passion with someone about something that matters. I feel more rejuvenated tonight after sharing conversation with Tim than I have in weeks. http://apesmaslament.blogspot.com/ Tim's blog is full of juice, great topics, opportunity for feedback and much more meaningful than my diatribe. Tim wrote to me the other day "Life is too short to live like you don't give a shit." I do and I am. Thanks Tim - for the drive down, the spontaneity of your life, and for reminding me what matters.

Profound Sadness

I am so sad this evening. Frustrated - overwhelmed. I moved here to the coast of Oregon to escape the sadness and busy-ness of the city. What I'm experiencing is so much more profoundly sad than working with homeless, previously incarcerated, mentally ill individuals. This place is beautiful in its natural beauty but the people are narrow minded, shallow and epitomize what I believe is wrong with our world. Money seems to be the driving force in every decision. Patriarchy reigns supreme with oppression of every kind being tangible. I truly hate my job. The un-just treatment of the female employees is overwhelming and blatant. It is perfectly okay for the "guys" in the field to call us bitches and expect that our entire job is to be there "for them" and to make their jobs easier. This work is truly the most meaningless, dis-satisfying choice I've ever made. And the peace that marked my home-coming after work each day was shattered today. Jakobi had been outside playing and stepped in dog shit, tracking it all over the house. He and the dog are having a battle of the wills over whose territory this is. I've not experienced this level of grief for quite some time. My work day was frustrating and I tried to overcome with kindness. At the end of the day when I answered phone without overwhelming enthusiasm, I got a called a bitch by the man on the other end. Last Friday, I had a customer who was coming in to pay his bill reach over the counter and pinch my cheek -- like his long lost niece. That behavior is expected and I'm expected to not only tolerate it, but keep smiling. I cannot any longer. I don't know what the next move will be, but I won't be long in this place of patriarchal control.

Hate...

It's becoming prolific in our world. Every major religion and definitely the Abrahmic religions (Judaism, Muslim, Christianity) which are the most prolific, all say to love your neighbors, to do unto others as you would have them do unto you, karma, treat others as you would want to be treated. So why all the intentional bad joo joo? I know I've hurt people in my life, sometimes even intentionally. I once took all of Boomer's very nice designer clothes and gave them to the street guys in Westlake park. Heidi wouldn't let me have a waiting to exhale fire in the front yard, so I gave them all away the next day. This was done with intention - to hurt. In doing an honest assessment, I think that was the last time I did something on purpose to hurt someone. Part of me thinks it's just because I've stopped caring. The better part of me knows it's because I've grown beyond that. I know that hurting someone else doesn't make me feel any better, it just makes me feel guilt on top of the hurt. What matters in my life now is relationship. If you're in my life, I want a relationship with you. At the point that I don't find value in our relationship, I move on. This past winter I made a decision to end two friendships that have been part of my life for a very long time. I don't even miss them. And I feel no need to lash out either. They hurt me, I moved on. I'm learning that I don't need to work for love. There's no earning it. Either love is present or it's not and you can't force it. And once it's gone, you can't get it back. No matter how hard you try.

The Value of Life

What puts meaning in life? Where do we find value? In our work -- sometimes but not for me right now. For most of my life, I found value through relationships -- by doing what someone else wanted me to, or not doing what they didn't want me to. In this space, at this time, I'm trying to figure out what I'm here, what is my worth and what is my value. Getting to the core of my belief system: I don't believe jesus was born of a virgin and died on the cross for my sins, I believe there is some power stronger than myself out there but I've not yet found a way to tap into it, I believe that all people are good and society does something that takes people down the wrong path (society being defined in the broadest sense to include family, religion, school, et al.), I believe that my family is the only thing that has seen me through the hardest time and not having that makes this hard time even harder, I believe that no one can know what motivates another in their choices which means we just don't have the right to judge, I believe that even with the best of intentions we hurt people around us, I believe that money is not the definer of worth. The crazy parts of me: I can't sleep with the window closed, I bake cookies when I'm upset, cleaning gives me comfort, I can't make a decision and stick to it, I find women who murder absolutely fascinating, I would love to meet Charles Manson and Kody "Monster" Scott and I wish I would have known my mom better.

The Early Years

I was born on November 30, 1963 in Harbor City, CA. I was born at 1:22 AM in a Kaiser Hospital on PCH – Pacific Coast Hwy, Hwy 101. Oddly enough, I now live just blocks off Hwy. 101 in Gearhart, OR. It seems my roots always call me back to the ocean. I have no idea how much I weighed or what my mom’s delivery was like. My mom was two weeks away from being 23, my dad had just turned 26 and I was their third child. Definitely not wanted and definitely disappointing that I was female. My parents always joked that they had two kids and two mistakes – Sheryle and I mistakes, Lynnette and Andrew children named after their parents. The story of my name goes something like this: my mom was in labor waiting for my dad to arrive and there was a little girl bouncing all over the room being naughty. Her mom kept saying, “Stephanie Ann sit down. Stephanie Ann, be good.” Thus, when I was a girl and they were ill prepared with a name, that one came up and stuck. My mom used to say that’s why I was naughty. She also used to say that she prayed for patience and god gave her me, thus, requiring her to have a great deal of patience. Not the most loving welcome, but here I was. I have no memories until I’m nine. Perhaps one sort of vague memory of my uncle getting a blow job from my auntie – they lived across the street from us and I think I just walked in without knocking. I used to have bad dreams that someone was murdered in a house across the street and I have some vague memory of our Latina neighbor holding me whilst letting me lick sugar cubes. Other than those two very vague, somewhat cloudy memories, nothing until I’m 9. I have never viewed myself as a victim, but have always felt comfortable with the label of survivor. Never quite sure what I’m surviving though. Many years ago a counselor suggested some kind of abuse that happened, thus removing memory from that era of my life. I rejected that theory at the time and if that did happen, I have zero memory of it. Below is a list that comprises adult symptoms of early abuse survivors. The list contained a few more items, but I have listed only those that I can demonstrate having experienced and/or continue to experience in my life.
Being in your body
· Do you feel at home in your body?
· Do you feel that you are a part of your body or does your body feel like a separate entity?
· Do you find it difficult to listen to your body?
Emotions
· Do you feel out of control of your feelings?
· Do you feel you sometimes don't understand all the feelings you are experiencing?
· Are you overwhelmed by the wide range of feelings you have?
Relationships
· What are your expectations of your partner in a relationship?
· Do you find it easy to trust others?
· Do you find difficulty in making commitments?
· Even though you're in a relationship, are you still lonely?
· Is it hard for you to allow others to get close to you?
· Do you find yourself in relationships with people who remind you of your abuser, or you know is no good for you?
Self-Confidence
· Do you find it difficult to love yourself?
· Do you have a hard time accepting yourself?
· Are you ashamed of yourself?
· Do you have expectations of yourself that aren't realistic?
Major Long-Term Medical Symptoms of Early Abuse
1. Insomnia
2. Eating Disorders
3. Headaches
4. TMJ syndrome
5. Low back pain, chest pressure
Major Long-Term Psychological Symptoms of Early Abuse
1. Anxiety
2. Panic Attacks
3. Low self-esteem
4. Stress disorders - PTSD

Admittedly, my mom was a bit harsh, even abusive – but enough to cause this kind of outcome? She used to do crazy things, treat us poorly, we were her servants for all intents and purposes. She did what she knew to do. Having heard some of her story from my uncle, I understand that her childhood was one of abandonment and abuse. Perhaps she did better than the people who raised her, but perhaps I’ve chosen to not remember the worst of items in order to move forward. Where was my dad in all this? My dad is the epitome of hear no evil, speak no evil, see no evil. He avoids conflict at all costs. He worked at the same company for over 35 years and did what he had to do to raise a family in Southern California. He worked during the week and on the weekends, we camped, fished, or my dad gardened in the back yard. We slowly became the quintessential white family of the OC. House with five bedrooms, three bathrooms and a pool in the backyard, my parents stayed married until my mom passed away. Below is another list, which frankly I find quite enlightening:
1. Low self-esteem, feeling worthless.
2. Fear of abandonment and other abandonment issues.
3. Unexplained fears of being alone at night, nightmares and/or night terrors. . .
4. Feeling overly grateful/appreciative from small favors by others.
5. Boundary issues: lack of, needing to be in control, power issues, fear of losing control...
6. Unexplained anxiety/panic, when with individuals from childhood.
7. Extreme guilt/shame.
8. History of being involved in emotionally, psychological and/or physically violent relationships(emotionally, physically).
9. Distorted body image/poor body image.
10. Hypervigilance.
11. History of ambivalent or intensely conflictive relationships.
12. Depersonalization. Feeling oneself to be unreal and everyone else to be real (or vice versa).
13. Blocking out periods of one's life (usually ages 1-12) or a specific person or place.
14. Obsession with suicide at various times of the year or after triggering events.
15. Wearing layers of clothing, even in the summer - caused by body image issues.
16. Intense anxiety and/or avoidance of gynecological exams.
17. Unexplained fears of suffocation.

If you asked me “Were you abused as a young child?” my answer would no. But for sure, reading this list, I think any professional would say, likely. And the whole layering clothes, I passed that crazy behavior on to my kids. When they were babies, I ALWAYS put more than one layer on them. I’m not sure how many of them still do it, I think all five of them. I know I feel horribly uncomfortable without more than one layer on. It can make me have a very bad day. And I still can’t sleep in the dark or with the window shut. I fear I’ll suffocate during the night. I get anxious about sleeping in hotels when the windows don’t open and hate traveling because I’m not in control, can’t get fresh air on the plane and fear getting lost.

The next blog entry will be an overview of the middle years: ages 9 – 18. A time of life when I actually have memory!

Getting to know me....

I realized this weekend that even the people who I think know me best, don't. In a very strange and public venue, this is going to be my life story. My rants, my raves, my desires and my dreams. I am a person full of ambiguity and dichotomy. I appreciate that but realize that it makes life difficult for those around me. I have a hard time staying still, settling in and committing to anything. Not sure why because I had a family that only moved once in my lifetime. I lived in one home until I was 9, we moved and my parents lived in that house 'til I was 30 or so. So where did this need to keep moving, as Ryan pointed out - running, come from? And am I running to something or from something? The answer to that remains hidden. Daniel says I'm not such a good communicator - what I realize is I'm not a good communicator about the things that actually matter. Writing is easier for me than speaking. I get distracted, make gaps in coversation and never finish saying what I started out saying. This is a way to tell my story, as experienced by me. Your experience of my story may be different because it's my story as experienced by me. I welcome comments, contradictions and critique.