The Piper Called...He's Demanding to Be Paid

Intent, or rather, the absence of intent, has been on my mind a lot lately.

Recently, it came to my attention that a family member who shall remain nameless, made the decision to get behind the wheel of his car and drive after getting very high on Ambien¹ and/or liquor. When he came to his senses again, unfortunately, he found himself in a wee tiny bit of legal trouble. You know, because that's the kind of thing that happens when you get black out loaded and take out 5 miles of shrubbery and mailbox posts before rolling your vehicle.

Thankfully, no one - including the driver - was injured. The car was not so lucky.

He has absolutely no recollection of having been behind the wheel that night, he was that loaded.

But he doesn't understand what everyone is making such a fuss about.

What's the big deal? Why's everyone so mad? Why should he be in trouble when he didn't physically hurt anybody? It's not like he intended to hurt anyone! And even if he had injured someone, if he didn't intend to hurt anyone, why should there be any consequences to his actions? Unbelievably, now he feels persecuted, targeted, hurt and wronged, as we all call him out on his bullshit.

I wish I were kidding.

And I'm kind of at a loss for words in attempting to explain consequences of terrible decisions to someone who doesn't seem to comprehend that the lack of intent to cause harm doesn't excuse the fact that harm has been done - even if it wasn't bodily - regardless of whether he meant to or not. 

How do you convince someone that no matter the excuse, the justification, the explanation, the absence of intent - when you hurt someone because you made a bad choice, you just have. What's done is done. And the person or people you've hurt don't care what the excuse is they just want you to feel sorry, to be sorry, to say, "I'm sorry, I was wrong", and accept responsibility and the consequences of your actions?

I don't care why he thought it was OK to drive under the influence. I don't care what compelled him to think that it was OK. I don't want to hear excuses or explanations. What I want to hear is, "I'm sorry. I was wrong. I accept that I was wrong and will do what I can to make amends as I accept the consequences of my actions."

Making excuses and then getting upset or defensive or hurt because the people he hurt are angry is like saying his feelings are the only feelings that matter. He's the only person that matters. It's all about him. 

But part of being a grown up is knowing that making a poor choice that is guaranteed to be hurtful to other people - knowing you have other, better choices that are much more sound (even if we don't like them) - is inexcusable. That sometimes the only option is to put other people ahead of your own selfish self. And if you don't, being grown up means knowing you'll pay for your self-centeredness in other ways...that there will be potentially long-lasting repercussions.

But how do I say that and make him understand?

I don't know. 

Hopefully I just did.

1: Who knew that was even a thing? I, myself, did not.

Emotional Flu Bug?

I sat down to write a blog post night before last.

Instead, I ended up purging my emotional guts in 3 typed and single space pages and then sent them to a friend who, in his infinite wisdom, didn't respond. He, I'm sure, just archived it under the label "Jane Crazy" aka "Words to Throw Back at Jane When She's Being Crazy". I wasn't realistically crazy at the time of the writing and have no desire to take back any of the things I said about myself which is why it is better filed under the latter tag even if the length of said tag is ridiculous.

I was hopeful that, after vomiting all over just one trusted person, the floodgates would be opened and I'd be able to write here again. I haven't been experiencing writer's block per se. Just...

There's such a thing as transparency and then there is plain tomfoolery. I've walked that line often enough I should be able to recognize the difference immediately. That line between what is uncomfortable - but beneficial - to disclose...the kind of thing that connects me to someone else reading...and what is disastrous, the rippling effects of damaged relationships felt for literary miles, to discuss and open up to comment.

I feel as though I've been skirting that line every time I sit down to write. The topics at the forefront of my mind squeezing ever tighter around my brain and my heart, closing me off from what's really important, refusing to let them out...let them go. So I just didn't write. Much.

I'd start a post. Stop. Delete. Or just save to draft. I've got at least 20 of those drafts taunting me now. Some are good! Some are relevant, timely social commentaries. Some are homages to lost loves whose ghosts I hold particularly close to me during this time of year...Andy, whose birthday fell on Thanksgiving this year, and Sarah Grace whose 9th birthday would have been Monday just past. But I couldn't bring myself to finish them while these other things weighed so heavily on my chest.

Those things that shall not be named here now.

So I sat down to write a blog post. And, instead, I puked my emotional guts out onto one person I thought could handle what I had to say. I felt better. More clear-minded. And I had a direction which led to a few epiphanies which will, in turn, lead to conversations I know I must have...even though I don't want to.

And then I can say what I want to say here.

Hopefully.

I think.

Stay tuned.

What's New?

1) I'm sick.

As it is mid-November, this should come as no surprise to anyone - especially me. And yet, it still caught me a little off guard as I normally get hit with the crud right around the autumnal equinox. In fact, I was starting to feel a bit cocky given that Lex had the plague just a few weeks ago and I didn't catch so much as a sniffle from him.

Alas, germs. I have them. 

Not helpful to my condition was the fact that something happened to the gas line coming into our apartment building and so, for two days - the entire weekend - we had no heat, no hot water, no ability to use our stove. It was a mite chilly in here by Saturday mid-morning when temperatures plunged and the rain/sleet/snow began to fall. Overnight lows on both Saturday and Sunday nights were in the lower teens outside and only slightly warmer inside The Grotto. The situation was eventually rectified late last night...just in time for fever to strike and for me to wake up sweltering around 3 a.m, desperately kicking off covers, opening the window, and peeling off pants and socks in search of relief from the oppressive heat the radiator above my bed was pumping out. 

Yuck.

Anyway!

2) So...a couple of weeks ago, by some fluke, I was voted onto the board of Denhac. I had never been voted onto anything before so I was a little flabbergasted. I didn't even have an acceptance speech prepared. I mean, all those years of practicing my Oscar acceptance speech in front of my sister's full length mirror and I choked?! WTF?

Anyway!

It kinda feels like winning Homecoming Queen or voted most popular but way geekier and I'm not required to wear a fancy dress or pantyhose...uh...I don't think...which suits me just fine. But I wasn't honestly expecting to get voted on even though there were 7 slots and only 8 candidates. Clearly, I don't always hold myself in the highest esteem.

Regardless, I got voted onto the board and then subsequently got elected Secretary.

But not this kind of Secretary...

Uh...I don't think.

Mostly, I think I'm just supposed to take and publish minutes. No spankings [generally] allowed.

3) So...the US Presidential election happened. 

I have kept this blog and my Facebook/Twitter/G+ pretty clean about my personal leanings - I don't tend to use them for a political pulpit anyway - but suffice it to say I was happy with the outcome. 

Pre-election, I tried my best to stay as tuned out as possible. The anger, fear, self-righteousness from both sides left me feeling sick to my stomach and sick in my heart. I will confess I unfriended two people from Facebook as they virtually screamed utter nonsense at everyone in their friend list. 

In the wake of the election though, I've allowed myself to be appalled by the racist tweets published by teenagers, to laugh and understand the sadness of White People Mourning Romney (it's just as I felt in 2004), but mostly I've read some incredibly thoughtful articles written from both sides. Today, in particular, I read this article from the Washington Post - GOP's Red America forced to re-think what it knows about country. 

The reason why I point to this article is because, while I fundamentally disagree with everything this woman stands for, the article so gently captures her disappointment, her sadness, her confusion, and her fear, I felt as though I could somehow to relate to everything she was feeling...from the other side.

I'm under no illusion that the woman herself is as gentle as the author makes her out to be. But the piece was written in such a way that only the most heartless wouldn't find some compassion for her. In other words, Eli Saslow made this woman real in a way that White People Mourning Romney simply parodied. 

If I thought it would do any good, I would ask her to sit down with me over a pot of coffee and talk about Colorado. 

“And Colorado? Who the heck is living in Colorado? Do they want drugs, dependency, indulgence? Don’t they remember what this country is about?”

I would gently explain to her that I - me - I'm living in Colorado, Sister. And I do remember what this country is about. It's about freedom from religion (even yours). It's about freedom of choice. It's about free speech. It's about having equal opportunity under the law (even for women and minorities). It's about the freedom, as a single, aging, independent, feminist woman to openly challenge and defy your (and a shit ton of other people's) idea of the "natural order of the household"...

“Yes, Lord,” she said. “We are saying yes to honoring you, but no to the junk of this world, to the wickedness, the self-gratification, the path that we are just saddened by. We choose your path, Lord.”

It was a path that had worked for her, providing strength and stability during her parents’ rocky divorce, and then helping her transform from a stubbornly independent woman — the “feminist, I-am-woman, hear-me-roar type,” she said — into a mother and a wife who respected what she called the “natural order of the household.” 

I would try to explain to her that her party - the Republican Tea Party - is scaring people. It frankly reminds me of 1970's Iran and the rise of the Ayatollah Khomeini. And we all know how well that's working out for the Iranian people - especially women and those of other faiths. 

So no matter what her party runs and banks on for their economic plan, when it comes to civil, human rights, many, MANY of us are terrified. 

That's what happened to America. We, the complacent, got supremely scared.

Ask any one of us and we'll tell her/him/them.

Amirite?

So that's what's new. Mostly. I think.

Decisions Decisions

This morning, I seriously contemplated putting a lid on Jane In Her Infinite Wisdom.

I can't pinpoint precisely why, only some of why.

A) I've barely been blogging.

B) What little I've been blogging about feels mostly like angsty, crazy talk and I don't think I'm quite that angsty or crazy...uh...I don't think. At least, not yet.

C) It mostly feels unmanageable right now with work, socializing, and writing other stuff.

D) I don't feel funny anymore when I sit down to write here. Maybe my funny's being used up in my other writing. Maybe I'm not funny *gasp*. Wait...Scratch that. I'm totally funny. Stop mocking me. I am too funny!

E) I've directed a few people here who wanted to get to know me and, all of a sudden, I feel exposed in a way I can't quite put my finger on. Obviously, I'm not censoring myself any more than usual so that isn't the problem. Wait...maybe that's precisely the problem. I'm not censoring myself nearly enough. The blogging boundaries I set for myself years ago feel blurred all of a sudden and I'm never quite sure whether I've crossed them or not.

Hence, the deleted post the other night. Hence, why I have so many unfinished posts in my drafts folder.

Perhaps that's the true reason why I would even consider closing up shop and moving on to some other blog I created where no one knew my name. Because when I feel vulnerable and exposed, when I feel unsafe, I strap on my virtual running shoes and make a break for it.

Huh. I think I just stumbled on the problem.

This blog has never had a theme. It isn't something I'm trying to make money at doing. It's not about building an audience or compromising my integrity or writing about topics I couldn't give a Vinny shit less about. It has rarely been about politics, feminism, or celebrity gossip. It's mostly been about me...my trials and tribulations as a single woman navigating the world as a modern spinster. It is me...and my infinite wisdoms. Exposed. Vulnerable. Funny, lovely, sad, grief-stricken, cuckoo-crazy, traumatized, excited, bewildered, judgmental, angry, disgusted, hopeful, grateful, full of infinite love, thoughtful. All that I am and more. I've never pretended to be good at this venue. I've been hard pressed to call myself a blogger. Blogging is not something I am even though the blog is chock full o' who I am. Instead, it's something I do. 

The question is...do I want to do it anymore?

And then I think about the time (not just my own) and money that has gone into revamping this blog, moving it to a different platform and a self-hosted server, giving it a fresh header and a bit of a different look and feel...all of that has been done. I just have to make the switch over. I think about the new business cards that just arrived...the ones that promote Jane In Her Infinite Wisdom on one side and Sharp Pointy Objects on the other. Do I really want to start all over again?

Because, realistically, I would. Start all over again, I mean. If I closed up shop here, you'd find me somewhere else...at Jane Is a Mean Horrible Bitch, Bourbon and Shame, or maybe I'd steal Snot Faucet away from Acr0nym (I was, after all, the one who came up with that domain). Just like I did when I left livejournal for here, or livejournal for myspace, or friendster for livejournal.

And every time, the same things are apparent...

I am infinitely:

Lost

Lovely

Disgusted

Thoughtful

Humbled

Bewildered

Terrified

Crazy

Silly

Loving

Traumatized

Generous

Judgmental

Mean-spirited

Remorseful

Lonely

Awed

Self-deprecating

Brilliant

Dumb

Confused

Respected

Disrespectful

...and Wise.

I am wise, you know. Even if I don't always feel like I am sometimes. Even if I joke tongue-in-cheek about it. I am. 

And so I think I'll stay. For now. Jane In Her Infinite Wisdom is, after all, me. I didn't know how wisely I'd chosen when I picked that name until right at this very moment.

I may not accept that I am "just" a blogger. But my blog is me. This blog is who I am. Infinitely WISE and also *cough* wise *cough*.

Do I contradict myself?

Very well I contradict myself - 

I am large - I contain multitudes.

                            -Walt Whitman

On an Express Elevator...Going Down

This is a picture of the Waldo Mountain Fire in Colorado Springs (photo credit: The Denver Post - there is a slide show at the link of hundreds more images).

I'd gone to bed, exhausted, at 9 p.m. Tuesday night and just laid there, eyes wide open, restless legs wriggling and writhing, head pumping out jumbled thoughts at warp speed, checking my phone for updates on the fire, on friends. When I finally gave up and dragged ass out of bed Wednesday morning around 4, the above image was the first I saw.

I have never, in 40 years, seen anything like it. Not just the Waldo Canyon fire - although that is the worst as far as our current fires go with 300+ homes lost and 30,000+ evacuated including the residents and employees of the Air Force Academy - but all of it - all the fires surrounding us, a ring of fire really. The smoke so thick at times, my eyes water involuntarily and I feel as though I can't breathe.

And still the heat, the oppressive glare of the sun beat down on our heads, no relief.

Time felt as though it were standing still as heat and smoke and fear-filled tension pressed down on our heads as I waited with baited breath to hear news of containment or if fire lines had been breached. The week stretched into one continuous hot second. And it seemed as though Friday, my favorite day, would never arrive. 

When it did, finally, a larger than usual crowd gathered at our usual watering hole. But the energy was off. Not low but aggressive, pent up, volatile. It was as though everyone had been penned in by the ring of fire and the heat and had come out swinging when the weekend gate got sprung.

Nothing was right about that night.

Nothing.

When I got up yesterday morning, my entire being felt mired in yucky muck. Wave after wave of anxiety, of angst, of feeling as though I were somehow all wrong crashed over me. Rationally I knew this wasn't so. Intellectually I knew what I was experiencing was a culmination of raging PMS hormones, hot flashes, PTSD-induced emotional overload, and feeling trapped, suffocated, by the damnable sustained heat.

Still...I couldn't seem to help myself as I whipped my insides raw.

You know, I am really not a very good friend to myself occasionally. In reality, I'm the worst of the worst kind of enemy - sneaky, malicious, cruel. It's pretty awful how I treat me.  It's a good thing I have a lot of people who love me in my life who make up for the abuse I sometimes heap on my own head. It's also a good thing I only treat me so poorly. Otherwise, I'd be completely friendless and unloved. I probably would have been stoned to death long before now.

Anyway!

That was yesterday.

Today dawned with goodness in the air. Oh, it was still hot, believe you me, but there was a whisper of an idea - a promise to spend time with Acr0nym (something I've gotten precious little of in the last few weeks...I'll tell you all about that later) - doing something a little different.

The text read: "I have a vague craving to go find a buffet at a casino in the mountains...Whatcha think?"

I thought it sounded particularly awesome.

Not because I love casinos or buffets for that matter. I can gladly live without either one. But because it was a chance to get in the Intrepid with the BFF and Hans the Roaming Goth Gnome, all of us together again, for a Sunday afternoon adventure to somewhere that was not 100°.

It was a beautiful drive - even if the world outside looked parched, shriveled, half-baked. The traffic was easy, the late afternoon sun not quite as brutal while we were enveloped in the confines of the tinted windows and air-conditioned Intrepid interior, the conversation, as usual, easy with lots of comfortable silences.

The first casino we came to, the Riviera, had a blazing neon sign announcing "Crab and Prime Rib Buffet served nightly!" Since Acr0nym specifically mentioned he was looking to gorge on crab legs and prime rib, this seemed to be a sign that we should stop post haste.

I couldn't stop grinning as Acr0nym and I piled our plates high with crab legs - a first for me - and as he taught me the misogynistic art of tearing off and cracking open each leg to get at the delectable meat. He made fun of me for eating a salad even if I did put extra bacon and croutons on it. I teased him for not letting even one vegetable pass his lips (at which he pointed out the trace amount of spinach he'd ingested with his one oysters Rockefeller). We avoided the starches - no taters or green beans or dinner rolls - so as to pack as much tasty tasty meat into our bellies...until we got to dessert and, well, you should have seen the desserts.

I'm not ashamed to admit I had two.

On the way back, we both yawned openly and often and sighed with contentment.

It was a wonderful afternoon.

Beyond that, it was a  soothing end to an icky beginning. It's still hot, there are fires still raging - now tearing through my Wyoming home, I'm still prone to little waves of panic, of worry, of feeling as though I'm somehow all wrong about any number of things - not the least of which is the wonder if I'm the one who is somehow just all wrong generally speaking. But I feel better. I remembered that, no matter what, I've got an awful lot of love in my life. That there are too many people to mention who love the woman I am for all the reasons I'm good but also because of all the reasons I'm not. 

I'm putting the flogger quietly away now.

I am a lucky girl.

Under That Thick Layer of Dust Was a Life Worth Living

I haven't cleaned my house in the better part of a year.

Don't look at me like that!

o_O

O_o

O_O

I said *I* haven't cleaned my house. That doesn't mean it hasn't been done. It just hasn't been done by me.

You see, about a year ago, I started slipping into a bout of depression - worse and longer than I've experienced in many, many years. The kind of depression that makes it, some days, nigh impossible to even get out of bed let alone pick up a rag and *gasp* dust. Because seriously? On a rare good day when one has enough energy to dust, does one actually dust? NO! One goes out and enjoys the loosened chains that bind her.

Anyway!

So when it became clear I wasn't going to clean and when it became clear Peej desperately needed fast cash to get her car repaired, Lex and I struck a deal with her. We'd pay her $50 a cleaning - good money for a couple of hours of work - to have her come over and give The Grotto a working over once a month. Not quite up to my mother's once-a-week standards, mind you, but more often than it was getting done by me at the time.

But that also meant only the common areas - kitchen, bathroom, living room, etc were kissed and inappropriately fondled by Mr. Clean. My bedroom and Lex's bedroom were decidedly our own responsibilities. Which, of course, means my bedroom...well OK OUR bedrooms (because Lex is as bad about cleaning just normally as I am when I'm depressed)...have been thoroughly cleaned approximately 3 times...in a year+change.

Shuddup.

It's easy to overlook filth when you know it's your own filth.

A couple of months ago though something began to happen.

I slowly started feeling better.

Just a little bit. So slowly at first it actually seemed as though I was getting worse instead of improving. In fact, my anxiety skyrocketed about 6 weeks ago to the point where I was waking up in the middle of the night freaked out and gasping for breath, never mind the fact that I couldn't look an entrance to the highway full on without panicking or contemplate the idea of driving even surface streets after dark.

But about a month ago, I was running late for work, feeling, for once, relatively pretty good, and decided I would brave the highway and I. Didn't. Die. That was my first clue that things were improving. Since then, I have only had to take surface streets to or from work once.

It was about that time I found myself out on a Saturday night - for GeekShow as it were - something I hadn't done in months. I'd been adamant when the depression set in that I would continue to go out and be social at least one weekend night every week no matter how shitty I felt. That turned out to be Friday nights because Fridays were largely planned for me and were nearly always Acr0nym's early nights where I could still be social and yet at home in my pajamas by midnight.

So I found myself out on a Saturday night and I. Didn't. Die. In fact, for the first time in a very long while I actually felt...normal. Well, OK, Jane Normal which is different than most people's idea of normal but still...I felt great! I talked to people who had, up until then, intimidated me. I laughed, I joked, I inappropriately touched the bald heads of strangers. 

Ever since, I haven't shied away from shenanigans on a Saturday night. The weekends around here have been quite busy and happy and fun. I'm not angsty. I'm rarely anxious to the point of panic. I look forward to seeing people, expending energy on others, connecting with people in a way I've not allowed myself to since last year.

Beyond Saturday nights though, four other things have happened that are solid indicators of my improved mental state.

1) I've begun organizing regular Church 'o Brunches again. That's not to say I've not had brunch in the last year. I just haven't been throwing these Sunday midday gatherings with any kind of regularity. Most often, I haven't even been the one who's been the instigator. But the last two weeks there has been brunch. Good brunch. With bacon. Because I said so.

2) I've found my funny again. Believe it or not, I'm kind of known for my one liner zingers. My timing is typically impeccable. However, I have been too pre-occupied and sad to turn the funny juice on so when, on Memorial Day, I was sitting around Acr0nym's table with a delightful group of friends and dazzling them with my wit, and was told people ought not to eat peanuts around me as I have a tendency to cause spontaneous laughter and subsequent inhalation of whole peanuts, I felt...back.

3) On Thursday, I got up, took my shower, got dressed, and then, as I headed back toward my room and the computer with a cup of coffee I smiled to myself and thought, "I love this hour of the day. This hour I have all to myself to enjoy a cuppa joe and the morning is my favorite hour of the day." I hadn't thought that in quite some time.

4) Last night, after I'd run errands and started several loads of laundry, I decided it was high time I cleaned my room. I mean really clean my room - vacuuming and dusting included. There are things I left undone - a pile of paperwork I need to sort through and shred and I didn't clean the windows or dust the baseboards but, for all intents and purposes, my room is clean. And it felt SO GOOD, I cleaned the bathroom. My car is next.

w00t!

I'm back. And even though today was largely sucked away by migraine and the subsequent brain fog that comes in its wake, I feel really good. Happy. Hopeful. 

I feel like me again.

I've experienced bouts of depression since I was a kid. I've never been medicated for it - that's a choice I've made...to change my brain chemistry through natural means whenever possible. I acquired skills and tools to help me through rough times and that's usually all it takes. However, the last year has been one of the hardest of my life between physical ailments and trauma, family strife with my dad, heartache, and major work challenges. This is the first time in my life I seriously considered medication.

But I didn't request anything from my doctor. I made it through. I'm cautiously optimistic that this round is over and I've emerged victorious.

Me.

I love being me.

And frankly? I really love my life.

And that's what I found under a thick layer of dust last night. A life definitely worth living. My life. And me.

Judgment. Epiphany. Zen Stick. Ouch.

I guess it started with the first episode of Sharp Pointy Objects...the one I named Self-Esteem. Or maybe it started before that when I first became aware of the overt war on women happening in state and federal capitol buildings across the nation. I do know the self-awareness and shame came to me several days before we recorded episode four of Sharp Pointy Objects - Sex Work and Feminism. That episode only sealed the deal. 

Regardless of where it started, a couple of weeks ago, I had an epiphany.

I am a harshly judgmental person...in all the conditioned ways.

And I really don't like this about myself.

Let me explain.

Last year, about this time, I was seeing someone, someone I cared very deeply about, someone I saw great potential in...at least insofar as to say he seemed to fit nicely into my scheme of how Jane's World operates which is to say I love nearly everyone and require those important to me to accept that I will express love to however many I choose in whatever way I choose and, in fairness, will accept vice versa gladly.

And then he dumped me in the worst possible way. He dumped me but didn't tell me. He let me find out about it on Facebook when my replacement - a much younger, thinner, prettier woman - changed her relationship status. A woman who, for all intents and purposes, purports herself to be a silly, vacuous, self-absorbed little girl looking for Mr. Good Bar. She has admitted repeatedly to wanting only one thing out of life...a man to take care of her so she doesn't have to work.

w00t!

Was I bitter? Oh yeah. Very. Was I angry? Yup! Was I hurt? Beyond belief.

A couple of months after the relationship was over, while my heart was still smarting immeasurably, I saw her out at a club dressed to her own standard of nine's in a corset and mini skirt.

Now...when I say she is thinner than me? She is. That's a fact. But she is not thin by any stretch of the imagination. So, when I saw her that night, dolled up in what I'm sure she thought was an outfit to impress, I honed in on her back fat so prominently accentuated by her corset.

I laughed snidely. I pointed it out to my close friends. And then I took a picture of the evidence with my phone. 

Solely to make fun of her at every turn.

I hated myself the moment I snapped the picture. 

Because even then I knew what I was doing was wrong, shameful, ugly. To pick on a woman because of the way she looks is the lowest common denominator in the war against women. It was calling the pot black while me, the kettle, was blacker than that! I knew it. Even then. Still...I did it. I am not proud of it. Not at all. 

I never did make fun of her publicly. I never posted that picture anywhere. That does not excuse my abhorrent behavior. I made fun of her in my head and to a few understanding friends because of how she appeared. And I justified my judgment of her appearance because the two of them had hurt me terribly. Because the two of them were deceitful. Because the two of them lied. But mostly...because I was a mean, hateful, horrible bitch. 

Fast forward.

Mid-February, 2012, I recorded and published a podcast about self-esteem. Mid-march I recorded and am about to publish a podcast about sex work and feminism. After talking, at length, to women I admire, adore and respect, I no longer want to use words like bitch, slut, prostitute, whore. I don't want to offend women I love. But it's even more than that...bigger than my love for them...

Her image - the back fat image - and my capturing evidence of such, looms shamefully large.

Because women - all women, all people - are more than that...better than that. Even when they act as though they are stupid, vacuous, and silly. 

She doesn't deserve my ridicule for her appearance. I have absolutely no room to talk. She doesn't deserve my ridicule for acting like an airhead, stupid girl when she likely isn't, because wow. Girls are societal victims of just such programming. I can't blame her for not really knowing any better. I can't blame her for buying into the Disney-fication of the world when that's what we've shoved down her throat until her gag reflex was so over-developed she could likely deep throat Ron Jeremy (ew). And she is young enough to continue to fall prey to the conditioning that beauty and charm brings the prince.

That was the epiphany.

I was blaming her beauty, her charm, her ability to accessorize, for my broken heart. And I was pointing out, bitterly, vindictively, her imperfections to my friends to deflect actual character flaws...in her, in him...

In me.

He dumped me because I brought out his vulnerability he didn't want to expose. He dumped me because I felt strongly for him and expressed it. He dumped me because I wasn't easily distracted from what made him - the "him" with which he wasn't comfortable. What he didn't do is dump me because I was old, ugly, fat.

I'm fairly certain now, tonight, he thought I was beautiful.

I, tonight, honestly think he dumped me, replaced me, for someone infinitely easier. She wasn't more beautiful (younger, thinner, yes, but not more beautiful). She was just able to believe his facade of strength. A facade he depended on and one I never believed.

The epiphany came when I understood thoroughly...we aren't loved because we are physically perfect. We're loved because we are what the other person needs us to be.

16 Pet Peevery Lane

Warning: trigger alert

Have you ever interrupted someone while they were talking, telling a story, making a comment, to say something you were so excited to add it couldn't wait until the other person was finished, so you raised your voice over the top of theirs, squashed their words, and made the conversation about what you had to say?

I've done it. On occasion. I do try to apologize for it after the fact.

Have you ever interrupted someone while they were talking to you, telling a story, making a comment, by raising your voice over the top of theirs, squashing their words, and introducing an entirely different topic than the one the person you've just interrupted was discussing?

Think back.

Have you?

Have you ever interrupted someone so often they stop talking altogether? Or were you too deafened by your own voice to notice you were the only one speaking anymore?

Interrupting someone mid-sentence is rude and unacceptable. Rather than focusing on what you might have contributed to the conversation, the person interrupted is left thinking and feeling one of three things:

1)  They are unimportant to you.
2)  They do not have your respect or your attention.
3)  You are a narcissistic jerk in love with your own voice and thoughts.

Just. Stop. It.

Or you might find, eventually, that the only one left in the room listening is you.

Chock Full O' Preservatives

Have you ever told a lie?

Oh, please. Of course you have! Everyone has. Show me someone who says they cannot tell a lie (George Washington *wink wink* *nudge nudge*) and I'll show you a liar.

What about a white lie? Have you ever told one of those?

I'm guessing most of you tell white lies you're barely conscious of telling. Even the most forthright people I know, the most honest people I know, tell them. Usually though, the lies told are innocuous and understandable.

Most of us tell white lies to preserve the feelings of someone else. Right? Isn't that the point of a white lie? Telling someone something they want to hear to save their feelings in some way?

Now, have you ever been caught in a lie - even a white lie?

I know I have and it's pretty embarrassing, humiliating, especially when my intentions are the best. Because I know my word is only good when it is honest and lying calls my goodness into question. I don't like that. I AM good...mostly.

As I've gotten older, my tendency to tell white lies has decreased significantly. Perhaps it's because I've honed my delivery, softened it so as not to offend...much. Still...occasionally I do find myself telling a white lie and justifying it to myself by saying, "It's to preserve his/her feelings".

But is that the right thing to do?

One of the reasons I respect Peej is because Peej is THAT friend. The one you can call to come over and watch you while you try on outfits and know, 100%, that she is telling you the truth when an outfit looks great because when it doesn't she says, "Um, no, really, that is not an outfit you should ever ever everever wear even under the cover of darkness in your own home alone while dancing around, clutching a hairbrush microphone, and lip syncing to Madonna". (Yes, I do this. Shuddup. Don't judge. Madonna is awesome.)

Goddess of the universe

I strive to be like her (Peej. Not Madonna.) in my own offered fashion opinions (and that's kinda laughable given my own personal fashion style which, if you must know, is zilch on the 1-10 awesome scale). Frankly, because there is very little worse than being caught in an outfit you shouldn't even wear dead because someone you thought you could trust told you it looked good...while keeping her fingers crossed behind her back and her snickers masked in the confines of a forged coughing fit.

So then, here's another question. Is there anyone you trust implicitly to tell you the truth every single moment of every day and should you trust them? Did you need convincing or was it inherent within your relationship?

The only people I trust to tell me the absolute truth as he sees it are Lex and Acr0nym.

Not even Peej is to be 100% trusted. This is not because she's betrayed my trust but because I know everyone is fallible to the little white lie to preserve a feeling or two. I love Peej. I trust Peej. But I understand and accept that there are probably times when she's told me a white lie or two just to spare my delicate flower feelings. I suspect she feels the same about me. And that's great!

However, I trust Lex completely all the time. This took literally years to happen. I trusted him most of the time about most everything but there was one thing - the biggest thing - I didn't trust him about until we'd lived together for three years. And that was that I didn't believe he wouldn't just turn on me and leave...until he didn't.

I trust Acr0nym all the time. It took awhile to come to that although not as long as it took Lex - and maybe that's because of Lex - but it did happen. Perhaps it's because he told me - in public - something that cut through me like the sharpest of convenience store knives and I didn't die. Whatever the reason, I trust Acr0nym to always tell me the truth - most especially when it hurts.

I guess then, my question is this...who do you trust? Do you assign levels of trust? Do you find yourself completely vulnerable to no one, to just one, to several someones? Within the schema of things, do you find that your ability to white lie increases the less you trust?

The answers feel important to me tonight. Please, by all means, weigh in.

Freeing Fodder Food for Thought

Just this morning, I was introduced to Neil Strauss - author, journalist, ghost writer. FYI: His blog requires a login. It's free but you do have to sign up to access his content.

I found him because a particular Redhead Writing Ranting linked to one of his blog articles on Twitter.

The post she linked to, Getting in the Dirt, is about writing your memoirs and how vitally important it is to share secrets with your readers. He says, "you must not be afraid to share things that may make you look bad, cause others to judge you, or even harm relationships you have".

Because Lovely Readers will KNOW you're holding out.

When he said, "...the bricks that create each of us are not all made of gold. Some are shit. And we’re all a combination of both." I was struck dumb.

Because it's true.

I was so excited about this statement, I made Peej (who was over cleaning) come into my room so I could read it to her and, Peej being Peej, she had some incredible further insight. She said, "Well...that makes sense. When people want to read about a hero, they read Superman comics. They don't want Superman to be real. They want him to be perfect. If someone wants to read about someone who is like them - human and fallible - they will read Batman. Batman may be a good guy but he's human, he makes mistakes, his drive comes from an inherently human place. Readers connect with Batman because he is one of us." Or something like that anyway.

This got me thinking about why I read the blogs of so many people - everyday Janes and Joes - who aren't dispensing advice, or rattling off recipes, or recommending products but, rather, who are just talking about their lives, their thoughts, their work, their play, their struggles, their joys, their beliefs.

I read because those writers are real. And that's compelling. It makes me feel...less alone.

Melanie over at Is This the Middle posted this morning about how grateful she is for her fellow bloggers. She called us "a proud to be quirky lot". I loved that. It's true. You have to be pretty quirky to actually want to do what we do on a daily basis. And it's our very quirks that make us readable, relatable.

All of a sudden, Neil Strauss's words made sense to me, connected dots for me that hadn't been visible before. No one wants me to be perfect...except me. Everyone else wants me to be exactly as I am, as they are.

Flawed.

I feel as though I've been set free.

A Cautionary Blogging Tale

A few years ago, a good friend of mine was fighting tooth and nail to keep custody of her son in what would become the ugliest child custody case - a perfect example of what power and money can do - I've ever born witness to.

She lost the initial fight and the battle continues on 3 YEARS later in appeals court filings as she misses the best years of his childhood¹.

During the first few months of initial filings and court proceedings, my friend started a personal blog to keep her family members and close friends apprised of any news of the case as well as a central place for us to go to donate money for her mounting legal costs.

As I'm sure you can imagine, occasionally her anger, frustration, and sadness was evident in her writing. It was never particularly venomous toward her ex-husband but she was not particularly kind or generous when describing some of his (IMO) despicable actions. He and his lawyers found the blog.

I was called to testify on my friend's behalf for a number of reasons but mainly as a character witness.

During my testimony, under cross-examination, my friend's blog was raised as a major point of contention. Here is the exchange as I wrote about it at the time:

Attorney: Ms. T. You work in broadcasting...in JOURNALISM! Surely you must agree Ms. N's disparaging remarks made against Mr. H in her blog were inappropriate and irresponsible particularly without giving Mr. H an opportunity to present his side of the story?

Me: (laughing) No, Sir. I do not agree. Blogs are, by their very nature, personal, subjective, biased accounts of experiences and emotions. They would not be subject to the same high ethical standards in news reporting because they are not news. And if Mr. H is so concerned with presenting me with his side of the story, please, by all means, have him share the link to his own blog and I, as an avid blog reader, will be happy to oblige him.

Apparently, the magistrate didn't agree. Apparently, the magistrate didn't agree with pretty much anything my friend or any of her witnesses did or said.

It was because of this very event I wrote my own blog disclaimer which reads:

This is MY blog. These are my thoughts and these are my works - content owned by me. This blog is not intended to be a representative of any news or journalism source. It is, with my full knowledge and intent, to present only my piece of reality as I see it, when I see it. I reserve the right to change my mind at any time about any thought I have. I reserve the right to moderate all comments. I reserve the right to delete any comment I don't like. I reserve the right to ramble about my side with no consideration to the other side. If someone wants to present his side, he can get his own blog. If he wants to share the link to said blog, I'll be happy to read it at my leisure.

Huh. I still don't have any edits to that more than 2 years later. Interesting. Moving on!

I present this to you tonight because of a comment I received from Lucy's Reality at BlogHer on my post, The Intimacy and the Cost of Blogging, I wrote several days ago in which she says:

"...Unfortunately, a family member found me too and ripped me because I wrote about the family (mind you, I use no names) and they forced me to take down a lot of my personal blog posts, which broke my heart. Right now, I have been writing more cautiously and it sucks and I know my readers are wondering, I am sure they can feel it, because, you are right, we enjoy a blogger for their style and we know when it changes! I am getting ready to start being me again, I still won't write anything about that family member, they are not worth my time..." [reprinted with permission]

I absolutely LOVE her line, "I am getting ready to start being me again"!

This spoke to my own heart because blogging is a place where I am distinctly ME and if anyone attempted to take that away, well, let's just say there'd be (at the very least verbal) fisticuffs. There is no one in my personal life who gets to control what I say or how I say it. Period. No one.

Caveat:
I took the Hippocratic Oath when I started this blog. I, first and foremost, do no harm. That means whatever I write, no matter who I'm writing about, if it could cause physical or legal harm, I will not say it. This doesn't mean I won't write posts that have the decided *crack* and *smack* of the zen stick that sting like the dickens. I might hurt someone but I won't harm them. There IS a difference.

Additionally, I have distinct boundaries - boundaries I set before I wrote my first blog entry here - about very specific topics I will not address under any circumstances here. These topics are very old scars, deep wounds that I do not want published here. This is not the space nor the time. That's about me wanting to keep my Lovely Readers out of my muck. It's not to protect anybody else.

I'll admit, I've come excruciatingly close to crossing the line a number of times over the years. Because, sometimes, the old hurts, the old rage, the old helplessness rear their heads - especially when I'm tired, vulnerable, hormonal - and I have difficulty controlling my mouth. There have been times I've awakened the next morning and, in a panic, deleted a previous post I felt crossed my line.

Make no mistake. That's not because someone else is controlling me. It's because I don't want to have this be the repository for what was outside my control...then and now.

So, finally, I come to my cautions for you, Lovely Readers and Fellow Bloggers:

1) First, do no harm...to others but, most especially, to yourself. If there is even the remotest possibility your published words may find their way into a court of law, used as damning evidence against you or someone you love, do not say it in your outloud voice.

2) Set your topic boundaries NOW. Know yourself, know your triggers, write them down in a private-to-you-but-visible place if you have to but know them. Know when you've crossed them and, if you believe you're close to crossing them, hold off on clicking the "Publish Post" button until you or someone you love can review it after a good night's sleep. Believe me, your Lovely Readers would gladly wait knowing you are protecting yourself.

3) Empower yourself. Don't let anyone from your past or present censor you if you are doing no harm. They no longer get to control you just because they don't like what you might say. Don't allow your "mouth" to be duct taped by someone who thinks they should be able to censor you. No one can censor you without your consent. That is your first amendment right (provided you live in the United States).

4) No matter what, do not forget, while writing is typically done alone (and, if you're like me, in your pajamas), there are readers you do not know about, of this, you can be sure. Unfortunately, sometimes, these readers aren't of the Lovely variety and have malice in their hearts. Be prepared. Be aware. You are, literally, putting yourself out there in more ways than one. There may be consequences.

5) Consider posting your own blog disclaimer (and copyright notice) on your blog in an easily found place. I do not know how it'll stand up in court - I'm not an attorney - but it can't hurt and, at the worst, is a layer of protection for you...just in case.

xo,
Jane, in her infinite wisdom


1. She has limited visitation rights and her ex moved out of state with her son shortly after he was awarded custody. Because all travel expenses are to be paid by her and because she has astronomical legal bills, she sees him only a couple of times a month for 2-3 days at a time.

I'm Not Fat, I'm Easy to See

By the time I went to bed last night, I was in a supremely foul mood.

This happens occasionally, especially when I feel as though I've beaten my head on the hardness of someone else's wooden nugget repeatedly until I'm nearing unconsciousness just to discover we've made absolutely no progress toward letting go and moving forward. My bad.

Needless to say, the level of crap-tacular irri-bitchy achieved was something of a sight, let me tell you. I talk to myself just generally but usually quietly, you know, to myself and under my breath. Last night, the rant-y ramble reached incredible heights in both scope and volume so that even Vinny - The Guerrilla Terrorist Cat - was following me around, mocking me and laughing at my crazy.

Awakening at 3 a.m. with a lovely IBS attack then, I'm sure, stemming in part from the OMFG you've got to be kidding me conversation I'd had earlier, and my morning wasn't starting off any better than my night ended.

But! There was hope.

Logging into Facebook - because apparently I'm a glutton for irritating punishment - I saw this: "You're not fat, you're easy to see."

This, posted by my adorable nephew who happens to be a 6'6" drag queen named Sephora Starr (is that sentence not doused liberally with awesome sauce?).

I L.O.L'd.

And the day got brighter.

Laughter really is the best medicine. Hence, now I'm dressed up in my going out clothes instead of my pajama pants - I don't think my companions would think too highly of the pajama pants - and am headed up to see Doug Stanhope at the Oriental Theater for even more laughing and some cocktails...something I couldn't have at 5 a.m. (or, at least, not without having to admit I've got a serious problem).

This weekend is about to be full of win.

Hops on Soapbox

It's early Sunday morning. Wrapped in the warmth of my bathrobe, sipping coffee, waiting for my morning dose of antibiotic to settle in and settle down. The sun hasn't come up yet. I was in bed last night at 8:30. While the most severe side effects of the medication have subsided, I'm still relatively exhausted from the waning battle being fought in my guts and so sleeping a full 10 hours was apparently what I needed. I feel pretty good.

As I waited for the coffee to brew, I found myself staring at my kitchen shelves - the hodge podge of food stuffs, bowls, gadgets, baking supplies. After a minute or two, I became aware of what I was thinking...I was subconsciously taking an inventory and discarding stuff that wasn't essential to our existence.

I've talked about stuff before.

No, I mean literal "stuff". You know, the stuff we all accumulate, pack away, impulse buy, collect, and cram our homes with when we don't really need it?

When I look back, of course in hindsight, to 2005, I realize it was a strange, surreal, difficult time for me. But, even though it was crazy and hard and, I'll admit, I dove head first off the cliff into the deep end, I don't regret it. Giving up nearly everything I own was truly one of the most freeing feelings of my life.

When I came back to relative sanity, and for the next two and half years, I wouldn't accumulate anything. Perhaps a new book or two and some new underpants made its way into my pile 'o stuff but seriously? When I moved from the luxuries of the Pinery to the cozy depths of The Grotto, I did the entire move in two trips in my Honda Accord and a half load in the Honda Civic of a friend. There wasn't any heavy lifting. I loaded and unloaded everything but that half load by myself. It took me about an hour (less driving time).

I have a few sticks of furniture now - but only the necessities...a bed, a small chest of drawers, a couple of bookcases, etc. If I had to move, with the help of 3 or 4 friends, we'd be loaded up in an hour or so (you know, with Lex's stuff included).

And yet...for some unknown reason, all of these articles and blog entries have come across my Reader path about paring down, whittling away, getting rid of stuff. Well...not entirely unknown. Part of the onslaught is because Acr0nym keeps sending me links to some of these articles as he contemplates his own sorting, discarding, organizing project.

I look around my house and I don't have all that much. Especially compared to what I had pre-2005. I've been relatively careful about such blatant consumerism. I rarely shop - not even for clothes - and, when I do, it's because I've identified something I can usually say with sincerity that I need. In the last 4 years, rather than spend my money on stuff, I've spent it on people - things for other people or the opportunities to spend time with other people (happy hours, brunches, coffee klatches).

I saw an article a few days back - a blog entry really - about all the new fees...banking and Hulu and Netflix...that have hit the average consumer recently. While I can understand why this is upsetting to an awful lot of people - most of my friends even - this doesn't impact me at all. I don't have Netflix or cable, I don't watch much on Hulu and only what's available for free (and if the free content went away I just wouldn't watch at all), I don't bank at one of the mega-banks having chosen years ago instead to keep my accounts at a credit union and at a fiscally strong, conservative, local bank.

I don't subscribe to newspapers or magazines. I read books and rent movies checked out from the library. I get my news from NPR (a service for which I pay what I can afford) and a handful of websites.

All in all, I live fee free. I mean, depending on what you consider a fee. I pay car insurance, pay my fair share of taxes, pay for a cell phone and internet access. I'm still paying exorbitant interest on pre-2005 debt that I'm slowly but surely whittling away (I've paid off almost 20% of my outstanding debt in the last 8 months and on track to have 31% paid off by the end of the year).

But Lex and I? We choose to live below our means and I don't see that changing even after I'm out of debt. I divorced myself from most casualties of consumerism long before the economic crisis and long before the Occupy movement began.

That's not to say I'm not a part of the Occupy movement in my own way. I am the 99% and I'm just as appalled at what's happened to our country and the world. But I have to say those of us who are the 99% continue to allow corporate America to gouge us - even as we stand up, holding our signs, showing our solidarity - by still BUYING IN.

A friend of mine posted this on a social media site last night...

While taking to the streets in protest is good for publicly displaying your piety and filling you with a warm sanctimonious glow, it doesn't really hit the banks and corporations where it hurts, namely- their pocket books. Nor does it help the people close to you, your friends and family, who are struggling. Here are some tips:

1.) Buy your next pair of jeans at a thrift store. This will save about $30.00 over paying new. That's a weeks worth of rice, beans, eggs and bread for someone close to you who's struggling.
‎2.) Cut up your credit card! Banks don't profit from money not spent.
3.) Skip dinner out with the wife and kids- that's $50.00 saved. Feed a poor friend.
4.) Buy your next vehicle used. Buy it with cash you saved. This benefits you, the person you bought it from, and the bank gets nothing.
5.) Got an extra room in the house? Rent it out at a reasonable price to a friend.
6.) Don't just save- you gotta give! Help the people close to you. Give some shit you don't use to friends who will!
7.) Here's a simple one: Revive the old fashioned, venerable tradition of "visiting". You know, at the kitchen table. It's free.

And some suggestions from a commenter I particularly liked:

You forgot- When you decorate your home buy art directly from the artist- buy books used, then pass them on- learn to mend your clothes to make them last longer, and if they belong to your kids- pass them on when your kids outgrow them- throw potlucks- if you have debt, work like heck to pay it off, somebody will pay for it if you don't- walk- use your library- volunteer- be proactive about helping people, and work hard at finding ways to make it easy for them to accept it (I made to much, I bought to much, my kid needs the community hours for her homeschooling, save me the trip to the thrift store)- write letters

Anyway! Back to my point...

Those rising fees, the ones people are mad about? Are fees that corporate America can get away with charging because, while people are mad, they grumble and CONTINUE TO PAY THEM.

If we want change, we have to be willing to change. We have to be willing to give up our dependence on an America that will continue to drain us of every bloody red cent until we say NO!

And...while I am part of the 99%, I'm not crying for the greedy top to give me more so that I can have bigger, better, faster, more too. I'm asking the greedy top to be far less greedy so that everyone can have what they need to live well - a life-sustaining wage, a warm home, nourishing food, healthcare, a good education, and time to spend with people they love and/or doing things they love.

Oh but then that would be a redistribution of wealth and such a Utopian idea is bad for 'merica.

*shrug* So is accessible healthcare apparently.

Lex and I are challenging ourselves to conduct an inventory of our current lifestyle, identify where we fall in the corporate culture, and make changes to how we conduct ourselves and where we spend our dollars so as to discontinue supporting a structure we no longer care to uphold as much as possible.

Right now, that means buying local from independent businesses and bartering with friends for goods and services. We'll see how that goes.

[hops off soapbox] Time to go find some biscuits from a local source.

I'm Not Sure I Can THWAP Any Harder

*whips out zen stick*

THWAP

If people you've considered "good friends" for years suddenly don't speak to you or, when they do, fail to:

A) invite you places
B) acknowledge special events in your life
C) ask how you are
D) want to hang out with you

And you're feeling like a leper?

Ask yourself this one simple question, "Have I been a good friend?"

Good friends offer to help. Good friends ask, "how are you?" and then listen to the answer. Good friends send their apologies when they can't make an event. Good friends share the glory of good times and the burden of the bad...so you don't have to go it alone. Good friends remember someone is having a hard time of it and think to ask, "are you OK?" Good friends remember to say, "Thank you" or "I love you" or "I appreciate you". Good friends buy you lunch when you're broke. Good friends don't piss and moan on Facebook about how all women are stupid for liking asshole men or how shitty things are because some people didn't even acknowledge a birthday or blame everyone else for a mass friendship exodus. Good friends understand that sometimes a friend's life gets in the way of being there - always - for you. Good friends, in a nutshell, think outside themselves on a regular basis.

Good friends don't treat you like a leper...unless you turn yourself into one.

What good friends are not? Infallible or filled with infinite patience.

When you fully understand and embrace that it is, in fact, NOT all about you? You'll find yourself surrounded with love, support, and wonderful friends for life - friendships that will span decades.

You'll have patience when it's not about you. You'll be genuinely glad when it's NOT about you.
Now. Go forth. Prosper. Remember. It only gets to be about you sometimes. The sooner you know it, the happier you'll be.




This message brought to you by an extraordinary amount of woe is me self-absorption I've born witness to lately. Unfortunately, you, Lovely Readers, will get the stick and the ones it was really meant for? Won't bother to read it because they're too self-absorbed to read anything that isn't about them and, if they do read it, wouldn't recognize themselves in this Just Stop It message.

How I See It

Nearly all people are downright, despicably selfish.

It's rare for someone to be able to step outside themselves and consider the feelings/relationships/boundaries of another person or people before they act.

Case in point: recently, I've been privy to a couple of situations (that are crazily tangled up with one another) - situations where one person has confided in me, and I, knowing additional details of their individual circumstances by additional confidences, try to advise them accordingly, without disclosing confidential information, to be the least selfish as possible while continuing to fulfill their needs,,,

And it's backfired.

And now? Now I just want to take each one of you self-absorbed, jealous, lying, SOBs by the shoulders and shake the everloving SHIT outta you.

Maybe I'm just tired.

Because when Jane gets tired? Her boundaries drop like poisoned flies until she's been invaded by drama llamas and then doesn't know what boundaries need to be re-established and how.

Maybe I'm pissed off.

Because when Jane acts as selflessly as is humanly possible, and watches others readily take advantage of the opportunity to move in and stab and stab and stab oh-so-selfishly, she can't disengage entirely and, instead, gets filled with anguish that is not her own.

Regardless of my motivation to shake until your teeth rattle, hear this: have a little respect for the people who care about you, who would knowingly and willingly give you their half of the world, asking little in return. They are not the cast offs, the defaults, the lowest common denominator.

They are, for all intents and purposes, the ones you should honor the most.

Grandiose Ideas are Better Left in the Head

The best laid schemes of mice and men go oft awry.

VERY awry.

The overall project wasn't a bad idea. It was just...the wrong time and most definitely the wrong place.

Each detail I'd laid out was just a little askew, a little wrong, a little bit of fail. I didn't personally do anything wrong. Unfortunately, just nothing was quite right. Probably nothing would have been quite right given the circumstances. That was no one's fault.

The night was not lost however. After a re-group over coffee, there was happy hour and supper with good friends and then the rest of the night melted away in quiet weirdness and some lessons learned.

1) Fun isn't manufactured. The most fun can be a deck of cards and a silly new game spread out over a rented bedspread.

2) There is a lot to be said for how two people navigate through a problem together. Were we both disappointed? Yes. I believe so. But that didn't mean we fought or got bent out of shape or placed blame on the other. We talked. We laughed. We acknowledged the ludicrous situation and made the best of what we had to work with.


3) It's good to be flexible.

4) I don't have to try quite so hard.

While the memory I'd hoped to create didn't come to fruition, the memory that was created will be long lasting and, likely, infinitely more valuable no matter where we end up. The memory of laughing at the adventures in comedic error we endured.

Comments are turned off for this post.

There's a Sucker Born Every Minute

This is going to come as a shock to exactly none of you.

I have trust issues. Big big trust issues. (I know. Don't we all?)

The fact is that me and Trust, we don't have such a hot track record, you know? I meet Trust on the street, go oh yeah hey! How's it going? Long time no see! And then find out later what I thought was Trust was actually his twin brother, Deceit (who sure as shit ain't going to 'fess up to not being Trust, you know what I mean?). So what happens now, after years of experience, is that when I start to feel vulnerable, I don't actually trust myself to recognize Trust when I see him.

Lex says that the human brain is conditioned to recognize patterns. And our brains will see patterns when no pattern actually exists (apophenia). We then extrapolate those patterns (of behavior...let's try to be more clear, Jane) and apply past experiences to paste them together and then announce, "TA DA! FACT!" When, in reality, it's not fact and there is no pattern or, if there is, it's a newly emerging one and not one of those zombie patterns from the past.

As a result of this pattern pseudo-recognition, I'm hyper-sensitive to cues that feel familiar...cues that, in the past, have bulldozed right over the top of me as I bedded Trust (figuratively and ahem literally), leaving me displaced and floundering. This is unfair to everyone...even me.

I trust many of you...to take care of my cat, to not vomit on my rug (or if you do that you'll clean it up promptly), to come pick me up from the airport. You guys rock!

But there's only really one person who's seen the whole mess of my intestines (figuratively speaking, of course) time and time again who, only by repetition, has convinced me I'm safe to lay myself completely out on the table naked (again, figuratively) and shaking for close examination, without recrimination and, ultimately, with acceptance, empathy, understanding, and love.

Yeah. It's taken a long time. As it should.

Herein lies the lesson...it's OK to allow trust to build over time. In order to protect ourselves, trust does come with the price of admission. It's perfectly acceptable to dole out this vulnerability or that insecurity a little bit at a time rather than exclaiming that the whole kit and kaboodle has been awarded with little empirical evidence to suggest it's safe to do so.

This isn't a question of anyone's integrity. It's just...smart. It's letting a plant's roots take hold by watering it, planting it in good, nourishing soil, shedding light upon it and nurturing it into slow, gorgeous existence rather than pulling up its roots every few days to see if it's growing yet.

So...I'm adding this to the list of things for me to work on. Understanding that it is OK to trust but not with reckless abandon. It's OK. I'm OK. To trust.

The zen stick has tapped. So it shall be.

Frah-gee-lay

I zoinked this from The Church of Just Stop It's FB Page. Source unknown.

I've been spending a lot of time in my head for the last couple of months. Since #reverb10, to be honest. While I'm all about introspection and self-awareness, I'll also be the first to admit that there's only so much emotional work I can do before I have to mentally rest, recover, and incorporate what I've learned before I'm ready to tackle anything else.

Over the last couple of years, I've been at rest and feeling good about where I was on many levels. Additionally, I was at a place to teach what I'd learned and fully enjoy the fruits of my internal labor. I was feeling confident, content, less anxious (I know. Hard to believe).

But the work is far from over.

#reverb10 put me in the frame of mind for more work, true. I thought it would be my finances. And then, to my surprise, an old demon...perhaps the oldest...reared its head. Money would have been way too easy *sigh*.

So, I went to my mental closet, unlocked the door, and started rooting around, peering into boxes, dusting them off, brushing off cobwebs and found what I was looking for tucked way way back in the darkest corner and marked "Fragile" (must be Italian).

It's a really really big box.

But the timing is also so very very right...no matter what I might say at any particular uncomfortable moment in time.

I've got the full love and support of Lex who has been right there at each angsty step. The steps are tentative but I'm starting to really muck about in the guts of it and am surprised to find strength and courage to take the next step even when I reach a particularly difficult one. Strength and courage due, in large part, to his enormous shoulders.

I've also found the most surprising support from Peej who, even though she hasn't been privy to the exact nature of what I'm doing, has become a dispensary of sage advice when she tells me to, "Breathe. Just let it happen." Wise, wise words from the grasshoppa who somehow became a master when I wasn't looking.

There's also Acr0nym who, without knowing anything, just picks up the soggy, weepy mess of a gin-soaked girl without asking questions, loads her into the "Intrepid" and safely escorts her home. And then tells her he loves her (HA! Third person, Peej. See? Awesome).

And finally there's Batman who, also without knowing it, triggered a mind/body connection I'd never had before...one I'd wanted and tried to achieve on multiple occasions without success...simply by being him. I was ripe for it. And, while I know he isn't the cause, he's definitely the trigger of a powerful, astonishing, beautiful thing. I don't know that I could have made the connection without him. Grateful doesn't begin to touch what I feel.

But I also feel a few other things right now and that's why I'm writing this tonight.

I'm, most of the time, feeling extraordinarily vulnerable and terrified. Because of that, I'm not nearly so confident or self-assured. I'm distracted and out of sorts. I'm probably not listening very well. I'm conflicted and confused. I'm probably spinning. I'm likely not talking about anything of substance to most of you.

The zen stick, mostly, has been re-purposed and reserved for use on my own self for the time being.

This is OK with me. It's a good thing. It's time. Past time.

I'm excited and hopeful too. Scared, oh hell yes. But hopeful and glad and mad and sad and any number of "-ads".

But I'm going to ask for a favor from all of you. It's really really important or I wouldn't ask at all. I'm going to ask you to be patient with me...just for a little while. I might say things that sound strange. I may ask for things you're not used to being asked for from me. I may come in to your bedroom (Lex) and rub your bald head and then turn around and leave with no explanation. I might cry uncontrollably for absolutely no reason. I might curl up in a (figurative or literal) little ball and ask you who the hell you think you are. I might ask you (Mark) to do it once more...with feeling. I may tell you I'm not alright.

I'm not alright. I'm working on great.

You might think I'm being self-destructive. Only in the sense that I'm re-constructing what should have been in the first place.

I'm asking for your patience and for your support. I don't expect it. But I'm going to hope you'll give it...freely.

'k thanks. Bye.

Unintentional Zen Sticks

I've been up since 4 a.m. Awake since...I don't know when. Midnight when the ambulance and firetruck emergency lights began flashing just outside my window maybe - a call to aid someone across the street I think. They weren't here for me in any case.

I know many of my friends hadn't yet slept as I crawled out of bed. Logging onto Facebook, we virtually waved at one another bleary-eyed as we passed. Me looking forward to coffee and cough drops. Them stumbling toward, hopefully, several blissful hours of unconsciousness. It's an odd feeling - that two ships passing in the night feeling. Sometimes it's a funny sort of tickly, glad feeling. Sometimes, like today, it's an ache, like I missed something - something important.

I'm sick again...or still. The sore throat and cough have come back with a vengeance and I can't seem to shake them. No matter. I've still got shit to do and not much time to do it. There is no rest for the wicked after all.

I'm not really wicked...I don't think. Not malicious or unkind...I don't think. Naive sometimes, yes. Too big for my britches sometimes, yes. But even modchen suggested I might want to dose myself liberally from the Psychopathy bottle every once in awhile. It makes the taste of the world a bit more pleasant.

Ms. Maudite at her Ins and Outs of Sins and Pouts said this the other day, "If the role I play turns out to be as a catalyst inspiring another to seek happiness where it is not present now, I will give a stellar performance, even if the outcome doesn’t turn in my favor."

This sentence struck me gently across the face. Catalyst. Unwitting, to be sure. I was just being me. But catalyst all the same. Alas, guilt. Also a part of just being me. Still...sometimes it's a heavy, heavy burden to look back and notice I might have accidentally tripped over that one domino holding all the others in a fragile line. Apologies and "I didn't mean to's" are little solace. Regardless, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...be me. It just sort of happened.

Janes happen...in their infinite wisdoms.

Freedom of Choice

I am, right this very moment, actively making a choice...a choice just for me.

You may recall (or not), back in September, an old friend/flame/someone-undefinable got back in touch with me after a year of zero communication. Just so we're clear, it was his choice to A) cut off communication to begin with and B) get back in touch with me.

And, at first, it seemed like everything was falling into place like it should have 2 years ago.

Yeah. About that. Um...no. Not so much.

Tragedy struck almost immediately. He needed time to figure his shit out. I gave it to him. And then gave him some more. And then some more. He "forgot" about two dates we were supposed to have. I tried to be understanding and accommodating to his grief.

But even a low-maintenance woman has her limits, you know? And, in the scheme of things, I'd like to think I'm pretty low-maintenance (there are those of you who read who would be able to confirm or deny) - especially when it comes to spending time together.

However, when I hadn't seen him at all in three months, I kind of - no, not kind of, I did - just got over it.

I would have probably felt differently about his inaccessibility if it hadn't always been this way. It's one thing to be in a relationship with someone who is present, accounted for, attentive who then hits a rough patch and needs time to figure shit out. Because really? I'm the kind of girl who will give you all the time and space in the world if that's what you need. I can't promise to wait around forever (I never say forever just generally). But I am really great at finding ways to occupy my time elsewhere when necessary. I'm typically excellent in understanding when it's not about me.

That's not the case here though. In all honesty, he's never been particularly accessible. At least, not to me. And, even though I came to understand that really wasn't about me, it was about me in the sense that he didn't even want to try.

So, right around my birthday, I'd finally had enough. And I was quietly done. Some of my friends (PJ. Matt.) and Lex were glad to hear it...ambivalent but hopeful that I was really, truly done. They'd seen way too much of angsty Jane for their liking. Especially Lex who worries about me the most.

When he texted me and asked me to have drinks with him last week then, I'm sure everyone was concerned when I agreed. What they didn't understand is that I was going to have drinks with him to tell him I wouldn't, couldn't, didn't care to, anymore.

But when it came right down to it, I didn't care enough to even want to go...tonight. I worked a 12-hour day today. I'm tired, cranky, and, frankly, looking most forward to tomorrow night when I get to see someone...wait, no 3 someones...who care about me and want to see me so much that they'd actively seek out opportunities to do so.

So. Tonight. I made the decision not to go. I called him and left him a voice mail. I texted him...twice...to basically tell him I would not be meeting him.


I gave him an opportunity to express the importance of seeing me. He didn't respond.

Actions speak louder than words.

Consequently, I'm at home, in my pajamas, drinking wine and thinking I'm glad to be done. Just done. Because, no really, done. I was done anyway. But this just gives me the excuse to close it without having to have the hard conversation of being done.

He was done before he'd begun.