If I had advices for my younger self or other girls becoming women it would be this: Be kind and do your best. It can be exhausting being a woman in America. You have the heavy expectations of yourself, of other women, and of men. We battle with our sexuality every day at work. If you come in too dressed up there is always the potential of being slut-shamed and unsolicited attention. If you dress down you are subject to a worse fate – being ignored altogether.

Climbing that ladder is really a climb with a clear up-skirt shot. We cannot be seen only for our competency – because no matter how many pant suites you own, your “yoni” will always be there. You are going to be subjected to not only heavy, hard and fast, competition but seething jealousy. Competition can be healthy motivation, but jealousy is toxic and unproductive.

How do I make all of this into a fist-pump positive statement for women advancing in their careers?

How do I not wail from the rooftop that the minute you pull ahead of the pack it is the women around you (not always the men) that will try to hold you back?

How do I tell them that if you want to be successful, you may find yourself alone and excluded and the topic of gossip and scorn?

That the women, who should be supporting each other, are making fun of your clothes, your mannerisms, your sex life, your physicality, your double chin, and your ass! I know this to be true because I’ve done it! And with brutal accuracy. I’ve torn apart mentors and even friends when I have seen an opening to get-in-where-I-can-fit-in. I am so ashamed of this now. And I know that at the core of it there is a deep biological force to establish hierarchy and secure resources, like the hunter lionesses that we are – but that doesn’t make me feel better – because I should be better.

So advice, it is so hard for me to give. Because women, like men, can be wonderful and aiding and warm and compassionate and also brutal, mean, and toxic. Flip the coin and hope that you don’t end up under the tender loving care of the Dragon Lady or Queen Bee or worse, be that.

So my advice for women during women’s month is this:

Don’t be like that. Don’t be like Susan. (Unless we are talking about Susan B. Anthony).

I recently visited my son’s school for Career Day where I got to get up in front of a class of 50 or so 11-year olds and pretend that I’m an adult. What a scary idea, me giving career advice that could possibly change the course of some poor 5th grader’s life. My brain kept flashing back to my college choice that was mainly made by the offering of a free pencil and a $500 scholarship. Facepalm my life and all of my early decisions.

When we got to Q&A the children delighted me with many honest and great questions. Like:

• Where do you go on your break? (um… somewhere where there is food usually)
• Have you ever wanted to quit your job for just one reason? (just one?!)
• How many other jobs have you worked? (Around 9. Close to the number of my sexual partners, coincidentally. Just kidding… or am I?)
• What other job have you worked? (McDonalds. And I rocked it in the drive through until a lie about a flat tired got me knocked down a notch.)

The best question is always the hardest to answer. And it was this:

What is the hardest part of your job.

My answer: “Monday”

I asked the kids if it was hard for them too and one bright student said “it’s like I’m duct taped to my bed”.

That was me. This morning. And lately every morning.

Intent:

My intent for today is to be quiet and peaceful inside of myself. To listen to others and not contribute to the confusion, posturing, and general chaos of the environment.

Gratitude:

I’m grateful for the opportunity to go on the “Trail Run – aka night hike/careful walk/scramble” at Bootleg Canyon this weekend. It was cold, windy, dirty, refreshing, invigorating, and at some points hard, but totally worth it.

One hazard of getting into reading about philosophy and mythology is that eventually you find yourself – and it ain’t always pretty. I’ve really only got about five minutes to sum this up before I have to get into the shower. At the current moment my 11-year old son is slumbering comfortably in my bed. Yes, my bed. I was in a vile, unproductive mood last night. It always begins with the thought “tired” in my head. You should “rest” my brain says, my body says lie down and take a little nap. Instead I sit on the couch and troll Netflix while my son does the same with youtube in the other room. I don’t want to disturb him because he’s been frighteningly irritable as of late and any disruption from me to nudge or guide him into productivity is met with such opposition and hatred that I have began wanting to avoid it (and sometimes him) at all costs.

This statue has incredible breasts btw… 

He’s been suffering from a cold and yesterday I cattle prodded him to school. He only has 9.5 days left that he can take before they get serious with his truancy and the only thing I am more of afraid of right now than him, is his school. Please don’t kick him out for having too many colds… So last night I put him to bed and he popped up and said he couldn’t sleep and lumbered into my room, instead of telling him no, or moving him, I slept in his bed last night. So now the little beast slumbers on in my room… and I know that in about 3 minutes I will have to wake the monster. And in reality I know that I am the one who has created this whole bloody situation.

I love my son so much. That is the weird part of this whole thing. I still lay awake at night worried about his past, present, and future. I think he’s charming, bright, funny and adorable with his clear green eyes, tousled mousey brown hair and athletic gait. I’m even proud of him when he stands up to me. I know he has a backbone and very healthy boundaries. But it’s like dealing with a lion, all muscle, appetite and angst. And I am again reminded that I’m a one-legged stool. Rare that I have back-up and I know that I have created this situation as well. With some help from society and my naïvety into how relationships, career, and babies work. And let’s be real, how I work. I have a gigantic OFF switch that immediately flips when I get into the car to go home from work at night.

Not sure how to fix that. So anyway – the duality of my single motherhood. Dragon lady, dragon son… both bound to each others survival for the time being. Both dreading and loving the other.

Intent today: Don’t put on the big snooze tonight. Don’t be vile. Rest when the work is done.

Have compassion for myself and for my son (even if we are running into cold and truancy season).

Gratitude: I’m grateful for having a curious and analytical mind. I just wish I didn’t see so much of myself in this maniacal creature pictured above. 🙂

In an effort to bring back a positive morning ritual (other than my useless scrolling of Facebook, etc.) I am going to do a blog a day. This is a declaration of intent. Whether or not I do it is of course is always questionable. It is so hard to change yourself. So easy to just roll into the stream of who you are and just continue to drift. But I’ve been drifting for about 30 years now and I need to continue to fight the “Big Snooze” – Netflix and booze and the continued deterioration of my vocabulary and spelling. Perhaps I can do it this time. There may just be a little fire in the belly left. I would like to move my health line even more into the green and bail on my growler a night habit. I am grateful for the homicidal rage and dependency that I have developed with my need to relax (set dial to high frequency sarcasm).

Day 1:

Intention (1 lb of effort this week):

I intent to be kind today. To not let my irritation, resentment, and anger get the better of me. To not be a vicious gossip nor a panty revealing pansy. I will try dear God, to find the meaning and purpose in my grind. I will eat as healthy as I can. I will stop eating/drinking @ 7 pm tonight (lets see if all these intentions work out – don’t worry I’ll recap for you tomorrow).

Gratitude:

I am insanely grateful that me, my son, and my family are healthy and alive. I am painfully aware that everything still works, vision is fine, no cancer fires raging, no debilitating injuries, no migraines, etc. I am happy with that.

I am grateful for hot water, employment, a car I love, and a soft friend at home. I am happy that my son goes to a good school and has really good friends.

There – there is all the cheese, gratitude, and intent I can muster. Hari-Krishna, Namastae, Mahhhalo, annd publish.

Inevitably seasonal depression will sneak up on me every year. It’s like a bad cold, always there, always waiting. This week has been particularly bad. What it feels like to me is a complete numbness of the brain. Nothing gives me pleasure, nothing satisfies, it’s just like the outer areas are in a state of atrophy and I can feel the gray matter just deaden. I’m not sure what causes it. I think that’s the most distressing part. Where does it come from? Is it hormonal? Is it astrological? Is it emotional. Logically I can tell myself that it is a period of time when I see the least amount of sun. Also coming back to earth after visiting my parents in Utah always seems to be difficult. The visits there set off the early gatekeeper in my brain that whispers (or more like hisses) “you’re not good enough, you are bad, you aren’t doing the right things… etc. etc.” Back in the day I used to think if you dove into your scriptures and God hard enough you could dodge those thoughts – but in hindsight, they were always there. No matter how much God or church or religious flogging I was pursuing at the time.

Maybe one of the reasons I’m feeling this way is my inability to act at the moment. I feel this arrested development. A complete paralysis to life. I’m not sure what movements to make, which path is correct. I almost know what to do, but keep defaulting to my well known grooves. This is frustrating and at the end of the day (each day) I feel exhausted, defeated, and very alone. And I am watching my life and the lives of everyone else zoom by helplessly. What to do, what to do…

Well I know what I started before that helped was simply this – writing to no audience. Just my Poe-esque rumination and mutterings to an empty street. It’s alright though. It makes me feel better. Even just a little bit.

Gratitude:

1. Despite all the Cs – my son is doing well socially. He’s growing, he’s bright, he’s healthy. I wish I could help him with math. (maybe should get a tutor)
2. The cat is alll-right. Despite the unpleasantness of the litter box, I am really growing attached to this creature. He follows me around like a dog. He’s a soothing presence at night. He wakes with me in the morning. I now know why single ladies like cats. He’s pretty much perfect.
3. Despite my brain deadness, my belatedness (thanks to the beer habit I’ve formed and am desperate to break) – I feel relatively well. No major aches and pains. Slept good last night.
4. I’m grateful for my job. It’s emotional to be around people all day. Especially some that aren’t so nice. But I’m so happy that I have the job that I have. I’m very luck to work with the people that I do (even the not so nice ones).

Intentions:

1. I’m not going to struggle too hard with my mood. I’ll just let it be. Feel it and hopefully it will pass.
2. In the meantime I will watch my diet carefully.
3. Of course the beer – my complicated overuse of it has caught up and that is probably the major cause of my serotonin tank. Was hoping to move to moderation (drink only with company and never more than 2 drinks in a sitting is the goal). If I can’t do that I might have to do straight up abstinence – which is so sad. I love beer so much for the history, the craft of brewing, the pleasantness of the buzz… but also it makes me bloated, depressed, and adds about 20 lbs to my small frame when I’m drinking too much. All things to consider.

There you have it – a big juicy blog about my ever present demon depression (who is such a close companion to its ever present partner, Anxiety) – oddly they are never in the same room at the same time.

xoxo

Have you ever heard the tale of the “Ham falling on the baby”? I totally just googled it and nothing came up so I’m wondering if this is a real tale or a tale that was created just for my childhood.

My mom told me when I was very young the story of a mother who was married to a butcher (I guess) who apparently had hung a ham over the baby’s crib. The mother was constantly worried about the “ham falling on the baby” – an analogy of being worried all the time that something bad was going to happen. This is really how I have lived my whole life. Currently the fear (aka “ham”) is my job and preventing the loss of said job. It’s always been a tough environment but I usually was surrounded or managed by people in my “tribe”. People who liked me. A recent change in management has made it feel more like being captured by the warring tribe of people who don’t like/get me and trying to stay alive as a POW.

It feels like I’m losing this battle. So when I give up? When do I smuggle the spoon and start working an Andy Dufresne? It’s hard to realize that I have to give up. I have to surrender and let the bad guys win this time. I have to surrender to the stronger powers.

There’s the “ham” that’s going to fall. If they succeed and I leave this job… will I end up homeless on the streets? Will I turn to crack and meth and prostitute myself for food? Will I end up even worse, working for the same type people somewhere else for lower pay? Will I end up with a cashier’s job at the Texaco barely scraping together enough for bread and coffee? Would that be the worst thing that could happen?

And then what if… the “ham” doesn’t fall. What if the “ham” ends up being a good “ham”? It doesn’t fall but ages to a maple, honeyed, loveliness. It turns into the ultimate gift for me. It remains firmly where it is and provides me with a home that has genuine hardwood floors and a backyard? The “ham” brings me a soul mate and another pay raise.

Can we visualize both and end up somewhere in the middle (wherein nothing changes)?

And seriously wtf with this story? I wonder if my mom just made that up (scratching my head).

Other than consumed a few cups of coffee and some leftover soup. I always tell myself that a rest day will feel restful. They never do. They always feel vile. I am literally radiating the same oder a sloth makes. I’ve watched nothing but really bad 90’s documentaries on Amazon Prime and read obsessively about recent homicides in the Las Vegas Review journal. All the while muttering to myself that I need to move to a nicer city and get a new job.

Now if I could only get off the couch to do that. Ooof… alright, maybe tomorrow we will leave the house.

I do have a cold *sniff, sniff.

I’ve been meaning to write about this couch experience. Periodically I will do something that I know is not normal for most human beings. Like remove a fundamental item and live without it for several weeks, or maybe a month. The first time I did it was in my twenties. I was living alone and decided that I didn’t need a Television. At the time I thought it would spark massive creativity, I would paint more, do more activities. All I remember from that dark period of time was how lonely and dark the house felt. I needed my television. I didn’t do more, I got depressed. Weird how creature comforts work that way.

The current situation is a long story in the making. I inherited a guilt couch, which shouldn’t be confused with a love baby. But may feel a wee bit the same. I lived with my baby sister at the time who just happened to be slightly better off in that financial department than I was. As a single mother, I was largely patch-working my life together with overdrafts and payday loans at the time. We needed seating and she ponied up a hefty G for this couch. One of the biggest purchases she had ever made (bless her heart).

It was a large, red velvet sectional, with that kind of faux micro suede that picks up any kind of oil, dirt, moisture that it comes into contact with. At the time I had a small boy who was mostly made of those substances and an added dash of friction. The couch had attached cushions that were not made to be bounced on and eventual tearing and further degradation ensued. Needless to say in no time flat, the expensive couch was trashed and my sister was crushed as well.

This emotional burden made me loath the couch. She left it with me when she moved out and purchased another couch, but I felt like I and my child had destroyed something dear to her. I tried to soothe it over, I mean it did last for about 5 years, etc. a good run for a couch. But I never got over the horrid feeling this piece of furniture made me feel. Flash to the present. The couch now has gaping holes where the mint green stuffing is pouring out. I’ve tried to disguise it with throws and blankets, but eventually they slip and the facade is revealed that the couch is losing the battle.

A reoccurring theme on my perpetual “to do list” became get a new couch. But in order to bring in the new, you have to be willing, ready and able to get rid of the old. I was ready to make arrangements to dispose of the guilt couch. I think like most hasty disposals (think every domestic murder case ever) thoughts have only led up to the act of removal and not necessarily the aftermath. I contacted Got Junk for the removal. Scheduled the date and estimated the hit job for a couch would be around $150 dollars.

I found I had underestimated that cost by about $150. A financial hit I was quite unprepared for at the time. So as Scott Peterson had the foresight to take his boat out and craft a loose story of abduction – the thought or moreover cost of a replacement couch hadn’t entered my mind. I was so focused on the removal of the offensive object.

And now you have no couch.

And now you have nothing.

And now you are watching television on a pile of pillows in the corner.

I did have the space and the movement and freedoms I was expecting. But the experience wasn’t quite liberating. It was more like an additional punishment to end cap the whole disappointment of never having an adequate living space. And worst of all, I was starting to feel guilty about doing it. How dare I upgrade couches when I destroyed that one? Did I even deserve a new couch?

So the offensive object had been removed, but it did nothing to fix the guilt I still feel about abusing something my sister cared about. I almost felt remorse when they took it and a knee jerk reaction that I should keep it like a reminder – like a scarlet A for abuser. Logically I know that circumstances with a small child and general hardiness of the couch should also factor in. And it was not my fault that the couch degraded as quickly as it did, but I could have taken precautions. Like lectured my son more and kicking him off immediately when he started jumping on it. Spot cleaning after every incident and or maybe not eating on the couch at all. Gradually the worse it got the more damage I actually wanted to do to it. It was like my own portrait of Dorian Gray. I mean I stopped cleaning up the beer spills or cereal milk spatters. I almost encouraged the open destruction of the couch that had created such mental anguish for me. A passive aggressive form of retaliation and revenge.

So to wrap up this mindless rambling fast forward to a couple of week of living without a couch. Now we have “new couch”. Guilt-free couch, smaller and less comfy couch. Maybe it’s just going to take some getting used to. Surely beats sitting on the floor like an animal.

Within 2 hours the cat was attempting to use it as a scratching post. Facepalm my life. 

Now all I need is a coffee table, Moroccan pouf, leather accent chair and suede ottoman and my life will finally feel complete! (right, riiiigh?)

It’s all about cycles right? Sometimes you are up – sailing smooth, dishes done, kid is looking well kept, making the lunches, getting the business done during the day and working out and sleeping well in the evening… sometimes you are up.

But more often than not you are down. Barely scraping by, the dishes are in the dishwasher but the laundry has been nestled into a wrinkled pile for about 72 hours now. The kid has nails looks like he listed a troll manicurist – hell my nails look I visited the same place (gel creeping up a good quarter inch and counting). I’ve managed to not break a sweat this week or do any exercise of any kind other than hefting myself out of bed. The general feeling is vile. I feel my gym membership fester and call me – but damnit it’s dark outside and the Great British Baking Show is a nail biter. I mean it’s pastry week people… (no I am not watching current episodes, but that’s not the point).

I chalk it up to being in a place past due. Like holding onto that book you know you will never finish, but insist on dragging around with you everywhere like some kind of horcrux. Maybe it harbors the dark lord of literary ambitions and commitment to finish stuff and destroyed you will never accomplish anything again – ever.

Anyhoo, mainly this is just a rant (plug mindjunking). The things bothering me the most right now – not necessarily in any kind of order:

1. Mysterious cat pee behavior. My friend recently told me that her sister put their cat down due to unreasonable pee habits. I feel like that’s a little excessive… yet the cat is refusing to pee in the litter box ever since I switched his litter. He’s like the Oscar Wilde of cats, finicky for being rescued from the streets. I’m feeling quite out of sorts as a first time cat owner. Do I release him? Do I train him? Is this a passing phase? Do I resign myself to the cat smell tolerance of the crazy single cat lady? – so many horrid questions…
2. Absent Couch. I plan on spending a whole blog on this topic, but for right now – let’s just say my living room looks like teen meth-head squatters have taken up residence. All we are missing is a sleeping bag. #furniturematters
3. Grout. Need I say more? I live in a neighborhood of poorly constructed homes with poorly laid tile and ever more poorly laid grout. #groutmatters

That’s all I have for now. Will work on improving my attitude and behavior tomorrow – break a sweat and hopefully see the sunshine come out. Cycle on spin… and soon to dry.

I’ve started to develop an intense love/hate relationship with Holidays. On the one-hand, they take an ordinary day and make it special. They give us something to look forward to – a little variety to the daily grind. And last but certainly not least, they allow us to slip into Bacchus style eating habits.

I mean, I have a cornucopia that is spilling out with grapes and sweet meats on the table right now. And by grapes and sweet meats, I really mean tortilla chips and tootsie rolls.

I don’t know why I overindulge (every. damn. holiday), other than a primitive instinct that sweet things are good and that we must eat in an abundance because Thanksgiving is coming or something? It doesn’t make sense. There is really no end in site to the gluttony train once the holidays start.

So really this is just a “check yourself before you wreck yourself” post for myself. Holidays are indeed fun but they don’t have to turn into benders.

Halloween out.