On my desk are pictures - - taped and framed, haphazard in placement, spanning years. I have one where Tony is barely able to sit up straight, his face shining with a smile; and Paige, her cheeks chubby with baby fat, her hair in tight curls around a face that exudes comfort and peace. Sometimes I look at these two particular pictures, and I feel a pinch on my heart.
They were taken when life was so very different. My marriage was intact, my dreams were clear and before me, I hadn't had to deal with the soul-crushing pain of loss at that point. My grandparents were ailing and had lived a long life before their death. I was so young when their physical bodies were turned over to death.
I was blissfully unaware that tragedy could and would strike.
Yet, thinking back on it now, I had this incredible family to enfold me, to remind me with stories about them. They were gone, but they were also so very present in my life.
My mom's dad died over 26 years ago, followed by Grandma and Grandpa Fuzzy, some years later. 26 years! And I still feel the presence of their love in my heart, the warmth of their arms around me, the great joy I felt as a young child when I would race into a room, and see them there. I can tell you, truthfully, because of their presence in my life, I have been comforted in times of sadness.
And dear God, every day, I think about and feel the pain of losing my brother and my dad and my aunt. I also feel the joy of having known them so intimately. You can't have one without the other, right?
Once again, my family is facing a great tragedy. My dad's brother, Uncle Jim, had a stroke with no chance of recovery, and in that sudden, unexpected twist of life itself, we are embroidering ourselves into the fabric of this family: feeling more grateful for each other; feeling closer to our cousins and aunts, our children, our parents, our nieces, our nephews, our friends; feeling the great moment of love that rushes forth when grief and loss, tragedy and pain, slide into view.
My dad, man, he described it beautifully on the day of Jeff's funeral. I was fortunate to witness it. He was seated at the head of the table, my mom sat on the opposite end. There were four empty chairs on either side, where family and friends had been seated just minutes earlier. I walked into the room, where it was just the two of them, staring into each other's eyes, tears streaming down their faces, chins quivering.
"Why?" My mom asked. "Why?"
"I don't know Lynda, but what I do know is that I've never loved you as much as I love you right now."
Since Jeff's passing, I can tell you that I've never loved harder or felt more passionate about my family and friends.
This, to me, is God's mercy. It's God's grace.
This, to me, is the very proof of His light, His existence.
This, to me, defines my faith and empowers it, and helps me express it to those in need.
It's God's love.
Uncle Jim, may you pass peacefully, and joyfully into the arms outstretched on the other side, waiting for you; and may we use the tragedy that comes from losing you in this world, to lift us up enough to feel the warmth of the light coming from all of you.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Monday, November 14, 2011
Do The Right Thing
Paige and I watched a movie yesterday called Flipped. It was set in the early 70's about a 13 year old girl who had a crush on the boy who lived across the street.
I thought it was going to be another one of those flippant "I love him so much, why doesn't he love me?" kind of movies, where the girl and another girl battle over the boy, and the girl who had a better character would win the boy.
And it was kind of like that, except it wasn't. The main character, Julie, was wise for her age. She did things the right way -- focusing on helping others, working hard, and being brave even when the grown-ups wanted her to do otherwise.
Her crush, on the other hand, was a coward. He said and did things that would make himself look better, even though after he did these things, he felt like crap about himself. He knew what he wanted to say, what the right thing to do was, yet he still went with the masses.
After Julie recognized this about him, she didn't have a crush anymore. She didn't even care, one way or another.
Guess what happened? The boy fell for her, finally seeing how solid her character really was, and he tried to get her to like him again - - by giving her things, telling her things he thought she wanted to hear. . .
She called him a coward, told him to figure it out, and remained solid in her character.
Great movie.
In the end, he figured it out; stood up to his father, who was a big piece of skewed-moral-compass-shit, and got her in the end.
Paige and I were glued to the TV. There was no sex, no cell phones, no crazy hair, make-up, or mini-skirt-wearing-blondes-who-cracked-their-gum.
After it was over, Paige said, "I want to be like that girl. . . doing the right thing, even though others may look at her oddly."
"Me too." I said.
"You are, Mommy. But I think I'm more like the boy - - worried about what others think, and not sticking up for others because I am afraid."
"You'll get there. We all have to learn. Just keep her in mind, and see how much better she felt at all times than he did."
"Yeah, he felt lousy because he knew what was right, but ignored it."
"A lot of people do that."
So before bed, I heard Paige praying, asking for help to not be a coward and to always do the right thing.
It ain't easy for any of us, but I think she's on the right track. . .
I thought it was going to be another one of those flippant "I love him so much, why doesn't he love me?" kind of movies, where the girl and another girl battle over the boy, and the girl who had a better character would win the boy.
And it was kind of like that, except it wasn't. The main character, Julie, was wise for her age. She did things the right way -- focusing on helping others, working hard, and being brave even when the grown-ups wanted her to do otherwise.
Her crush, on the other hand, was a coward. He said and did things that would make himself look better, even though after he did these things, he felt like crap about himself. He knew what he wanted to say, what the right thing to do was, yet he still went with the masses.
After Julie recognized this about him, she didn't have a crush anymore. She didn't even care, one way or another.
Guess what happened? The boy fell for her, finally seeing how solid her character really was, and he tried to get her to like him again - - by giving her things, telling her things he thought she wanted to hear. . .
She called him a coward, told him to figure it out, and remained solid in her character.
Great movie.
In the end, he figured it out; stood up to his father, who was a big piece of skewed-moral-compass-shit, and got her in the end.
Paige and I were glued to the TV. There was no sex, no cell phones, no crazy hair, make-up, or mini-skirt-wearing-blondes-who-cracked-their-gum.
After it was over, Paige said, "I want to be like that girl. . . doing the right thing, even though others may look at her oddly."
"Me too." I said.
"You are, Mommy. But I think I'm more like the boy - - worried about what others think, and not sticking up for others because I am afraid."
"You'll get there. We all have to learn. Just keep her in mind, and see how much better she felt at all times than he did."
"Yeah, he felt lousy because he knew what was right, but ignored it."
"A lot of people do that."
So before bed, I heard Paige praying, asking for help to not be a coward and to always do the right thing.
It ain't easy for any of us, but I think she's on the right track. . .
Friday, November 11, 2011
Another Day, Another Dollar, Another Day
There is a certain art to living, especially when there is the past and the future revolving around the center of simply being in your own little universe.
I see myself, at this moment, in the center of a ring, with bands circling. In this center is my new job. Having begun this job at the beginning of the month, I am still pulling in the newness of it all. I walked into a company where I knew only one person, into a field of work where everyone knows everyone, and beginning tasks that are reminiscent of the past ten years for me. In those ten years, I've accumulated skills that have filled a file folder with about fifty different pockets, and I've spent the last couple of weeks, dusting off those files and pulling them all into a skill set that will benefit me as I sidle into my new role as a responsible manager of many people and things.
It's been fun.
Added to this, is the pompousness of being a Fuzzy in a non-Fuzzy world; laying claim to a portion of people's psyches as I introduce myself and my character into their world. It started two days after I began there. The company asked for a brief bio of my work history. So I wrote it with the flair of my own personality --- "I started my career as an acrobat for the circus, and was quickly recognized as someone who might be better suited as the woman who stands on the elephant in tiara and an evening gown and is paraded around the ring. . . etc., etc." I ended up as a WWE champion before I decided to use my law degree and get into my current position.
I realize now that I was introducing more than a bio, I was introducing myself --- my humor, my humility and my pride. Who are you? I'm a Fuzzy.
Amidst the professional responsibilities and tasks that are coming at me, I am also meeting new people, and getting to know them. I like to laugh and socialize. I like to tell jokes, and be aware of the personal challenges of everyone I meet, especially those that I will see every day. So I've spent a good portion of the past two weeks, listening to people, and sharing parts of my story.
So, in keeping with my center of the ring analogy, I am there, pulling on each circle that surrounds me. One, new job expectations. Using my brain to dislodge my experiences to bring them into the mix for solutions and agendas on getting tasks done quickly and with quality. Not so hard - - just do more than what is expected. Can nail the job portion.
Two, string number two, social introductions. Getting to know more people, plugging new numbers into my phone, sharing lunch and conversation.
Three, balance at home. (And this is why I haven't really written lately). I am in a new atmosphere with work, yet still making lunches, still signing the kids up for basketball and committing my time as their coach, still wrapping up soccer seasons, still doing homework with them and signing a zillion papers and permission slips, still doing laundry, making dinner, cleaning the house; still taking the dogs to the vet or cleaning up the dead animal smell on their coats because they like to roll around; talking with the mechanic about Kitty's health and maintenance; anticipating the upcoming trip to Buffalo with the dogs, the kids and perhaps, the guinea pigs; considering Christmas presents -- willing myself to go on-line and start shopping (which I haven't done); putting out fires that flare up from the divorce; getting the kids to sit down for a picture for Christmas cards; writing Christmas cards; keeping up with my DVR'd shows; reading Facebook updates; weighing in on Paterno's moral obligations; writing. . .
Four, maintaining other relationships - - hanging with my cousins, going to book club, talking and texting on the phone, making lunch dates with old colleagues.
Finally Five. The untanticipated, unexpected recognition of grief, that comes into my daily thoughts - - a vision of my Dad dancing, the sound of his laughter; Jeff's long arms around the shoulder of my brothers, the sound of his laughter; my Aunt's cabbage rolls, the sound of her laughter. . . taking the wisdom I've gleaned from all these experiences and applying them to all the happenings of the center of the ring.
It's been fun.
There is a certain peace that comes from being so busy doing, that there is little time for dwelling. Yes, I still get down and still feel the sadness from the voids; but I am also making friends, doing solid work, laughing with the kids, and being a Fuzzy.
Now, all I need is a companion to throw into the mix, and I'll be steady as the rest of the world.
It's been a couple weeks of this new reality formation. I'm not burn out yet, and I certainly like the fact that I go into work in the mornings, and as I'm racing to get home to meet the kids at the bus stop, I am surprised that hours passed by like minutes.
It all goes so quickly, each hour, and I guess I am okay with it because I'm not wasting that time bitching or crying or dwelling, I'm just living. That is my art, these days.
I see myself, at this moment, in the center of a ring, with bands circling. In this center is my new job. Having begun this job at the beginning of the month, I am still pulling in the newness of it all. I walked into a company where I knew only one person, into a field of work where everyone knows everyone, and beginning tasks that are reminiscent of the past ten years for me. In those ten years, I've accumulated skills that have filled a file folder with about fifty different pockets, and I've spent the last couple of weeks, dusting off those files and pulling them all into a skill set that will benefit me as I sidle into my new role as a responsible manager of many people and things.
It's been fun.
Added to this, is the pompousness of being a Fuzzy in a non-Fuzzy world; laying claim to a portion of people's psyches as I introduce myself and my character into their world. It started two days after I began there. The company asked for a brief bio of my work history. So I wrote it with the flair of my own personality --- "I started my career as an acrobat for the circus, and was quickly recognized as someone who might be better suited as the woman who stands on the elephant in tiara and an evening gown and is paraded around the ring. . . etc., etc." I ended up as a WWE champion before I decided to use my law degree and get into my current position.
I realize now that I was introducing more than a bio, I was introducing myself --- my humor, my humility and my pride. Who are you? I'm a Fuzzy.
Amidst the professional responsibilities and tasks that are coming at me, I am also meeting new people, and getting to know them. I like to laugh and socialize. I like to tell jokes, and be aware of the personal challenges of everyone I meet, especially those that I will see every day. So I've spent a good portion of the past two weeks, listening to people, and sharing parts of my story.
So, in keeping with my center of the ring analogy, I am there, pulling on each circle that surrounds me. One, new job expectations. Using my brain to dislodge my experiences to bring them into the mix for solutions and agendas on getting tasks done quickly and with quality. Not so hard - - just do more than what is expected. Can nail the job portion.
Two, string number two, social introductions. Getting to know more people, plugging new numbers into my phone, sharing lunch and conversation.
Three, balance at home. (And this is why I haven't really written lately). I am in a new atmosphere with work, yet still making lunches, still signing the kids up for basketball and committing my time as their coach, still wrapping up soccer seasons, still doing homework with them and signing a zillion papers and permission slips, still doing laundry, making dinner, cleaning the house; still taking the dogs to the vet or cleaning up the dead animal smell on their coats because they like to roll around; talking with the mechanic about Kitty's health and maintenance; anticipating the upcoming trip to Buffalo with the dogs, the kids and perhaps, the guinea pigs; considering Christmas presents -- willing myself to go on-line and start shopping (which I haven't done); putting out fires that flare up from the divorce; getting the kids to sit down for a picture for Christmas cards; writing Christmas cards; keeping up with my DVR'd shows; reading Facebook updates; weighing in on Paterno's moral obligations; writing. . .
Four, maintaining other relationships - - hanging with my cousins, going to book club, talking and texting on the phone, making lunch dates with old colleagues.
Finally Five. The untanticipated, unexpected recognition of grief, that comes into my daily thoughts - - a vision of my Dad dancing, the sound of his laughter; Jeff's long arms around the shoulder of my brothers, the sound of his laughter; my Aunt's cabbage rolls, the sound of her laughter. . . taking the wisdom I've gleaned from all these experiences and applying them to all the happenings of the center of the ring.
It's been fun.
There is a certain peace that comes from being so busy doing, that there is little time for dwelling. Yes, I still get down and still feel the sadness from the voids; but I am also making friends, doing solid work, laughing with the kids, and being a Fuzzy.
Now, all I need is a companion to throw into the mix, and I'll be steady as the rest of the world.
It's been a couple weeks of this new reality formation. I'm not burn out yet, and I certainly like the fact that I go into work in the mornings, and as I'm racing to get home to meet the kids at the bus stop, I am surprised that hours passed by like minutes.
It all goes so quickly, each hour, and I guess I am okay with it because I'm not wasting that time bitching or crying or dwelling, I'm just living. That is my art, these days.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Gobble, Gobble, Goo, Gobble, Gobble, Giggle. . .
. . . I wish Turkey only cost a nickel!
Adam Sandler sings this line, and he is my ringtone from November 1st through Thanksgiving. Every time I get a phone call, especially at work, there is a laugh. It reminds me of my brother Jeff, who sent me the ringtone a long, long time ago.
After Thanksgiving, I switch to Santa Claus is Coming to Town, and I am in a panic when my phone rings, knowing that Christmas is a short time away and I haven't shopped yet.
I have the kids for an entire week at Thanksgiving. We'll shuffle off to Buffalo, gobble some turkey, have some laughs and savor the memories until the next time.
I do not have the kids at Christmas. Gah, that just. . .
I won't go there. We will still celebrate as though Santa's fat behind slid into the faux fireplace, but it will be the day after Christmas when we do.
In the meantime, I will shop on-line, hide all the loot somewhere in the house, wrap presents on the sly, ship gifts to my family, and watch Christmas Vacation over and over and over again. . .
"Surprised, Clark?"
"I couldn't be more surprised Eddie, if I woke up and my head was stapled to the carpet."
Ah, Tis the season to be Merry. . .
Despite the hectic pace of this season, the blessings erupt daily, and I look forward to the Turkey!
Adam Sandler sings this line, and he is my ringtone from November 1st through Thanksgiving. Every time I get a phone call, especially at work, there is a laugh. It reminds me of my brother Jeff, who sent me the ringtone a long, long time ago.
After Thanksgiving, I switch to Santa Claus is Coming to Town, and I am in a panic when my phone rings, knowing that Christmas is a short time away and I haven't shopped yet.
I have the kids for an entire week at Thanksgiving. We'll shuffle off to Buffalo, gobble some turkey, have some laughs and savor the memories until the next time.
I do not have the kids at Christmas. Gah, that just. . .
I won't go there. We will still celebrate as though Santa's fat behind slid into the faux fireplace, but it will be the day after Christmas when we do.
In the meantime, I will shop on-line, hide all the loot somewhere in the house, wrap presents on the sly, ship gifts to my family, and watch Christmas Vacation over and over and over again. . .
"Surprised, Clark?"
"I couldn't be more surprised Eddie, if I woke up and my head was stapled to the carpet."
Ah, Tis the season to be Merry. . .
Despite the hectic pace of this season, the blessings erupt daily, and I look forward to the Turkey!
Monday, October 31, 2011
What a Pig!
Okay, so I gave the kids two guinea pigs this past Valentine's Day. I got them from a co-worker, who inadvertently put a male and a female guinea pig together in a cage and produced babies. He brought them to work, and I told him that I didn't want the same accident to occur with my guinea pigs, so he better be sure that they were both females.
Here's the scene I walked into one day: He was sitting at his desk with pictures of guinea pig genitals posted on his computer, while another coworker lifted the guinea pigs, one by one, and held them up next to the computer to do a side-by-side view. The guinea pigs blushed as we viewed their, um, private parts, and I was assured that the ones I was getting were indeed both female.
So I got the mommy, Tails, who had just given birth, and her daughter, Nina.
Tails is pregnant. Nina is a boy.
Surprised?
Paige's response, bless her heart, was that she didn't understand how Tails could get pregnant when Nina and Tails never got married. I told her that they must have had a secret ceremony when we were on vacation last time.
"Mommy, I think that the husband-son will eat the babies when they are born. . ." She said. (Note that she calls him husband, not father).
"I don't know, baby, I have to read the Guinea Pig book." I responded, sighing audibly.
"I'll read it!"
She grabbed it off the shelf, looked up "family planning" in the index, and started reading while I stood in the kitchen talking to my brother Jim and my cousin Jessica.
"...if the courtship is successful, the male tries to mount her..." Paige read, out loud.
Jim and Jessica giggle.
"See mommy, he'll try to mount her!" She came running up to me, holding out the book. I grabbed it from her and read the preceding paragraph, while Jessica read over my shoulder.
"...He circles the female in slow motion and makes a low sound: He purrs at her. If she remains sitting, he continues to circle her and at brief intervals lowers his testicles. If the courtship. . ."
Oh boy. Jessica starts to laugh, Jim walks over, reads the paragraph, and a discussion between them ensues. When I say discussion, I mean that they are laughing and spouting out incomprehensible words.
"Wait, what does mount mean?" Paige asked.
"Oh my God, have fun with that." Jim said, still laughing loudly with Jessica.
I took Paige into the other room because Jim and Jessica started to have an inappropriate conversation about the virtue of Tails.
She asked again.
"Well, what it doesn't mean is that Nina will eat the babies." I said, hoping she'd take that for an answer.
"But, what does mount mean?" When she asked it again, another wave of laughter from the kitchen.
I had three seconds, in that moment, to decide whether I wanted to have the birds and the bees conversation with her. She's eight now, she's curious.
My brain was screaming, "no no no no no no no no..." and she is staring up at me, innocently and curious.
"Well..." I started, "Mounting is what Nina needed to do to get her seed inside Tails. . ."
"Did she just say seed????" Jim screams from the kitchen, and him and Jessica are crying, they are laughing so hard.
And Paige asks, "Does he put his seed in her mouth?"
Imagine, the response from the kitchen. . . (I think one of them yelled out, "Sometimes!")
I shake my head slowly, "Um. . . no."
"In her butthole?" Paige asks.
Bah!
"You know what Paige, we'll talk about this tomorrow when Uncle Jim and Jessica aren't here. Is that okay?"
"Okay!" She jumped up from her seat and ran up the stairs to check on the whore, er, guinea pig.
Bah!
Here's the scene I walked into one day: He was sitting at his desk with pictures of guinea pig genitals posted on his computer, while another coworker lifted the guinea pigs, one by one, and held them up next to the computer to do a side-by-side view. The guinea pigs blushed as we viewed their, um, private parts, and I was assured that the ones I was getting were indeed both female.
So I got the mommy, Tails, who had just given birth, and her daughter, Nina.
Tails is pregnant. Nina is a boy.
Surprised?
Paige's response, bless her heart, was that she didn't understand how Tails could get pregnant when Nina and Tails never got married. I told her that they must have had a secret ceremony when we were on vacation last time.
"Mommy, I think that the husband-son will eat the babies when they are born. . ." She said. (Note that she calls him husband, not father).
"I don't know, baby, I have to read the Guinea Pig book." I responded, sighing audibly.
"I'll read it!"
She grabbed it off the shelf, looked up "family planning" in the index, and started reading while I stood in the kitchen talking to my brother Jim and my cousin Jessica.
"...if the courtship is successful, the male tries to mount her..." Paige read, out loud.
Jim and Jessica giggle.
"See mommy, he'll try to mount her!" She came running up to me, holding out the book. I grabbed it from her and read the preceding paragraph, while Jessica read over my shoulder.
"...He circles the female in slow motion and makes a low sound: He purrs at her. If she remains sitting, he continues to circle her and at brief intervals lowers his testicles. If the courtship. . ."
Oh boy. Jessica starts to laugh, Jim walks over, reads the paragraph, and a discussion between them ensues. When I say discussion, I mean that they are laughing and spouting out incomprehensible words.
"Wait, what does mount mean?" Paige asked.
"Oh my God, have fun with that." Jim said, still laughing loudly with Jessica.
I took Paige into the other room because Jim and Jessica started to have an inappropriate conversation about the virtue of Tails.
She asked again.
"Well, what it doesn't mean is that Nina will eat the babies." I said, hoping she'd take that for an answer.
"But, what does mount mean?" When she asked it again, another wave of laughter from the kitchen.
I had three seconds, in that moment, to decide whether I wanted to have the birds and the bees conversation with her. She's eight now, she's curious.
My brain was screaming, "no no no no no no no no..." and she is staring up at me, innocently and curious.
"Well..." I started, "Mounting is what Nina needed to do to get her seed inside Tails. . ."
"Did she just say seed????" Jim screams from the kitchen, and him and Jessica are crying, they are laughing so hard.
And Paige asks, "Does he put his seed in her mouth?"
Imagine, the response from the kitchen. . . (I think one of them yelled out, "Sometimes!")
I shake my head slowly, "Um. . . no."
"In her butthole?" Paige asks.
Bah!
"You know what Paige, we'll talk about this tomorrow when Uncle Jim and Jessica aren't here. Is that okay?"
"Okay!" She jumped up from her seat and ran up the stairs to check on the whore, er, guinea pig.
Bah!
Friday, October 28, 2011
Pathos
I just posted on my Facebook that I'm sick, and it sucks. Exhaustion bred the sniffles which bred sneezes and coughs, which bred a lack of sleep, and a worse cold. I don't like being sick. It makes me crabby and short with the kids, and I am offended by the fact that the kids got the flu shot, and I got the flu.
Equally disturbing is that I am set to begin a new job on Halloween, and this is my last "free" weekend before work becomes even more consuming than it has been. Don't get me wrong, I've been working from home, but the hours are mine. Having to go into an office every day, aggravates me, but it is necessary to be successful at what I do.
In essence, I feel sorry for myself, which is typical whenever I get sick.
I've begun writing a new story - I'm not sure if it is going to be short story, or if it is the start of a novel. In my research for one of the main characters, I came across a fascinating blog on Sociopathy. The article itself isn't nearly as interesting as the comments that follow. It is blowing me away to hear some of the stories of the victims who have lived and are living with sociopaths. It is crazy to see the varying degrees of this "mental" illness. But what fascinates me the most, is that one of the main commentators is a sociopath - has been diagnosed, and is responding to people's questions on the blog.
If you have any interest, check the comments to this blog out: http://sociopathcomments.blogspot.com/2008/11/comments-on-common-everyday-sociopaths.html?commentPage=1
I am currently on comments 200+, but there are over 2000 comments on this illness. If I didn't have a sense of one of my characters in the story I am working on, I do now.
Talk about sickness. I am coddling myself due to a cold, and I am using the down time, to read about a sickness that cannot be cured. The sociopath has no sense of guilt, no sense of remorse, they lack the ability to empathize, and thrive on gaining control in relationships. Some become serial killers, some end up drug abusers, some simply move from failed relationship to failed relationship without considering the devastation (in some cases) left behind. Those that are part of a marital relationship, always leave their spouse with no control, with a sense of worthlessness, with a destroyed sense of self; and the spouses that get away from the sociopath spend years trying to understand that not everyone is that untrustworthy. They lie, they cheat, they have no permanent friends (they generally lose them or cut them out of their life at some point - even those labeled "best" friends), and though some can love, say their own children, most of them end up destroying that relationship too.
It's a game, and it is so interesting to me, to know that I've met people like this - was employed by one who ended up in jail after the FBI investigated his dealings for years (in fact, I was witness against him in the case). Fascinating.
I believe there was a book called American Psycho (and a subsequent movie) about this sickness. I have the book somewhere among the thousands of books on my shelf, and I remember reading the first couple chapters and putting it down because it was so very disturbing to me. I've only never finished two books: American Psycho and War and Peace (that book is massive). Now I want to dig for it, and see if I can finish it because that kind of person actually exists.
Can you imagine not feeling love? Can imagine that the only real emotion you feel is rage? All the others are blanketed versions of what you observe in other people. The victims are told to get as far away from this kind of person as possible. Turn and don't look back because they can't be fixed. Can you imagine if your child was a sociopath? (It's a genetic and physical disturbance to the frontal lobe of your brain, and can be seen in scans). How could you turn and never look back? It would be impossible for me. In fact, one of the commentators argued that God was the only answer in a highly intelligent post, and was subsequently "spanked" by the sociopath, who maintained his control by stating, effectually, that he wouldn't even consider this guy's argument. That sociopath also said that he believes in God and also believes in Satan, but fears neither one of them. Fascinating.
So, as I nurse this cold, I get chills from all my reading.
Being sick sucks, but it's better than being really sick.
Equally disturbing is that I am set to begin a new job on Halloween, and this is my last "free" weekend before work becomes even more consuming than it has been. Don't get me wrong, I've been working from home, but the hours are mine. Having to go into an office every day, aggravates me, but it is necessary to be successful at what I do.
In essence, I feel sorry for myself, which is typical whenever I get sick.
I've begun writing a new story - I'm not sure if it is going to be short story, or if it is the start of a novel. In my research for one of the main characters, I came across a fascinating blog on Sociopathy. The article itself isn't nearly as interesting as the comments that follow. It is blowing me away to hear some of the stories of the victims who have lived and are living with sociopaths. It is crazy to see the varying degrees of this "mental" illness. But what fascinates me the most, is that one of the main commentators is a sociopath - has been diagnosed, and is responding to people's questions on the blog.
If you have any interest, check the comments to this blog out: http://sociopathcomments.blogspot.com/2008/11/comments-on-common-everyday-sociopaths.html?commentPage=1
I am currently on comments 200+, but there are over 2000 comments on this illness. If I didn't have a sense of one of my characters in the story I am working on, I do now.
Talk about sickness. I am coddling myself due to a cold, and I am using the down time, to read about a sickness that cannot be cured. The sociopath has no sense of guilt, no sense of remorse, they lack the ability to empathize, and thrive on gaining control in relationships. Some become serial killers, some end up drug abusers, some simply move from failed relationship to failed relationship without considering the devastation (in some cases) left behind. Those that are part of a marital relationship, always leave their spouse with no control, with a sense of worthlessness, with a destroyed sense of self; and the spouses that get away from the sociopath spend years trying to understand that not everyone is that untrustworthy. They lie, they cheat, they have no permanent friends (they generally lose them or cut them out of their life at some point - even those labeled "best" friends), and though some can love, say their own children, most of them end up destroying that relationship too.
It's a game, and it is so interesting to me, to know that I've met people like this - was employed by one who ended up in jail after the FBI investigated his dealings for years (in fact, I was witness against him in the case). Fascinating.
I believe there was a book called American Psycho (and a subsequent movie) about this sickness. I have the book somewhere among the thousands of books on my shelf, and I remember reading the first couple chapters and putting it down because it was so very disturbing to me. I've only never finished two books: American Psycho and War and Peace (that book is massive). Now I want to dig for it, and see if I can finish it because that kind of person actually exists.
Can you imagine not feeling love? Can imagine that the only real emotion you feel is rage? All the others are blanketed versions of what you observe in other people. The victims are told to get as far away from this kind of person as possible. Turn and don't look back because they can't be fixed. Can you imagine if your child was a sociopath? (It's a genetic and physical disturbance to the frontal lobe of your brain, and can be seen in scans). How could you turn and never look back? It would be impossible for me. In fact, one of the commentators argued that God was the only answer in a highly intelligent post, and was subsequently "spanked" by the sociopath, who maintained his control by stating, effectually, that he wouldn't even consider this guy's argument. That sociopath also said that he believes in God and also believes in Satan, but fears neither one of them. Fascinating.
So, as I nurse this cold, I get chills from all my reading.
Being sick sucks, but it's better than being really sick.
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
The Little Babies. . .
My immediate family has turned a corner. I just realized that the little bastard, Enzo, isn't a little bastard anymore. He's actually kind of cool. No longer does he bite my ankles in a frenzy, or jump on the kids and drag them by the shins around the house. He doesn't jump up on the counters, trying to grab cookies, or pork chops, or bananas and apples.
Yet, they get along very well. They chase each other around in circles in the house, until she tires herself out. (My Gracie girl will be 8 in January).
They've come a long way, her and Enzo.
The kids' bus comes at 4:10 every day. At 4:00, both dogs are running around like crazy. They scratch to go out the back door, and run to the fence closest to the street. When they see me putting on my shoes to go down to the bus stop, they run in circles, scrambling to be as close as they can be to the door when I open it. I have to slither out.
As the kids come running down the driveway with their back packs, both dogs are at the door, their tails wagging so that their whole backside shakes.
Yes, we've come a long way.
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