We All Need the Darkness

Had a couple days where I lost how far I've gone, how far I've gone, how high I've climbed. . .

When there is love involved with any situation, there is bound to be trouble.  And love exists in my life - - - family, friends, humanity and that great emotion of compassion (that, to me, is separate from the tangible (did I say tangible?) loves that are always present - - - family, friends. 

But what I'm talking about is love.  Love.

This ain't no Tom Cruise, leaping on Oprah's couch kinda love that I'm talking about.  It's the kind that raises the ghosts of the past and moves the mountains of the future.

And yes, I am feeling it.

Intelligently.  I suppose.

I haven't shared because sharing might ruin it, but if there is one thing I have been since starting this blog nearly five years ago, is honest.  And I've gone past the "in love" stage, I think, where every moment, every thought is filled with thoughts of him.  (I have to be honest though, that's a great, great feeling).

No, I've gotten past that by now.  The fear part?  That's the part of the movie that is stuck.  The CD is skipping.  The record is repeating.  The heinous crime of loving is getting its punishment.

Not his fault.  He hasn't changed a bit since we started.  If anything, he's made me spit liquids from my nose on numerous occasions (laughing, laughing, always laughing), and made himself available to the world as I see it.

No, the ghosts are ghosts from the past love life I once had - - - that illusive, illusionary one that I've been apart from for nearly five years now.

(For some reason, it is difficult for me to write about this, and I should be beyond sharing my raw emotions by now, eh?)

I've been watching a friend fall in love.  I've been watching her fight her own demons, fight his demons, fight their demons.  Dare I say she is insane?

I remember those days. . .

And I keep thinking, over and over, I think she's crazy for falling in love with this guy. Over and over, I see the doom of the doomsday. . .

Over and over, and so what do I do?

I wonder if the sunrise that blesses me in the morning is an illusion due to the deep yearnings of my heart.  And I wonder if people looking at me think I'm as crazy as I think my friend is.  And I put forth all the darkness and volley it at him and wait for the insults, the arguments. . .

Still waiting.

This one is different.

Tom Cruise thought the same of Katie. 

Okay, you have me there.

So, the darkness arose because I took the time from my busy schedule to stop loving.  To stop, put a halt to it all, to read into correspondence from the one I used to love so many (5) years ago - - - and I projected.  I projected the shittiness of that era, and I kneaded it into the sure-disaster of my friend's relationship, and then looked at my relationship.

The rose colored glasses were poisoned with specks of shittiness. . .

It was dark.  I was dark.  I lost track of how far I've gone, how far I've gone, how high I've climbed.

And you know what he said?

"You're aggravating."

You're aggravating.  And I took it inside and thought, and thought, and thought.

I was aggravated with my own self.

That darkness made me think that I was not worthy of having it all.  That darkness brought me into a moment where I kept thinking about how far I've gone, how far I've gone, how high I've climbed. . .

I almost gave up.  I almost gave up on myself.   Then I realized I'm worth it.

I'm tough.

I'm good.

I'm worth it.

He's worth it.

It is worth it.

And I am not the girl I was five years ago when I was coming out of a room where I had stripped the Carrieness to please the needs of someone else.

And the darkness was from a moment of never, ever wanting to lose myself again, because, if you need a reminder,  there was a day when I realized how far I've gone, how far I've gone, how high I've climbed...

If he's Tom Cruise, or I'm Liz Taylor, it's no matter.  I am out of the darkness.

I needed the darkness though.

We all need the darkness to see the light.

Aggravation

People annoy me sometimes.

Here's an example, I was driving down a busy three lane highway during the five o'clock rush hour.  The lane I was in became an "Exit Only" lane, so I was forced to merge into the next (left) lane over.  I checked my rearview mirror, found that I had plenty of room to get in, and turned on my signal.  I glanced back into my rearview mirror and saw that the idiot in a jeep (with no top or doors) was speeding up so that I could not get into the lane.  I looked up, the exit was upon me, and this idiot was speeding up, with a pile of cars behind him.  I slammed my brakes so he could pass, then I  had to hit the gas so that I could get into the lane behind him.  He slows to a crawl, pulls into the lane beside me and commences screaming at me. His five year old son was sucking his thumb in the backseat.  I just shook my head, and said, "Can't you be considerate?"  It was almost a plea for some human decency.  I don't know if he understood what I was saying or not, but his face changed.  He waved his hand in the air, sped past me and was on his way.

Or here's one:  I asked a simple yes or no question at work (very simple, no hidden agenda), and got a fourteen sentence response.  It went something like this:

"Dear So & So,

Is my hair brown?

Thanks,
Carrie"

And the response I got - - - seriously - - - was something like this:

"Brunettes have more fun, and blondes are known to be busy.  If you have gray roots, then you better cover it with your hair color because some people may not want to see the sun glisten on the sparkly parts of your roots.  Would you like it if I went to the store to by you some gray coverage?  I can do that for you, I just need to know if the correct brand you prefer is at the store that I drive by on my way home from work.  But, I'll be out on vacation from the 22nd-25th so you'll have to wait until Monday.

Let me know if you need anything else.  I'll put the information on the shared drive for all others who need the answer.

Regards,
So & So

P.S.  I've cc'd your boss, my boss, his boss and all the adminstrative staff in case they have any input on the matter."

Aggravated by the whole thing, I hit "reply all" and said,  "I'll give you a heads up on one of the answers I needed, you pick the one that most applies:  YES or NO." 

Those that were cc'd responded with humorous quips.  The one I asked it of sent the following reply:  "I'll call you in a few minutes to discuss." 

It has been a week, and I still don't know what color my hair is. . .

Why, after all that time, was I letting things like this get under my skin?

I spent all of last week in a funk - - - aggravated, and simply disappointed in some of the circumstances of this life.  Yet, nothing had changed in my little world.  Work is work, kids are beautiful, my personal life is on the upswing . . .

So, why?

Still can't figure it out. 

So, at the start of the weekend, I decided to change things up, and center myself on the present.  So, I went to church this weekend, worked in the yard with the kids, played hard in the pool with the kids, cooked a meal for a king, saw a movie with the kids, cuddled and giggled with the kids. . .

My neck ache has lessened.  My hair hurts less.  I didn't grind my teeth last night.  I flew through work today - whistling and productive.

And the ride home was a breeze. . . even with the 50 million, topless jeep drivers with thumb-sucking kids in the backseat. . .

Don't Pet the Sweaty Stuff. . .

Wait.  I think it's don't sweat the petty stuff; or don't sweat the small stuff; or just take it easy; or breathe. . .

In the last six months or so, I've gotten really good at not petting the sweaty stuff, er, not sweating the petty stuff.  Yet, when the big stuff hits, it seems that I fall back on my old ways. . .or, when the big stuff hits, it seems that the little stuff occurs more frequently.  Is it because the big stuff causes me to not pay attention to the other things, and so the little stuff, feeling rather ignored, starts to act up?  Or is it because the big stuff hitting agitates the portion of my brain that has been focused on not petting the sweaty stuff, er, sweating the petty stuff.

Not sure.

No one ever likes to hear a story about a seemingly healthy woman with a beautiful child talking with her mother one minute, and then completely gone from the world in the next minute until medics work on her heart and get her back into the game, only to rush her to an intensive care unit where she fights for her life while her parents and young son await and pray for a full recovery.  I know I don't like to hear these stories, especially when the seemingly healthy woman with a beautiful child happens to be a friend of mine.

This is not petty stuff, kids.  It's that crappy, shocking, disappointing event that spins the greater known beliefs into a vortex of doubt, and spits out the old fears and anxieties, until your head spins and when the pump to the pool goes again, or you scorch a three gallon pot of sauce beyond recovery, or you are accused of committing a crime against your ex, or you toss and turn without sleep, or you stub your freaking toe, you find yourself looking into the mirror and seeing the eyes of an old nemesis that you thought you had long ago bid farewell.

And the big stuff should be petted or sweated or whatever, while the little stuff should be easily swept away.  Yet, for me at least, it doesn't seem to work that way.  It seems that I give all the power for resolving the big stuff over to God, while I take the little stuff and make it my own personal needling stick - - - where it pokes my side over and over again, or taps me on the shoulder incessantly, until I scream "For the love of God, leave me alone!"  And it giggles, and keeps poking. . . when I am awake, when I am sleeping, and when I am geared up to enjoy time with my children.

Prayers help with the big stuff.  Is it safe to assume that prayer will help with the little stuff too?

I believe that it does.

So I will.

And I will discontinue petting the sweaty stuff, er, sweating the petty stuff.

The Big Blue Ball

So the new job is kicking my ass - - - physically, not mentally.  And it's not necessarily my ass that it's kicking either.  It's more like the 2nd - 7th vertebrae in my neck.  I read hundreds of pages of documents daily; spend hours scribing emails; and then have the occasional conference call where I cradle the phone on my shoulder so that my hands are free.  With all of this going on, I can hardly be expected to have good posture, right?

So, by the end of the week, my head and neck are so sore, and I am constantly attempting to massage the pain out of it.  I have Paige walk on my back nightly to realign my vertebrae, and I do stretches throughout the day.

Nothing has worked.

So now I have a big blue ball.  I sit on it at work.  When I bounced it into the office, all the men laughed and all the women were envious because not only would it help me with my posture, but it is also working my core.  It's funny to be bouncing on it as I sit listening to Pandora and write contracts, oblivious that the people walking by my office door think there is something wrong with me.

Yet, the big blue ball fails me sometimes, as well.  Not because it isn't the perfect way to maintain my posture but because it is round and it rolls, and if I make a big move (say, to throw out a piece of garbage), I lose my balance and sometimes fall off.  (They don't call me Grace without reason and irony).  My office shares a wall with the receptionist and when I brought the ball in, she laughed and said, "If I hear a clunk against the wall and no other noises coming from your office, shall I assume you fell off the ball and knocked yourself out?"

Funny lady, eh?

But yeah, that's probably a good assumption.

I have bruises on my legs from falling off and hitting the side of the desk, but damn, my neck sure feels good!

It's Been A While

It's still early morning.  The birds are still tweeting and twittering, soaring and nibbling on bird food just outside my door.  There are two red roses in a vase on my kitchen island.  The kids took a walk with the babysitter and stopped in at the flower shop just across the street.  They also baked a pumpkin pie with her.  They played games with her.  They went swimming while she was here.  They are now used to having a sitter because their mom needs to make the money, honey.

The bills were paid yesterday as I sat at my desk at work, nibbling on a salad and trying to get it all done.  I just took my last 800mg Ibuprofen.  My eyes are getting worse now too.

The last thing I want to do, after a full day of work, and a full evening of kids is get back on the computer and write again.  My day is spent reviewing contracts and revising words, words, words. . .
Yet, I am grinding my teeth at night again.  Am I stressed?  Not at all.  Work is not stressful, home is not stressful, my personal life is awesome.  So why am I grinding my teeth?

Because I'm not writing for pleasure.  I am hardly reading for pleasure (I open the book in bed, and wake up three hours later with the light on and the book open on my chest).

But today, I shuffle off to Buffalo for the Breast Cancer Walk!  The kids are running around the house this morning, gathering the essentials they'll need for the trip up - - - in the car, to share with the family and to get them through.  We will only be spending one full day there, destined to leave early on Sunday morning so we can get back into the swing of things here in Maryland.

Though I've known about the trip for months, I grappled to get flight tickets last week, and facing a $1500 cost to fly us all up for three days, it was decided that I would drive.  And perhaps that is all I'll need to get back on track with reading and writing.  The essential portion of myself might be reactivated after seven hours in a car, reflecting on it.  At least, that is my hope.

In any case, it's been awhile.  And I miss it.

Spring

The beauty of Spring sometimes overwhelms me.  The varying shades of green.  Have you noticed?  It's not just one color - - - it's a myriad of gorgeousness.

And the birds.  Each song is different.  Unique and inspiring.  Inspiring and ubiquitous (never used that word before in a sentence.  May never again).

The rebirth of everything is what gets me about Spring.

And the birds and squirrels and bears and raccoons might have had a tough winter - - - they might have fought with their spouses over nuts and berries and such; they might have had too many nights of darkness and cold; they might have even forgotten to take a deep breath of the potent winter air.

But Spring.

It makes you look.

Spring makes you just breathe.  Take it all in.  Look up.  The sky is beautiful.  Look down.  The grass is new and so green.  Look around.  The red, the blue, the brown, the white, the gray birds are all around.  Open the windows.  The warm breeze on your skin.  The hot sun on arms so white.

Spring.

It's nice. 

It's new.

And the darkness of past winters seems more distant in the Spring.  The darkness of winters past, though still a memory, is, well, just a memory - - - sometimes, many times, painful - - - but a memory.

I like Spring.

Look up.  Look down.  Look all around.

There are so many varying shades of green.

Promise to Me, Promise to You

I spent the early morning hours reviewing a contract for work.  It wasn't because I was so excited to do it, that I did it.  It was because I knew that if I spent from 5:30AM - 7:30AM doing it, I would have extra time in the evening to spend with the kids.  I had imposed my own deadline on when the contract needed to be done, and the only way to meet that deadline was to sacrifice my early morning ritual of sipping coffee, listening to music, working out on the elliptical (once in a while, it does happen) and perhaps writing a bit.  I made a promise to myself and I kept it.

After finishing the contract review, I filled out the Wildacres Writing Workshop application and wrote a check for a week in the mountains in July.  All by myself.  Writing in the mountains.  A week away from the kids, my life, work and reality, with terrible cell coverage and excellent people.  I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't sacrifice the things I like to do for myself any more. 

I've been dating someone. It's been a whirlwind of laughter and fun.  At one point, I tried to bail.  Tried to walk away from it - - - fear, fear, fear - - - and after two days of complete introspection and fighting the demons from my past, I looked at myself in the mirror and made a promise that I would ride this out and see where it goes because I understood at that moment that the potential for pain was only a potential, but that the fear I was feeling was real.  A great love might cause a great fall - - - but avoiding a great love because of fear is a continuous fall, if that makes sense.

I kept my promise, and I remind myself to keep it every day - - - especially when the demons from my past creep, creep, creep forward.

Dare I say it?

Life is good right now.  I awake in the mornings and I am inspired to bring a glint of sunshine onto the dark waters that someone else may be swimming in.  I am inspired to work solidly in order to get things done right, and within the timeframe I set.  I am inspired to listen to more music, to write more sweetly, to talk more intimately and to be a light of some sort in this twisted world.

I've promised myself that I would do that:  Be inspired.  Be a light.  Be grateful for the good (or at the very least, not horrible) days.  Be helpful.  Be kind. Be generous.

These promises keep me busy.
These promises keep me sane.
These promises keep me happy. 

Happy like I haven't been in about 5 years.

Saturday is the anniversary of my divorce.

I promise that I won't think about it and feel the hurt again.

It's a promise I know I can keep.  The hurt isn't there any more.  There's still a ping of regret due to a divorce being part of my life, but the break was good, better for me and the kids; and I am actually grateful that he had the balls to walk away.  Truly grateful.  (Never thought I'd say that! - - - Which makes me even more grateful).

I will write more on this blog.
I promise I will.

But if you're looking for a sad post, well, I ain't gonna write it.