So this year is nearly over and according to the Myan’s we’re all going to die a horrible death in a little less than a year. Ok, just kidding with the Myan thing and no, I’m not going to get into a debate about it.
I don’t know about you all, but this past year has been INSANE for me. In both good and bad ways.
Stalker problems started my year (which now seem to be over, yay!). My beautiful sweet 16 year old daughter learned how to get her heart broken and came out of it a little banged up, but ok. And I got reminded that sometimes being a teenage girl really sucks monkey balls.
On the good side, my Bellagirl also decided this year, after a lot of exploring, that she wanted to be Wiccan. Although I’m not Wiccan myself, but Pagan, it made me so happy and seems to be making her pretty happy too :)
My 13 year old son seems to have let go some of his anger, and learned to deal a lot better with the left over anger. He’s pretty much decided to be an Atheist, but I’m not sure it’ll stick as he’s still young and far too curious to not eventually get interested in what others believe.
*gets slightly distracted by the smudges on nail polish* Huh?
Oh yeah. The past year.
I got over being a little broken hearted myself and decided to start dating again. Results at first seemed mixed, mostly with married men or men just wanting to get laid. I really just wanted to have fun, nothing serious (or so I thought).
I said to myself that I didn’t want to jump into anything serious. Didn’t want kids involved. Just someone I found physically and internally (?) attractive to go out and have a drink with, play pool with, maybe go running with. And to be a little shallow maybe, I wanted someone my camera found attractive too. And a non-Christian Democrat was on my list somewhere, although I did think in the Bible-belt that was maybe asking a little too much.
Never expected or at the time wanted it to turn into anything. In hindsight I wanted what I thought were the best of both worlds. I wanted to keep my independence and have my business be MY business. And he could keep his business to himself. I guess I wanted to give the surface best of me to someone without revealing the worst and GET the surface best of someone without having to deal with drama or problems or arguing or whatnot. No need to worry about having my heart crushed again if I kept it to myself, right? The Ice Princess at her best. Funny, witty, slightly sarcastic, goofiness without caring TOO much. And the other person could keep his mushy caring to himself, thankyouverymuch.
Pfffffft. How do they say it? The best laid plans of mice and…well, Ice Princesses I guess. :)
I’m guessing by now you can see where this is going right? Right?
Of course, I met a guy. Mouth wateringly sexy. Caring. Funny, sarcastic, witty, goofy, and no matter how much he denies it and doesn’t look the sterotypical part, he’s a total dork.
And the Ice Princess melted. Of course. And even though I’ve said, screamed, yelled, and insisted that I’m never getting married again…well, wedding date is sometime next year. :P
So October is Domestic Violence Awareness month and I usually do something (write something or whatever) for it. So I’ve had that banging around in my head for the past week. And in the midst of deciding what to do about it, that and the fact that most of my books are now in one place and that place being where I reside rather than in storage…
Anywho. If you are familiar with The Time Traveler’s Wife (the book that is, not the movie) by Audrey Niffenegger then maybe you remember that a section of it was called A Drop of Blood in a Bowl of Milk. That phrase, for some ungodly reason, stuck in my head over the years. Whatever Ms. Niffenegger meant by that phrase I’ve always thought about it like this:
When you start a new relationship everything is clean and pure (stop laughing and get your heads out of the gutter). Meaning that neither has harmed or hurt, whether intentional or not, the other. This is the clean bowl of pure white milk.
Now over time each person does or says something that hurts or angers the other person, hopefully unintentionally. This is true in any relationship and is totally normal in most cases. Each of those instances of hurt or anger or whatever is a drop of blood right in that bowl of clean milk.
Now don’t forget, as a lot of people do, that each instance of thoughtfulness, of either of the people doing something that makes the other happy, is another drop of milk added to the bowl.
In a good healthy relationship the amount of milk far outbalances the amount of blood, even though at times blood may seep in at a faster rate (ie if the couple argues a lot in a particular small span of time). This can also be true of the milk too though.
In a bad relationship, well, there is so much blood that the milk is just red and the hope of enough milk being added to that is slim to none. A smart person knows when to throw it all out, bowl and all.
…writer’s block. Fuck.
I need to write something, anything, for Examiner but I. Got. Nothin.
Except a slight headache and about 15 minutes before I have to go pick my son up from school.
Someone (possibly a teacher, I can’t remember) once told me that if you have writer’s block then the best thing to do is write SOMETHING. Anything. So here’s this drivel.
Still got nothing. Except a nerve steadily pounding harder right behind my left eye.
Today I’ve been digging through old stuff for photos to submit to a few online photography magazines.
I have a really bad habit of putting things inside folders, then putting that inside another folder, inside another folder…you get my drift. And not just on my hard drives, but I do it with bookmarks too.
A few years ago, in 2009 to be exact, I decided to start a personal blog on another website where I could de-stress and unload and not have to worry about anyone seeing it. The only person on there was a close friend who was the one who suggested the idea in the first place since I no longer felt (or feel) safe in having an off-line paper journal anymore (long story that I’m not going to waste time telling).
Blogging, or journaling, or whatever you want to call it has always been a sort of therapy for me. A place to untangle the jumble of thoughts that go through my head. This time, I didn’t want anyone, other than the initial friend, to read what I wrote and even some of that I kept private just for me).
So I found the link to this old blog, signed in so I could see it all, and started reading. And realized that I’m an idiot.
But part of one post kind of stood out a little….hmmm…
August 26, 2009 -
So the past week…actually scratch that…my whole damn life it seems (ha)…I’ve been pondering romantic love.
I know it exists. If it didn’t, I would never feel it. But I have felt it
So I’ve come to the conclusion that people like me, people who feel so fucked up in the head that they sometimes doubt their own sanity (and I’ll get to that in a bit), feel that we don’t deserve to be loved, so we doubt it in other people and then ponder if it exists at all. But of course it does. And of course we deserve to be loved. However, love is not a right. Everyone is not entitled to love. You have to deserve it.
I guess the subject matter of this post could really apply to a lot of things, but for me personally I’m talking about photography.
I call it hitting a wall, when really I guess it’s more of a plateau. You’re just chugging along, churning out images that may be different (different subject matter, whatever) but the editing is all the same old boring stuff. And probably the same old boring setting too. It’s frustrating to cruise that plateau for too long and all you really want to do is climb a bit higher. The all of a sudden you do, and that appetite comes back to keep going and going and going till you’re drowning in images that need editing and you forget to eat and forget you have kids and wonder why that long haired little dude is looking at you accusingly calling you Mom and you have no idea what your real job is because you forgot that clicking that button isn’t your real job quite yet.
Wow, was that a run on sentence or just a really long one? *deep breath*
The past couple of weeks I’ve taken some damn fantastic images and jumped the old plateau to one that is a bit higher and I’m in the wanting to KEEP GOING AND GOING AND GOING part.
But me being a huge and complete and total massive DORK I’ve let myself get unorganized as far as what I need to do and the work and photography and kids starting school parts are kind of resembling the jumbled up clutter that is usually resigned to only be in my brain.
And I hate clutter. I want to shoot clutter with a thousand tiny darts licked by the poisonous tongues of…erm…*crickets chirping*.
I need something, anything, an old fashioned calender do-hickey, a phone app, a kick to the glutenous maximus (and given how much I’ve NOT been running, man is it getting MAXimus) to get me freaking organized before I start strangling frogs.
Anybody want some frog legs?
So since my daughter and son went to California from Friday to last night to see their stepmom and stepbrother, I spent a few days with Shane and his daughters. I had previously been teased about how often I’m on my phone and that kind of got me to thinking.
I bitch a lot about people who text me who get pissy if I don’t answer their text in a couple of minutes and how I really hate it when people text me random stupid shit during the day when I’m working. And if one of the kids who calls me mom that I didn’t give birth to texts me with teenage drama I’m usually right there.
I guess so many people rely on me that I was starting to feel like someone’s whole world would fall apart if I wasn’t right there, texting or calling back. And really, that’s rather narcissistic of me isn’t it? To think that none of these people have any one else they can rely on every now and then.
And the sad fact is that parts of my life have suffered because of it.
My own two kids and Shane and his and my brother aside, all of those other people could easily find someone else if they really needed someone. And these past few days have proved it. The only texts or phone calls or messages I’ve answered these past few days have been from my own two kids, Shane, and my brother. And also my mom, who recently learned to text and sounds like a Chinese woman texting in broken English (u sure u come home tonite? you being careful!).
In short, if Lainey doesn’t come to the rescue with a stupid text or phone call or whatever in reply within two minutes guess what is going to happen? FUCK ALL. That’s right. No one dies, no one’s world falls apart. And Lainey actually gets WORK DONE and gets to spend time with the people she loves. Holy shit.
People, I’m not Atlas. I’m a tiny little person who has had it. So in the future, I’ll answer your damned text or call or message or whatever when I fucking feel like it and have time to do it. From the hours of 8am to 3pm the only texts or calls or whatever that will get answered will be work related or from the above mentioned people. And if I’m spending time with people I love, as long as they are all together, I think my phone will be getting left behind or turned off.
No, I’m not done yet either. I have another topic. GOOGLE+!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *cough*. It’s awesome. And I’ll save the awesomeness for another post.
The Soul Sucking Blood Suckers thing…yeah, the lower half of my legs are covered in mosquito bites. But spending a couple hours in the woods with Shane was totally worth it. Even though I woke myself up at about 3 this morning scratching the fuck out of my legs. Still, totally worth it :P
The other thing. Well, there is something that has been kinda bugging me lately, in a ‘why in hell is this like this’ kind of way. I’ve not been obsessing over it, just thinking about it when it’s brought to my attention somehow.
So I’m going to ‘out’ myself a little, even though this isn’t exactly a secret. I don’t wear it on my sleeve or announce it to everyone within hearing distance, but I don’t really talk about it much anymore either. I’ve caught too much shit for it and I think it’s something that is kinda private to me anyway. Or at least the whys and how I feel about it.
So I’m Pagan. Which is really not the point of this post and if you don’t like it oh well. The point of this post is how goddesses are depicted in art. Modern art that is. It just seems that more and more often when I see someone post a picture of a Goddess on Facebook, or where ever, she’s depicted as a scantily clad sex kitten.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I have no problem with her being depicted that way. We are all sexual beings (or freaking should be and if you aren’t then I have no idea what to say to you). My problem is rarely seeing her shown any other way.
I have a pendant that is three moons; waxing, full, and waning, in front of a pentacle. The moons are supposed to be representations of the Goddess in the three stages of a woman’s life. Maiden, mother, and wise woman. In old art (Egyptian, Britain, etc) she was most often carved and painted as a ripe fecund mother. And I like that. Maybe because I’m a mother myself. I’m not really sure why. And I can’t remember the last time I saw her depicted as an old wise woman.
Is it that so many women want to be seen this way versus other ways? Or because we are so often not seen this way in real life?
Of course I don’t want to just be seen as the vessel that popped out a couple of kids, but I don’t want to just be seen as a sexual thing either. And as much as we, as women, are supposed to be a representation of her, isn’t she supposed to be a representation of us too?
Voltaire once said, “If God created us in His own image we have more than reciprocated”. Except in too much Pagan art.
And now I’ve exhausted this subject for now.
First of all, my first article for Examiner has been published. With my next article I shall push the bounds a little of what they’ll allow me to say (cause really, I have no idea). Yes, I get to write about one of my favourite things in the world. COFFEE. Nuff said.
Thirdly…I just realized I really need to trim my nails. When they slip off the keyboard and/or you manage to nearly stab yourself in the eye with your own fingernail, yeah, time to trim. Seriously, I could almost slit a bitch’s throat with these things.
Eightly, Ok, really I just wanted to announce that the article is live.
Fifteenthly, it’s kinda odd that my spell check put a squiggly line under fifteethly but not under eightly. Only it just did. I guess it’s always supposed to be capitalized? Hmmm.
And lastly, I need to make a links page or something for this blog and I will…eventually…but right now I’ll just go ahead and list some other little dark holes / places to spy on me / places I stalk people on the net.
Uhm…I guess that’s it. For now. Possibly. Goodbye.
Yeah, that title gives me a ‘WTF?’ moment too. But I can explain. STOP GROANING!
My beautiful daughter, who is 15, and I were having a conversation about relationships and ‘failed’ relationships the other day and I gave her some stellar mom advice (which got a sardonic eyebrow raise). I told her not to see past relationships as failures, to see them as prototypes.
See, my favourite inventor is a guy named Sir James Dyson. If you are familiar with the awesomeness (and extortionate price tag) of Dyson Vacuum cleaners, then yeah that’s who I’m talking about. He doesn’t say he had 5,127 failures. He says he had 5,127 prototypes. Each ‘mistake’ culminating in an awesome machine of epic suck power that I swear could easily inhale a small planet.
There’s also Thomas Edison, who said “I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work”. Those 10,00 ways that won’t work culminated in that thing that pops up over your head when you’ve got an idea. (And yes Mom, it’s IDEA. Not IDEAL.)
Compared to most women my age (shut it) I’ve not had many prototypes, but I learn my lessons well. And what the hell, let’s list a few…
In short, or long, or tl;dr or whatever, learn from your past prototypes and don’t bring them to your new relationship.
And this was for you Babe…you totally suck my socks off (reference paragraph about James Dyson), and make all those prototypes worth it. <3
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. Yeah, I know…as some people say, I think too much. Or I over-analyze. Or over-think. Whatever. Not really that important I guess.
There is this one point in my past. This one pivotal nano second or two that changed EVERYTHING. I’ve revisited that moment several times, hundreds of times actually, over the years. At times, I wished with all my being that it had never ever happened. And there have been times I’m so fucking glad it did. But in reality, I wouldn’t change it at all, because the two most important people in my life wouldn’t be here if it had never happened.
When I was a kid, I used to read those ‘Choose Your Own Adventure’ books.
It was that series where you read the book, then you had choices as to what you would do next. In the end each book was like several books in one. If you didn’t like the ending you got, you could just go back and make different choices. It’d be funny if life was like that. Don’t like how it’s going? Just take a few steps back and make different choices. Or at least not make the same choices.
Anyway, I digress. And this is turning into drivel. Drivel that makes no sense no less.
I guess…take a leap…take it again and again and again. Don’t go back and change things, because that thing you think you want to change may have led to some bad stuff and some ho-hum stuff, but it could also lead to some really really good stuff.
So, even though I often wonder what life would be like if in that one nano-second I had said “No one” and walked away instead of saying “You”…I wouldn’t change it.
Because despite some bad stuff, things just might be ok anyway. :)