So I suppose moving to a new house keeps you busy, since I haven't written anything in nearly a year! Short version. We moved in - movers were rock stars. One of the three guys was having a grandchild as he labored. I will never use another company (All About Moving).
The first weekend was quiet. Everyone was away or busy, so we spent the first days alone in the house, which seemed much like a vacation home or some surreal practical joke. For the first few weeks I thought that something would inevitably go wrong and that they would come back and take back the keys, making some excuse and calling it all a big mistake. But noone came and we got comfortable. So comfortable that we decided to finally make a third member of the family. No, not children. Puppy! We found a breeder in Orange, MA (Caninekids.info) and waited the rest of the summer for her next litter. While waiting for her to be born and grow big enough for us to take her home, we distracted ourselves with the other wonders of life. I moved to a new classroom, Sarah and Geron had their beautiful wedding. I attended my first NFL game between the Giants and the Patriots (Courtesy of Brooke). I turned 30 (which involved a suprise theme party and a very drunken silly trip to King Richard's Faire). Emily and Yvonne conspired to get me to Emily's house where everyone was waiting in costume dress. There were turkey legs and lots of liquor. It was a delight and a true surprise. The new school year started with the Dream team (Sarah, Tara D, myself, and Danielle Matook's fiance, Jonathan Rheaume. I received my professional status from the town of Mansfield, the year began and continued swimmingly...And then the dog.
She was a purebred beagle. I met her on my birthday and got to take her home a few weeks after that.Ariadne is her name - we ruminated long and hard on that one. She is named after the Greek goddess, but also because her mother's name is Juno. We wanted something literary, and Ellen Page plays Juno in the movie and she also plays Ariadne in our favorite movie of the year, Inception. So it works on a lot of levels. We call her Ari for short. She was one of seven in the litter and the runt, I believe. She came out with a broken tail, so it's forever bent. She was so little once that she could stand on my hand. Now, she weighs 15 lbs. It was a learning experience and a stressful one training her. However, now she's almost a good dog and we have way more positive experiences than negative ones. She's a snugglebear and we love her to death. I still think it's a miracle that we have been able to keep her alive so long. We used Michael's old vet (even though they're an hour away) and got her all vaccinated and spayed and so forth. Only one emergency trip so far (she broke a nail at the dog park). She has a habit of swallowing socks, but at least the biting and gnawing on everything has stopped. She has separation anxiety, but she has learned to be in her crate, finally. Everyone loves her and I hate leaving her everyday. I'm not sure what I'll do when I have kiddos.
Since we've gotten Ari, life has been nonstop. I'm advising for the yearbook again this year. I also joined ski club and despite much fear and whining, learned how to ski relatively well for 5 visits. I have proposed my own classes this year for the summer institute and the MCAS have just ended, at least for English. There's more talk about budget problems and so forth, but we do this dance every year, so I'm trying not to be concerned.
The house is looking good. After six months of searching and shopping and paying for everything else, we got our living room furniture - it's leather. it's chocolate. it's luxurious. This weekend we got curtains to help protect it from the sun. Next month, lamps...And little by little we make the house our own. We've had a number of parties - The first was on Halloween and there was a snow storm, so it was small, but hilarious. We had a major Christmas one and almost everyone we knew came. It was grand fun and the house looked beautiful. The only down side was that my phone and mom's phone was stolen. Yikes. That set us back. We hosted Christmas Eve here and went to Maryann's for the day. (I think I may be done with family holidays but Emily, Sharon, mom, and I have worked out the major ones so they can be manageable in the future.) The last party was on St. Patrick's Day and people seemed to have fun at that one.
Other noteworthy events -
-We found an all you can eat sushi place in Stoughton with Emily and Josh.
-Live Bait is becoming a monthly ritual.
-I'm getting craftier, having started to be inspired by ideas on Pinterest.
-I started and ended a trivia gig at TGIF in Attleboro.
-Emily, Becky, Josh, Jon and I saw They Might Be Giants at Lupos. Next month, we see Cake together!
-I learned how to make sushi.
-There have been many trips to the dog park.
-I joined the condo association and got some stuff DONE around here already:) (Ripped out the bushes next to our parking spaces and cut down the ridiculous tree in front) -We've started to watch Mad Men and Game of Thrones, religiously.
-I'm about to take up archery.:)
So there's the sweet and low down of the last 9 months. I've been itching to write, so maybe I'll be back. At the very least, this should serve as a makeshift memoir.
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Buying a house
Before I forget this experience I need to record it. Let's say first that it is not as fun as it may look. It is hugely stressful and I still have 58 days until I feel the payoff.
We first found the house on Mechanic Street - an old brick colonial in downtown Attleboro that kitty corner's a Dunkin'. Too rich for our blood and it's a short sale with an offer already pending.
The second attempt was a place on Pembroke Ave on a sweet dead end, right near another Dunkin' but also near Capron Park and Exit 5. We lost that house in a bidding war by $1000. A terrible Sunday was spent in the Weathervane restaurant figuring out what was our best move to no avail. Their realtor was a scumbag.
The third attempt was on a condo on Michaelson. I could envision us living there, but I didn't have butterflies. At that point we had basically given up on finding our dream home and just wanted to find a for now home. Rent wears you down after a while and with our degenerate neighbors stealing the washing machine time and time again, our patience was fried. Good condo fees, a nice paint job, and a fenced backyard was enough to whet our whistles. Denied. They wanted way more than we were willing to pay.
After that rejection, we took a week off from looking. This is after 3 realtors and almost 18 months of daily emails from multiple search sources and many weekends of touring three and four homes at a time. We were starting to wonder if anyone's property was just left in normal shape anymore. Also, sellers are not realistic in this crashed economy.
So after another 2 hours of scouring the web in the wee hours, I saw an open house for the next day - Convincing Michael to join me, we made the plan to see it. We arrived before the realtor and stayed almost the full hour. I think we may have been the only ones to see it. HA!
41 Deerfield Road Unit 11, Attleboro, MA was perfect. Two bedrooms, two full baths, fireplace, open floor plan, central air, a finished basement with a bar, all appliances, double sinks, and a porch view over Cranberry Pond. Michael walked out onto the porch and said "I must possess this." We tried not to thrill to desperately in front of the flake realtor, but had every intention of putting in an offer. After so many letdowns, though, we slept on it. We waited until Tuesday.
Sight unseen, our realtor put in a bid for us. Their realtor had put it down for some fake value pricing - "accepting offers between $175K and $225K. We put in for 175. They bargained, we bargained back. Michael was at work and I was out at the RISD museum with my mother, trying to figure out how high we should go on each bid. They came back with an offer and a caveat. They accepted our (seemingly too low) price, but we had to wait until the end of July to close. Not knowing that we were in a month to month lease and possessed that flexibility, we played understanding and bit. The deal was done. And they also threw in an extra fridge for the downstairs bar.
We scheduled an inspection, post haste, and Mr. Speed Demon/Knows his Shit came and taught us all there was to know about shutting off the water and tuning up the appliances. Their realtor was on her cell on the porch while we were investigating the property. Wary that there would be something to prevent the approval of an FHA loan, we followed the inspector around like lambs. No such danger. A few broken seals on the windows, a small mold on the ceiling of a common area, and a low light on the furnace was all he came up with - plus a few backwards electrical sockets. Easy.
A few days later, we signed a lawyer approved Purchase and Sales Agreement with Diana White at the downtown Dunkin' Donuts. Who says America doesn't run on Dunkin'?? We handed over the remainder of the signatures for our loan approval, signed a hefty check, and enjoyed the first Coolata as new homeowners.
Then, the fun begins. In order for everything to go down, the mortgage guy, Dave, had to get our loan approved with an underwriter. Well! He lost the first batch of paperwork I sent him, the day after we agreed on a price. Saying his "computer crashed and he lost all of his email." Resend all of our financial information for two years.
We don't hear from him for almost two weeks. Our committment letter date looms. The committment letter proves to the sellers that our financing is approved and in order. We apparently do not have all the paperwork in. The underwriter emails me for documents, documents that I handed to my realtor along with an already cashed check. Strange that they got the check but our bank didn't get the signatures. Okay, resend documents.
One week before our committment letter, the bank asks us to provide them with a letter from Michael saying that he cut down his hours voluntarily so that he could go to school for free on the GI Bill. We have calculated our income on his reduced hours, leaving out the income from the GI Bill. This should not matter. But it does, and we write the letter.
Two days before our committment letter date, we get an email asking us to call Dave, the mortgage guy. He asks Michael to go to work and get a letter signed by his manager claiming that the bank did not cut Michael's hours, but that it was a voluntary cutback. Michael doesn't work that day. Furthermore, his direct manager was fired three days earlier. In addition, this is Bank of America. They are not going to write that letter. Even after Michael cashes in some favors to get his boss' boss' email address. The day before the committment letter, the bank rejects the request outright. We do not make our deadline.
I suppose when they ask for things that are ungettable, they can just waive that stipulation. Because despite the social leverage that Michael had to spend trying to get that letter and our best attempts to be timely, we had to file for an extention or lose our $4500. Thank god our lawyer is competent. The entire time our mortgage guy is saying that the committment letter doesn't affect the sellers - that it's just something for us - clearly he was wrong. We even called our realtor and asked if it was too late to switch mortgage companies because this guy was seemingly unreliable. No go.
After many lengthy conversations about how we shouldn't be mad at him and how we just need to "fix it and move on" and that he "said from the beginning that there would be some bumps in the road" we got our freakin' committment letter.
At 60 days, we locked in at a rate lower than our previous estimate. And now, we wait for moving day. Today I paid the last rent check. Tomorrow, we take over the world!
We first found the house on Mechanic Street - an old brick colonial in downtown Attleboro that kitty corner's a Dunkin'. Too rich for our blood and it's a short sale with an offer already pending.
The second attempt was a place on Pembroke Ave on a sweet dead end, right near another Dunkin' but also near Capron Park and Exit 5. We lost that house in a bidding war by $1000. A terrible Sunday was spent in the Weathervane restaurant figuring out what was our best move to no avail. Their realtor was a scumbag.
The third attempt was on a condo on Michaelson. I could envision us living there, but I didn't have butterflies. At that point we had basically given up on finding our dream home and just wanted to find a for now home. Rent wears you down after a while and with our degenerate neighbors stealing the washing machine time and time again, our patience was fried. Good condo fees, a nice paint job, and a fenced backyard was enough to whet our whistles. Denied. They wanted way more than we were willing to pay.
After that rejection, we took a week off from looking. This is after 3 realtors and almost 18 months of daily emails from multiple search sources and many weekends of touring three and four homes at a time. We were starting to wonder if anyone's property was just left in normal shape anymore. Also, sellers are not realistic in this crashed economy.
So after another 2 hours of scouring the web in the wee hours, I saw an open house for the next day - Convincing Michael to join me, we made the plan to see it. We arrived before the realtor and stayed almost the full hour. I think we may have been the only ones to see it. HA!
41 Deerfield Road Unit 11, Attleboro, MA was perfect. Two bedrooms, two full baths, fireplace, open floor plan, central air, a finished basement with a bar, all appliances, double sinks, and a porch view over Cranberry Pond. Michael walked out onto the porch and said "I must possess this." We tried not to thrill to desperately in front of the flake realtor, but had every intention of putting in an offer. After so many letdowns, though, we slept on it. We waited until Tuesday.
Sight unseen, our realtor put in a bid for us. Their realtor had put it down for some fake value pricing - "accepting offers between $175K and $225K. We put in for 175. They bargained, we bargained back. Michael was at work and I was out at the RISD museum with my mother, trying to figure out how high we should go on each bid. They came back with an offer and a caveat. They accepted our (seemingly too low) price, but we had to wait until the end of July to close. Not knowing that we were in a month to month lease and possessed that flexibility, we played understanding and bit. The deal was done. And they also threw in an extra fridge for the downstairs bar.
We scheduled an inspection, post haste, and Mr. Speed Demon/Knows his Shit came and taught us all there was to know about shutting off the water and tuning up the appliances. Their realtor was on her cell on the porch while we were investigating the property. Wary that there would be something to prevent the approval of an FHA loan, we followed the inspector around like lambs. No such danger. A few broken seals on the windows, a small mold on the ceiling of a common area, and a low light on the furnace was all he came up with - plus a few backwards electrical sockets. Easy.
A few days later, we signed a lawyer approved Purchase and Sales Agreement with Diana White at the downtown Dunkin' Donuts. Who says America doesn't run on Dunkin'?? We handed over the remainder of the signatures for our loan approval, signed a hefty check, and enjoyed the first Coolata as new homeowners.
Then, the fun begins. In order for everything to go down, the mortgage guy, Dave, had to get our loan approved with an underwriter. Well! He lost the first batch of paperwork I sent him, the day after we agreed on a price. Saying his "computer crashed and he lost all of his email." Resend all of our financial information for two years.
We don't hear from him for almost two weeks. Our committment letter date looms. The committment letter proves to the sellers that our financing is approved and in order. We apparently do not have all the paperwork in. The underwriter emails me for documents, documents that I handed to my realtor along with an already cashed check. Strange that they got the check but our bank didn't get the signatures. Okay, resend documents.
One week before our committment letter, the bank asks us to provide them with a letter from Michael saying that he cut down his hours voluntarily so that he could go to school for free on the GI Bill. We have calculated our income on his reduced hours, leaving out the income from the GI Bill. This should not matter. But it does, and we write the letter.
Two days before our committment letter date, we get an email asking us to call Dave, the mortgage guy. He asks Michael to go to work and get a letter signed by his manager claiming that the bank did not cut Michael's hours, but that it was a voluntary cutback. Michael doesn't work that day. Furthermore, his direct manager was fired three days earlier. In addition, this is Bank of America. They are not going to write that letter. Even after Michael cashes in some favors to get his boss' boss' email address. The day before the committment letter, the bank rejects the request outright. We do not make our deadline.
I suppose when they ask for things that are ungettable, they can just waive that stipulation. Because despite the social leverage that Michael had to spend trying to get that letter and our best attempts to be timely, we had to file for an extention or lose our $4500. Thank god our lawyer is competent. The entire time our mortgage guy is saying that the committment letter doesn't affect the sellers - that it's just something for us - clearly he was wrong. We even called our realtor and asked if it was too late to switch mortgage companies because this guy was seemingly unreliable. No go.
After many lengthy conversations about how we shouldn't be mad at him and how we just need to "fix it and move on" and that he "said from the beginning that there would be some bumps in the road" we got our freakin' committment letter.
At 60 days, we locked in at a rate lower than our previous estimate. And now, we wait for moving day. Today I paid the last rent check. Tomorrow, we take over the world!
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Buying a car
A new chapter in our automotive life has begun.
As a victim of East Providence police and an idiot Rhode Island driver, my husband found himself on the guilty side of an automobile accident. On his way to an interview, of course, he was t-boned and his car was totaled. Jean Claude Van Damme required an inspection and a thorough clean-out and we said goodbye to the car that took us across the country and home again. Luckily, Michael was a-okay, excepting some soreness in his knee which he bravely attributes to the New England weather.
Upon receiving the alert, I headed home from the market to gather the insurance information. My next task was to retrieve my husband from the "Hot Rods" mechanic shop in EP. Alas, Mansfield had other things in mind for my vehicle, for when I emerged from my apartment, insurance papers in hand, my tire was flat. Two cars down in one day.
My car was not beyond repair and so with a new set of tires, a vacuuming, and a new air freshener I was back in business. Michael, however, needed a new car. And so, like real life adults, we began to scour the internet for anything affordable and stylish in our price range. It is only when you must make a decision of this magnitude that you are forced to be clear about your expectations. You know how they say that a car tells a lot about a person? That's because depending on the make, model, year, and bells and whistles, you are defined by the thing in which you spend most of your day.
We purchased a Chevy from a Subaru dealership. Yes. You read that correctly. After much internet searching we met Fast Eddie, who ran our credit so fast we hadn't even walked on his lot yet. "I have the car," he said, before we even told him what we wanted. He tried to convince us that we were to pay him $100 just for "hooking us up" with a rate projection. He didn't even show us a car first!!! We walked out knowing that Shannon Motors was our LAST resort. They did have a nice Impala on display. Michael had chosen, but I was not thrilled about the puke brown color, so we went home to scrounge online again.
A dealership in Hanover was open on Sunday and held true to their word. They did indeed have the car, and a nice gentlement who was so laid back about selling a car that we were not even sure that it was really going down. Anti-climactic would be the term I would use to describe it. The deal was made, the credit was run, the papers were signed, the car was inspected. It took a total of 45 minutes to actually buy a car, with financing.
Silver Galaxy Metallic 2004 Chevrolet Impala, with a remote starter, power everything, and enough space to drive a small horse to the ferrier. Rawk.
Saturday night was date night. We were going to hit a movie. Instead, we opted for the drive-in, so we could spend some more time in the car. Not such a bad idea;)
We're glad to have you as part of our family, Vlad the Impala.
Now, any suggestions for a road trip?
As a victim of East Providence police and an idiot Rhode Island driver, my husband found himself on the guilty side of an automobile accident. On his way to an interview, of course, he was t-boned and his car was totaled. Jean Claude Van Damme required an inspection and a thorough clean-out and we said goodbye to the car that took us across the country and home again. Luckily, Michael was a-okay, excepting some soreness in his knee which he bravely attributes to the New England weather.
Upon receiving the alert, I headed home from the market to gather the insurance information. My next task was to retrieve my husband from the "Hot Rods" mechanic shop in EP. Alas, Mansfield had other things in mind for my vehicle, for when I emerged from my apartment, insurance papers in hand, my tire was flat. Two cars down in one day.
My car was not beyond repair and so with a new set of tires, a vacuuming, and a new air freshener I was back in business. Michael, however, needed a new car. And so, like real life adults, we began to scour the internet for anything affordable and stylish in our price range. It is only when you must make a decision of this magnitude that you are forced to be clear about your expectations. You know how they say that a car tells a lot about a person? That's because depending on the make, model, year, and bells and whistles, you are defined by the thing in which you spend most of your day.
We purchased a Chevy from a Subaru dealership. Yes. You read that correctly. After much internet searching we met Fast Eddie, who ran our credit so fast we hadn't even walked on his lot yet. "I have the car," he said, before we even told him what we wanted. He tried to convince us that we were to pay him $100 just for "hooking us up" with a rate projection. He didn't even show us a car first!!! We walked out knowing that Shannon Motors was our LAST resort. They did have a nice Impala on display. Michael had chosen, but I was not thrilled about the puke brown color, so we went home to scrounge online again.
A dealership in Hanover was open on Sunday and held true to their word. They did indeed have the car, and a nice gentlement who was so laid back about selling a car that we were not even sure that it was really going down. Anti-climactic would be the term I would use to describe it. The deal was made, the credit was run, the papers were signed, the car was inspected. It took a total of 45 minutes to actually buy a car, with financing.
Silver Galaxy Metallic 2004 Chevrolet Impala, with a remote starter, power everything, and enough space to drive a small horse to the ferrier. Rawk.
Saturday night was date night. We were going to hit a movie. Instead, we opted for the drive-in, so we could spend some more time in the car. Not such a bad idea;)
We're glad to have you as part of our family, Vlad the Impala.
Now, any suggestions for a road trip?
Monday, April 12, 2010
Broken Home Woes
The following is a reaction of a post my sister made on her facebook status. It sparked a very interesting conversation amongst we single parent children and I figured I would memorialize my thoughts here.
"Children have a primal need to know who they are, to love and be loved by the two people whose physical union brought them here. To lose that connection, that sense of identity, is to experience a wound that no child-support check or fancy school can ever heal."
I think that there is a lack of bonding when you only have one parent so when you grow up, something has been missing in your development. I believe that it can be supplemented by other relationships, but I think that not having both parents present in your life has a signifigant impact on the amount of questions one might have about their identity.
I have "researched" and discussed this topic with a myriad of people of different family backgrounds and it is my understanding that there is a vast difference between the self-respect and self-actualization of children from those two very polarized worlds.The child from the single parent household has trouble rationalizing the motivation for their absentee parent without simultaneously demoralizing their own self worth. I also appreciate your respect for the single parent that remains steadfast.
I also want to add to the argument the perspective of the single parent. As a part of a couple, i am able to experience a balance. If I have a hairbrained idea, Michael is able to bring reality to the table. If Michael is too reserved, I am able to add some spontenaity to his attitude. As a team we have both a point and counterpoint. As a single parent there is no soundboard, ballast, or anchor to counter your possibly emotional and inevitably difficult decision making. Noone is given a manual, but when two brains are solving a problem, you have a better likelihood of seeing all sides. When you only have one brain, no matter how phenomenal the brain may be, it's only one perspective that goes into the decision.
Furthermore, as a single mother or father, there is noone to temper your own feelings or take care of you, except yourself. This can sometimes put a huge sense of responsiblity on the child to also be a caretaker. In some ways it can require the child to grow up before they are able to actually have all their needs met. This is not because of the lack of wherewithall of the single parent.To have needs is to be human. When those needs are not being met by the person who they should be (one's partner), one supplements as best one can (often with one's child). You become a different kind of "team" that tackles everything the world throws at you. This said, the child is then left without some of the required ingredients for making a well developed adult. This void is too emotionally draining to be compensated for with a "child support check or a fancy school." Eventually, these children need to find those missing ingredients in other relationships. It leaves them ill equipped to create a new, whole family before figuring out which pieces were missing from their own development.
We can't ignore the fact that that PIECE of our childhood was influental in our makeup. Certainly he is not discounting the adaptability and the perseverence of the human spirit. I find that it is primarily in acknowledging the absence of wholeness that we can begin the process of becoming whole. It is giving the person who is a victim of broken relationships validation, not judging and insulting him or her. It helps them acknowledge and "make peace" with the injustice that has happened to them. I think we can all agree that this situation is an injustice to all involved, both the child and the parent who was left to raise the child alone.
This is actually a rather understanding and accepting attitude toward we children of single parents. As a person who was left by not one, but two fathers, I have grown into an adult who is quite capable of love and connection and producing offspring that will NOT be subject to the same lack of parental influence. It is BECAUSE I had this experience that I realize the true power of a home with two parents.
"Children have a primal need to know who they are, to love and be loved by the two people whose physical union brought them here. To lose that connection, that sense of identity, is to experience a wound that no child-support check or fancy school can ever heal."
I think that there is a lack of bonding when you only have one parent so when you grow up, something has been missing in your development. I believe that it can be supplemented by other relationships, but I think that not having both parents present in your life has a signifigant impact on the amount of questions one might have about their identity.
I have "researched" and discussed this topic with a myriad of people of different family backgrounds and it is my understanding that there is a vast difference between the self-respect and self-actualization of children from those two very polarized worlds.The child from the single parent household has trouble rationalizing the motivation for their absentee parent without simultaneously demoralizing their own self worth. I also appreciate your respect for the single parent that remains steadfast.
I also want to add to the argument the perspective of the single parent. As a part of a couple, i am able to experience a balance. If I have a hairbrained idea, Michael is able to bring reality to the table. If Michael is too reserved, I am able to add some spontenaity to his attitude. As a team we have both a point and counterpoint. As a single parent there is no soundboard, ballast, or anchor to counter your possibly emotional and inevitably difficult decision making. Noone is given a manual, but when two brains are solving a problem, you have a better likelihood of seeing all sides. When you only have one brain, no matter how phenomenal the brain may be, it's only one perspective that goes into the decision.
Furthermore, as a single mother or father, there is noone to temper your own feelings or take care of you, except yourself. This can sometimes put a huge sense of responsiblity on the child to also be a caretaker. In some ways it can require the child to grow up before they are able to actually have all their needs met. This is not because of the lack of wherewithall of the single parent.To have needs is to be human. When those needs are not being met by the person who they should be (one's partner), one supplements as best one can (often with one's child). You become a different kind of "team" that tackles everything the world throws at you. This said, the child is then left without some of the required ingredients for making a well developed adult. This void is too emotionally draining to be compensated for with a "child support check or a fancy school." Eventually, these children need to find those missing ingredients in other relationships. It leaves them ill equipped to create a new, whole family before figuring out which pieces were missing from their own development.
We can't ignore the fact that that PIECE of our childhood was influental in our makeup. Certainly he is not discounting the adaptability and the perseverence of the human spirit. I find that it is primarily in acknowledging the absence of wholeness that we can begin the process of becoming whole. It is giving the person who is a victim of broken relationships validation, not judging and insulting him or her. It helps them acknowledge and "make peace" with the injustice that has happened to them. I think we can all agree that this situation is an injustice to all involved, both the child and the parent who was left to raise the child alone.
This is actually a rather understanding and accepting attitude toward we children of single parents. As a person who was left by not one, but two fathers, I have grown into an adult who is quite capable of love and connection and producing offspring that will NOT be subject to the same lack of parental influence. It is BECAUSE I had this experience that I realize the true power of a home with two parents.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Stuck, Unstuck
Ingrid Michaelson played on Wednesday night at Lupo's. I dragged my feet about going, of course. A school night, too tired, crazy St Patrick's Day crowds, possible cover fees at any bar we went to, smaller bank account balance than I like. One of my strengths is finding reasons not to do things. Except it's not a strength.
As I listened to Ingrid's ethereal voice, I thought about how the evening rolled out. I ran through all the things that had happened to go RIGHT, and all in a row, no less. I found a parking spot, there was no cover, the guinness was cold and delicious, I had some moments to people watch by myself while Emily and Becky arrived. When Becky came, she came bearing gifts, a shamrock bracelet. We had some beers, some laughs, ran into an old aquaintance from BofA, and then met the weatherman, R.J. Heim. At first, we simply asked to take a picture with him. What then unfolded was a running joke about setting Becky up and the guys escorting us to Lupo's at the pace of a gazelle chasing its dinner.
We arrived just on time, walked right in, no trouble with the tickets at Will Call. Got some cheap beers, listened to Angel something. She didn't suck. She actually was reminiscent of Jewel's early years, and we all know how I love Jewel.
Now that you've gotten a look at the longest consecutive string of events that went right for me since my wedding day, you can see that my luck, of late, has not been great. My previous entries are somewhat evident of this. So I'm listening to how beautiful her voice is. I'm watching her dance so comfortably on stage. I'm standing 15 feet from the stage so the music is overwhelming my eardrums. And I felt happy. Free. Like I was no longer stuck. The flash.
I set up this regimented schedule for myself. Wake up at 5:45, get ready (the routine is timed to the minute). Go to school (another timed to the minute part of my day that rarely allows for any "downtime), come home, have a snack, clean up or pay bills or run errands or watch a bit of tv, make dinner, make lunch, make coffee, iron or wash clothes or search for discounts or shop for whomever's birthday or revise the budget or...or...or... Shocking revelation for this evening's post?
I don't have to do any of that shit. I can drink on a school night and spend $30 on a concert ticket. I can go to school and call it in, if I need to. I don't have to work at this crumbling school for the rest of my life. I can switch schools if I want to. I don't need to weigh so much. I don't need to feel guilty about my family's problems. I also don't have to solve them all. I don't have to concede what I really want and base my own needs on other's expectations of what I need or on what someone else wants. I can enjoy the sun and the rain, or not. I can rant about life not being fair and then, then I can let. it. go.
People always say to change what you don't like about your life. Most of the time, it's something that can't be changed by one person with one decision. I got so bogged down by all the things I could do nothing about. All the injustices and the crappy luck that makes life barely bearable. But there ARE things you can change, even if it's as small as sleeping 5 minutes later or singing off key at a concert and pretending to dance like Jermaine.
As I listened to Ingrid's ethereal voice, I thought about how the evening rolled out. I ran through all the things that had happened to go RIGHT, and all in a row, no less. I found a parking spot, there was no cover, the guinness was cold and delicious, I had some moments to people watch by myself while Emily and Becky arrived. When Becky came, she came bearing gifts, a shamrock bracelet. We had some beers, some laughs, ran into an old aquaintance from BofA, and then met the weatherman, R.J. Heim. At first, we simply asked to take a picture with him. What then unfolded was a running joke about setting Becky up and the guys escorting us to Lupo's at the pace of a gazelle chasing its dinner.
We arrived just on time, walked right in, no trouble with the tickets at Will Call. Got some cheap beers, listened to Angel something. She didn't suck. She actually was reminiscent of Jewel's early years, and we all know how I love Jewel.
Now that you've gotten a look at the longest consecutive string of events that went right for me since my wedding day, you can see that my luck, of late, has not been great. My previous entries are somewhat evident of this. So I'm listening to how beautiful her voice is. I'm watching her dance so comfortably on stage. I'm standing 15 feet from the stage so the music is overwhelming my eardrums. And I felt happy. Free. Like I was no longer stuck. The flash.
I set up this regimented schedule for myself. Wake up at 5:45, get ready (the routine is timed to the minute). Go to school (another timed to the minute part of my day that rarely allows for any "downtime), come home, have a snack, clean up or pay bills or run errands or watch a bit of tv, make dinner, make lunch, make coffee, iron or wash clothes or search for discounts or shop for whomever's birthday or revise the budget or...or...or... Shocking revelation for this evening's post?
I don't have to do any of that shit. I can drink on a school night and spend $30 on a concert ticket. I can go to school and call it in, if I need to. I don't have to work at this crumbling school for the rest of my life. I can switch schools if I want to. I don't need to weigh so much. I don't need to feel guilty about my family's problems. I also don't have to solve them all. I don't have to concede what I really want and base my own needs on other's expectations of what I need or on what someone else wants. I can enjoy the sun and the rain, or not. I can rant about life not being fair and then, then I can let. it. go.
People always say to change what you don't like about your life. Most of the time, it's something that can't be changed by one person with one decision. I got so bogged down by all the things I could do nothing about. All the injustices and the crappy luck that makes life barely bearable. But there ARE things you can change, even if it's as small as sleeping 5 minutes later or singing off key at a concert and pretending to dance like Jermaine.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Mental Health Day
Isn't it strange how we neglect the health of our mind and only allow for "sick days" to be taken for physical ailments. The exhaustion and depression of the mind can be much more detriment to our daily activity that a stuffy nose or even a migraine. When did society stop caring about the whole person?
I suppose since the age of manufacturing.
Yesterday, I learned that taking a mental health day can help you to reset your entire attitude. Refraining from the day to day minutae can relieve your stress. And stress, my friends, is a killer. Just because it doesn't show up on an x-ray or evidence itself in a blood test doesn't mean it doesn't exist. And, lemme tell you. A mental health day, when you need it, when planned well, can turn that frown upside down.
Also, Alice in Wonderland is dark and delightful. I didn't think I would be impressed. As it is, I believe it was...fantastical and marvelous.
I suppose since the age of manufacturing.
Yesterday, I learned that taking a mental health day can help you to reset your entire attitude. Refraining from the day to day minutae can relieve your stress. And stress, my friends, is a killer. Just because it doesn't show up on an x-ray or evidence itself in a blood test doesn't mean it doesn't exist. And, lemme tell you. A mental health day, when you need it, when planned well, can turn that frown upside down.
Also, Alice in Wonderland is dark and delightful. I didn't think I would be impressed. As it is, I believe it was...fantastical and marvelous.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Pieces of You
These last months have been fraught with agonizing introspection and exhausting realization. So much of who I was has disappeared as I have molded myself into this rigid vision of what a "married woman" is and should be. Why I feel the need to "define" myself is just another element of my OCD that has become my entire adult psyche. And yet, illuminating these parts of myself makes me feel a little like Sybil and a little more like a human being. However, ignoring the legos that built my adolescent and young adult life has created a bit of a Jenga tower that recently became very tipsy.
I am still organized and responsible. I take risks, but only after they are ultimately calculated to the nth degree. "I don't tie my shoes without a backup plan." While this used to be endearing it has become more of a compulsion than a quirk. This structure and conformity helps me to lead a manageable life where the dishes get done and the bills get paid and the credit score improves and the "American Dream" can flutter just out of grasp for another month, the ultimate carrot that pulls away as I push closer. I know where my paycheck is coming from and how much it will be for. I have health insurance and car insurance and life insurance. I pay for things that I will need in "an emergency" and I invest in my retirement fund. My day to day is functioning in a way that seems typical to those on the outside. The status quo is maintained no matter what's thrown our way and of course, I can handle it. It=anything and everything. I'll come back to this in a moment.
So what's missing?
I realized that there are a few pieces of me that have absented themselves in the last five years. Perhaps even longer than that. As I reflect on the woman, well, the girl I used to be, I notice that there is a vastly different level of optimism and energy. I see the world differently. I see conflict differently. I even see myself differently.
There are parts of me that have become so much more angry and bitter, disillusioned with humanity. I am actively losing confidence in some friends and family, old and new. The doldrums strike for longer and I notice that I throw my hands in the air with defeat more often. I laugh less and I'm developing permanent frown lines and bags under my eyes. When a person snaps, I snap back. I find I've got so much to say that I have a hard time listening. My opinions have become much less accepting and my righteousness is rampant. I just CAN'T take the time to understand why people act the way they do. My curiousity about the human spirit and mind makes choices is pushed aside as I roll my eyes in snap judgement.
The irony is that I am the most self loathing person I know. I judge myself the most harshly. Between my weight and my attitude I am ashamed at what I've become. The exterior facade has become nothing to be proud of. Instead of being a strong, independent, 'roll with the punches' woman I am cold, rigid, and lack sponteneity. It's unattractive, depressing, and repels others. People used to enjoy being around me. I was the life of the party and now I have become the "friend" who doesn't find out about the party. Rightfully so. Noone wants to be around the negativity that has become my little black soul.
There's also a little person in me. One that craves the wonder that comes with discovery and just doesn't understand why the world can be so unfair. She's a little girl that wants to live on Prince Edward Island in a castle like the Tower of London and play with Teddy Ruxpin, her must favoritest friend in the universe. A little girl who wants to be able to cry without feeling embarassed and who can spin around in a dress without telling herself to grow up, be an adult, and double check her makeup and hair to assure that it wasn't mussed.
There are more pieces. More emotions. More traumatic neurological pathways to exhaust. I thought bravery was stoicism. It's not. There's a lot of backtracking I have to do to allow myself to feel what I should have felt all that time ago. And I think the hardest part is asking for people to see that side of me. My expectation is lack of acceptance. Surprise me, please.
Self-actualization has to allow each of these pieces of me to
I am still organized and responsible. I take risks, but only after they are ultimately calculated to the nth degree. "I don't tie my shoes without a backup plan." While this used to be endearing it has become more of a compulsion than a quirk. This structure and conformity helps me to lead a manageable life where the dishes get done and the bills get paid and the credit score improves and the "American Dream" can flutter just out of grasp for another month, the ultimate carrot that pulls away as I push closer. I know where my paycheck is coming from and how much it will be for. I have health insurance and car insurance and life insurance. I pay for things that I will need in "an emergency" and I invest in my retirement fund. My day to day is functioning in a way that seems typical to those on the outside. The status quo is maintained no matter what's thrown our way and of course, I can handle it. It=anything and everything. I'll come back to this in a moment.
So what's missing?
I realized that there are a few pieces of me that have absented themselves in the last five years. Perhaps even longer than that. As I reflect on the woman, well, the girl I used to be, I notice that there is a vastly different level of optimism and energy. I see the world differently. I see conflict differently. I even see myself differently.
There are parts of me that have become so much more angry and bitter, disillusioned with humanity. I am actively losing confidence in some friends and family, old and new. The doldrums strike for longer and I notice that I throw my hands in the air with defeat more often. I laugh less and I'm developing permanent frown lines and bags under my eyes. When a person snaps, I snap back. I find I've got so much to say that I have a hard time listening. My opinions have become much less accepting and my righteousness is rampant. I just CAN'T take the time to understand why people act the way they do. My curiousity about the human spirit and mind makes choices is pushed aside as I roll my eyes in snap judgement.
The irony is that I am the most self loathing person I know. I judge myself the most harshly. Between my weight and my attitude I am ashamed at what I've become. The exterior facade has become nothing to be proud of. Instead of being a strong, independent, 'roll with the punches' woman I am cold, rigid, and lack sponteneity. It's unattractive, depressing, and repels others. People used to enjoy being around me. I was the life of the party and now I have become the "friend" who doesn't find out about the party. Rightfully so. Noone wants to be around the negativity that has become my little black soul.
There's also a little person in me. One that craves the wonder that comes with discovery and just doesn't understand why the world can be so unfair. She's a little girl that wants to live on Prince Edward Island in a castle like the Tower of London and play with Teddy Ruxpin, her must favoritest friend in the universe. A little girl who wants to be able to cry without feeling embarassed and who can spin around in a dress without telling herself to grow up, be an adult, and double check her makeup and hair to assure that it wasn't mussed.
There are more pieces. More emotions. More traumatic neurological pathways to exhaust. I thought bravery was stoicism. It's not. There's a lot of backtracking I have to do to allow myself to feel what I should have felt all that time ago. And I think the hardest part is asking for people to see that side of me. My expectation is lack of acceptance. Surprise me, please.
Self-actualization has to allow each of these pieces of me to
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