Independent

Scenario: a 21 year old young lady has had a cat whom she loves for the past 16 years. She has been the primary caregiver within the household for the cat's needs. She does not buy the cat food nor the cat litter, but feeds the cat and changes the litter box occasionally. She ususally has to be told several days in a row to clean the cat box before she will do so, even if the cat has pooped on the floor outside the litter box - and even if it there are numerous cat turds on the floor. When she does clean the cat box she dumps the soiled litter into a garbage bag, picks any stray turds, fills the box back up with fresh litter and takes the trash bag out to the can. Note there are no steps that include actually cleaning the cat box ~ no clorox wipes, no paper towels and cleaning spray, and no vaccumming up the gravel that spans half of the upstairs floor in the house. Also not that there are no episodes of spontaneous scooping of the cat box in between dumping and replacing litter. Most of all note that there is no step included that involves scraping the bottom of the cat box when "cleaning" it to get all the urine that may have stuck to the bottom. Insert here that the cat is old and his urine is, uh, hard to describe - it does not "clump," it gets more like a big spread of thick, pasty, sludge. Because of this, "dumping" the litter box NEVER gets the giant area of sludge out. It HAS to be forceably removed by scraping. The cat tends to pee in the same area of the box every time, so the sludge accummulates into quite a mountain.

If all of the above work is done when cleaning the cat box, any person would be warm by the end - maybe even warm enough that sweat is dripping off their face.

So back to the scenario: 21 year old female is told for 3 days to clean the cat box. On the second day she complains that she cannot do it because there is no cat litter to place back in the box. She does attempt to vaccuum some of the gravel that covers the carpet of the upstairs floor, but after a few moments reports the vaccuum doesn't work and probably needs a new belt because it's not picking up the cat litter. Note she does not offer to go buy cat litter nor belt for vaccuum.

On the third day she is given a new 13 pound container of cat litter to complete the task. She complains that she cannot because she is busy doing homework for college. Note here that it is 6 pm at this point, she has been home all day, there is no evidence that any sort of  projects were attempted over the past 8 hours, and that she most likely slept till 3-4 pm anyway. And the homework she is doing is for an internet class - she has a project due that she cannot figure out, but she also didn't complete the prior assignemnt so cannot evcen access the current assignnment yet, and for 2 evenings tantrums that she can't do it and repeatedly asks parents for help.

The other person living in the household - who buys the cat food and cat litter - cannot tolerate the stench of the cat box, and so cannot even BE upstairs in the home because the smell is so noxious. This person, the parent in this scenario, was looking forward to using the sewing machine to create something with new fun fabric - but the sewing machine is UPSTAIRS.

Insert into this scenario that the 21 year old has asked to take the parent's car on a 3 hour road trip to see her boyfriend at his college this weekend. This female has never driven beyond 15 miles from home by herself. The parent does not want to permit this for many reasons. But the parent also vividly remembers that when she was 18, away at college, her parents allowed her boyfriend to take their car on a 3 hour road trip to see her at college AND stay overnight with their car. She does not disclose this information to the 21 year old.

Were her parents too trusting in those days? Did they spoil her with too much? Did they really trust the boyfriend so much that he took their car overnight 3 hours away? What the hell were they thinking?!

Back to scenario, parent tells her Do not bring up the subject of taking my car until after this whole assignment has been turned in.

And furthermore, I worked all day, now I want to sew but it stinks up there too much, how can you treat your cat that way, I've asked you for 3 days to clean up the turds on the floor, it will only take you away from your homework for a short time and then I can sew, but you can stay downstairs and work on your home work without the stench, it's unacceptable that you behave this way, and ridiculous that you want to take the car 3 hours away, blah, blah, blah, etc.

So she, in typical fashion, storms and stomps to get a garbage bag to "clean" the cat box and shortly after dumping the box, she takes the bag out to the can outside. She then returns to the computer to do her "school work." This is less than a 5 minute process.

So then the confrontation. If I scrape the bottom of the cat's box, what will be there?

She responds, "Maybe some remnants of his pee."

The parent goes upstairs intending to begin sewing project and is hit by a different noxious fume - the 21 year old's disgusting perfume that the parent has repeately told her for YEARS to NOT use around this parent because the smell is dreadful, and the parent is allergic to some ingredient in it. Obviously it was sprayed room to room to cover the smell of the cat box. There is also cat litter gravel from the top of the steps through to the 2 back bedrooms of the house upstairs. Looking into the room of the cat box there is still evidence of cat poop not thoroughly cleaned off of the plastic mat that sits under the entry to the box - the mat is one of the places he chooses to poop occasionally - maybe because his box is too disgusting to poop in?!?!

Parent thinks I can't believe a 21 year old who can't clean a cat box has the audacity to ask if she can take my car on a 3 hour road trip. Not gonna do it.

Parent first examines vaccuum. Parent first sprays some air freshener from Yankee Candle that smells fresh like laundry soap, to cover the icky bad perfume sprayed by the 21 year old to cover the stench of the cat box that parent predicts was not cleaned. Then to the vaccuum autopsy. Turning it on, it is true, it is not picking up anything. To examine the belt, this involves taking the screws off the bottom panel which parent has done frequently. The belt however is intact, with no wear at all. Turning the belt does make a slight squeaking sound, which was easily quieted with some WD-40. To rule out some mysterious belt problem, the bottom plate is reattached and parent intends to use the attachment for the hose to see if the vaccuum will suck up anything that way. This vaccuum model is easily changed from conventional vaccuum to attachment hose for those hard to reach corners - and the parent reaches for the hose to detach it from vaccuum mode to use as the hose - to find that the hose was not even attached on vaccuum mode - hence, that is why it was not sucking up anything. This was perhaps a 20 to 30 minute process that included cleaning the hairs and random threads off the bottom brush roller. (These are long haired people with several long haired pets.) Now with hose attached, ready to vaccuum: the hallway, all 3 upstairs bedrooms, and then the cat box room, which is a roomy storage closet.

Vaccuuming creates the sweat dripping off this parent's face.

The parent then takes the dome lid off the cat box and scrapes through the "fresh" cat litter. There are plenty of areas of urine sludge to scrape up. But most notable is that there is urine sludge on the OUTSIDE of the cat box. The 21 year old must have spread open the garbage bag on the floor, and picked up the cat box, and set it in the bag on it's side, and somehow moved the box into some of the dumped sludge, making it stick to the OUTSIDE of the cat box. The amount of urine sludge on the outside of the cat box was about a half inch thick, about 3-4 inches wide and about 9-10 inches across the side.

Did she not see that she had done this? Did she see it and not care? Either way, is this a person who should be trusted taking another person's vehicle on a 3 hour away trip?

What things would she "not see" on her trip that could cause major problems?

What things might she "see but not care about" that could be drastic?

Pick myself up, dust myself off...

...Start all over again. ~ Lyrics from a song by Peter Tosh and Mick Jagger. A song that he-whose-name-will-not-be-typed would tease me with ~ so many years ago. I carry that feeling around now and then ~ that a man without me can just dust himself off and start over again with someone new, like no big deal. Like, ha ha. Like, whatever. But there was always that paradoxical wonder ~ was it literal or was it opposite? Was there no starting over without me? I'm too romantic sometimes. Or too blind. Or naive.

But today this song is for me. I'm starting anew, new dawn, new day, new life. I'm XX years old - still not ready to tell - and I have "recurrent" cervical spasm. So much pain in my neck and across my shoulders. I finally used the coupon I bought last spring for a massage ~ how nice of me last spring to buy one for me and one for him ~ father of the kid ~ and I decided I deserved it. It was very nice and to add $20 I can get another like it within the next month. But the neck and shoulder pain stayed. So I guess I have been "looking down" too much, and now I am going to go to physical therapy for it. The massage lady said the natural spinal curve in my neck is gone, which to me sounded quite bad, but to the MD today, was nothing to worry about. He was quite concerned about my blood pressure which I've been meaning to address, really I have.

So today at the doctor it was 180/100. That's the first 180 I've had. More often it peaks at 170/110. I tried taking some clonidine 0.1 mg tabs, but had to take 3 to get it to budge closer to "normal" range. I tried 10 mg propranolol and felt better, but didn't bring the cuff home to recheck BP. Had some weird dizzy moments last weekend after elevators and escalators - more than a typical passing dizziness.

Why are we so seasoned to think, "What is wrong with me?"

And, "What can I take to fix it?"

The doctor today was actually quite funny ~ he said he had no - then motioned his hand around in the air as if wielding a Happy Potter wand - magic treatment to fix me.

But in a month I will go back for the blood pressure check. And in the meantime, call the number for PT for my neck.

When do I say, "What is right with me?" And, "What do I do that keeps me right?"

Ok, what is right with me.
I'm XX years old and have a wealth of knowledge and experience... I take good - ok - care of myself. I pay all my bills. I work for a living. I contribute to humanity. I give back - the greatest gift I receive is giving back. And that keeps me right. I raised a child - to adulthood with no major psychotic break for either of us. I am smart and loving and can be sweet. I consider myself a channel for the energy of others to pass through in order to get a sense of healing... And it takes enormous energy for me to give that to others 5 days a week. I do it happily - it's not work, it's a calling. And at home I need it to be understood - that I can only give so much. That during a regular work week I need quiet and alone and the options to pursue either, both or none. And that keeps me right. The people I surround myself with outside of my "job" are people who understand me, who give easily as I do, who love to laugh and love to get lost in other worlds for short periods... And that keeps me right.

So in dusting myself off, I find some things still there needing extra polish.
I want to get organized, and I want it NOW. ~ Probably not a good starting point, as it inevitably ends up a failure. Need to set up smaller goals - what to organize first - where, by when...
I want to make this thing with my trunk, and sew pillows with my fabric and do some tiling all by myself, and I want to paint the stairwell this interesting pattern of blues with some metallic silvers... And I want to take an online class - and get further with my education... Computers, health care administration, art, psych, healing arts, dance... I want to find out what place on earth sees the most rainbows a year, and I want to visit there. I want to put crown moulding up in my bedroom... Yes to hide the botch job I did removing the popcorn ceiling - but whatever, it will look cool. And repaint the bedroom or put up some white bead board and railing. I want to be a do-it-yourself-er at all these home improvement things. The attic - well, put together some access ladder thing, then finish the hole that looks duct taped, then lay more insulation, and replace the #%&$%# bathroom air vents - because they are awful. And I want to re-do my backyard / courtyard - to look very French Quarter chic. And I want to write - to start my book. My books. And I want to sell some thins, and get out of debt.

I want to have this feeling of being in charge of my life, my minutes, my destiny, my tomorrow, my today. I want to feel in charge of the moments as they pass. I want to be alive in these moments - not half awake, wondering why they are passing so fast. I want to feel this feeling of being so a part of my moments, that the moments pass as I pass with them, that we are in step, in pace with each other - where time is time and I am I and you are you and life makes sense and life is good.

I want to have this feeling that sadness is part of healing and sadness passes as I take charge of it passing, as I make changes to my life and the changes make sadness pass... and I heal as I heal others...

That my love is noticed, that I am noticed, that I am loved, that my loving is realized - by whom? By someone, by God, by the dogs and the cat, by anyone, and by me.

I want to open my closet to get dressed and feel excited and blessed and grateful, "This is my closet! These are what I get to put on my body - to wear like perfume, like lotion - to caress my skin like soft hands, to catch the wind as it blows..."

And when I think of how my future looks - it's all up and up and up. More money coming in, more love coming in, more beauty surrounding me, more gifts to share, more security, more blessings, more confidence, and with each moment - the journey is the greatest gift I receive.

Now, to pull out the guitar for a few minutes. I need more sheet music too.

Adding to my list of favorite things...

Finding my daughter's bathroom clean - sparkling clean and smelling fresh.
My doggies - and being able to sleep with them again.
Telling the little one, "Time for bed," and she runs up the stairs to the bedroom.
Telling the little one in the morning when my alarm goes off, "Good morning," and how excited she gets - I think it's because she remembers that's how she spent the first 4 years of her life, with the following year banned to the kitchen. She knows the word, "Kitchen." Not one of her favorite things.

Also one of my favorite things - these may be former "things" that I didn't realize I would miss so much until I no longer had them - so, a return of a favorite thing that I didn't realize how much I missed - turning on lights in the bedroom in the morning.

Another - not worrying about pissing a certain person off 24 / 7. Constantly stepping on eggshells around him. Losing myself - like I told him before he moved in. There are a couple things I NEED to be ME. And if he said he loved me, he would have to know that there are 2 things I must continue to have / do / be, in order to be the ME the HE loved.

I need my quiet time on the couch and I need my alone time. Whether these occur together or separate doesn't matter as much as it matters that I continue to have the opportunity to experience both daily - even if I chose not to.

You'd think after a year of living with me, with 3 bathrooms in my house, that ONCE in 365 days he could have cleaned a toilet?

No. It dawns on me that he never cleaned the one at his old house either.

So he wrote his pity party on Facebook. Not classy, just trashy.

I didn't write on here as much as I wanted to when this blog started - because I was under constant scrutiny.

"Whatcha doin'?"
"Whatcha writin'?"

And of course - there was never QUIET nor ALONE time to be able to write.

Otherwise I would have written more about what I saw on his Facebook. How he started "checking in" wherever the "band" was playing - and that he was there with the girl singer - who had the same first name as me - just spelled slightly different.

"Angry Man" is with "Loser Band" at "Loser Bar" with "Girl with my name spelled differently by one letter."

Oh and don't forget how he gave me this false hope that he and I would be playing out together. And how he abandoned it and blamed me for abandoning it.

He "loved" me - but did not "get it" that I have been planning to sing live for over 20 years???

I am XX years old now. Too old to try anymore. Too old to bother. Too old.

How is it?

How is it that I seemingly STOPPED my music when he got closer to me - in my house, always around, always calling, always wanting me to come over. Then living here. Sheesh.

One of my not so favorite things - the thousands of dollars of debt I have accumulated. Over $X0,000.00 in credit card debt. Car loan - still owe about $X,000.00. And how for the past year I paid ALL THE BILLS while he lived here. ~ Oh, his "deal" was that he bought "all" the groceries, including a monthly trip to the "bulk buying shopping center" where he would lay down $200.00 on bulk meat and bulk paper products. But I still continued to pay as much or more on groceries monthly too. F-ing a-hole, cheap ass bastard.

And there are things I want to do. To this house. Things to buy.

F-ing sucks.

So to make extra money, I will write. That is who I am. I always knew I would be happiest being paid to be who I am.

Not my favorite thing - to admit my debt or my age.
Part of the reason he had to go.
I am getting older and more in debt.

To see him sit on his ass night after night on that hideous recliner (one of my favorite things is that it is GONE) playing fantasy internet games and "watching" TV for hours upon hours... His ego and insecurities getting in the way.

At least now my debt is my responsibility and I do not have him around to "hope" he would pay some bills or help in some way.

I Know it's Over

...I know it's over
And it really never began...

...If you're so very entertaining then why are you on your own tonight?...

~ The Smiths

I told him I hoped he NEVER had to experience how it feels to love someone who doesn't like your kid. Because he did not like my kid. And it felt awful. He was ugly to her and it killed us. And I did not feel fond of his child anymore. I was so glad when it was summer and he was with his mother.

He is gone now, they are both gone now. I had enough and had to end it.

Back to me.  I'm getting back to me.
Did you know that if you type "Back to Me" into the search bar on metro lyrics site, that there are 2,127 results??? Astounding. http://www.metrolyrics.com/search.php#

I was thinking of a certain line in a John Mayer song... "Back to me, I know that it comes, back to me, doesn't it scare you, your will is not as strong as it used to be..."
I love the David Cook song' "Come Back to Me."
I do not like the Meatloaf song, "It's All Coming Back to Me Now," and I don't like Celine's version either.

Getting back to me was a slide into what I want to do... And then it leveled out and the trip back up the hill looks long.... Not a steep hill either, just a long, slow journey ahead.

I want to journal so badly, but that was the old me, now I'm blogging.

I knew Rumi's poems before I ever read them... I understand...

"You look upset."

"Are you in a bad mood?" the child says to me.

No, I just don't like you, you annoy me, your very presence I can't stand. But I don't say that. I just say no. I dread being alone with him, I dread being in the room with him and his father.

I think I hate this.

If I could choose  would it be this?
I don't want him, but how to end it?
I don't see it ever improving.
I see that he thinks of me as a babysitter that's free.
That used to have sex with him.
I'm not happy.
I wish I could talk with my mother.

I can't talk to you anymore.

I don't know if I want to work it out.

I guess if things were meant to be then this wouldn't be so hard.

I'm sorry. I do love you.

Tbis just isn't going to work.

I wish you'd never proposed and never moved in here.

I thought you were respectful to your mom but now I see you more accurately. You boss her around and she jumps at your command.

I will never be like that.

And NOT so fave...

i hate the silence. it is not peace and quiet. it is hostile silent war.
get over it man!

And some not favorite things...

My fiance is joining a band that has a chick singer

 - who just happens to have the same first name as me.

Have I mentioned yet that my whole life I wanted to be the lead singer in a band? I'm a good singer. And somewhere along the path of my life I got this fear. Panic. Unable to sing in front of a crowd with the strength I used to have. 

I don't remember when it started. I do remember journaling that I wished I could stop wanting that dream. I wished I could kill my dream - and as much as I tried, it wouldn't die.

I think it died last night. It's sad and freeing and strange.

My fiance does not get it though. He's kind of an asshole.

I thought it was some kind of cosmic mind fuck from God. 

Then I woke up this morning mid-dream where I was telling a bunch of people the story of The Cave by Plato.

Fuckin deep man.

If it has to be said...

Blooms

My Japanese Magnolia tree has it's first bloom in 5 years.

My Bartholin Cyst Surgery

I really thought it shrank and my obgyn would have sent me home, but no. I was the first patient there today. The check in lady, Janet, was so supernice. She could teach customer service skills to others. My nurse, Melanie was also wonderful. And in the recovery room, my nurse, Vicki was wonderful. I loved getting Valium beforehand and it worked just like it's supposed to. I was in some pain when i woke and got Fentanyl. It helped a little, and I preferred not being gorked out. For an awful type of needed surgery, I was very pleased with my care. And I'm pretty critical. Home, on couch with puppy doggies. Pain comes in waves. And I'm ok.

Once before bed...

Music, obviously.
Julie Andrews.
The Hills are Alive....

How much randomness can you handle?

There are times I'm so happy. Content.

But in order to learn my favorite things
I must separate out the yuck too.

I am fickle yet I don't change easily.
I'm a constant freakin' paradox.

There's Always a First....

Well here I am, here we are. I have to tell so much. For instance, those few things that are amongst my favorites.