My Husband Wants Me to Quit My Blog

It is too much evidence others could use against me.

Emotional Stupidity

What can I say, working is hard. Working involves meeting expectations that you may not realize exist.

Today was one of those days. I let things slip that I didn't realize shouldn't slip. I accept the criticism; it is correct.

The problem is that I was being told with small comments, shades of information which were rose colored. I realize that this is meant to be nice and I totally believe that this was the result of the best intentions. Unfortunately, I didn't put this sparkly glass together.

I had to press someone on the team to lay things out for me. The simple view of the problem is that I need to conform to some norms of the other workers. I hope that I can manage to do it; but I still don't know if I can. I am not sure that really understand.

Perhaps there is something wrong with me, truly. I miss these cues. I don't understand passive aggression, hints, veiled threats. I tend to take things on face value and respond accordingly. I am blunt, but not out of malice, out of perspective.

For the longest time I have treated people that hedge around things with a certain disdain. I saw them as cowards. Just say it, damn it. If you aren't straightforward I dismiss you. I believe in raw honesty.

Today I tremble at my deficiency. I don't play games. Unfortunately, I am not smart enough to recognize the hidden meanings of others. I am at a disadvantage and I don't know how to learn to do it.

I want to keep this job. I want to be successful. I want to understand. I don't know how to get the people with the information to speak in words that I can understand. I am not sure that they want to do it. They protect their castles and I don't want to live behind walls.

Work is hard.

I am grumpy. I spit. I wake up on the wrong side of the bed. I guess that makes me 'different.'

You know, it's kind of fantastic.

Doodle and I went to see the movie today.

This film was directed by Wes Anderson and I love Wes Anderson. I loved Wes Anderson directing a stop motion feature. Doodle thoroughly enjoyed the film. She has a film background that is diverse in comparison to other 6 year olds. I prefer to let my children see the dirty truth to some concocted kiddy film.

There is a lovely song by The Bobby Fuller Four which ends the film. I almost got her to dance with me in the theater. She also identified the characters with our family, which is fair. True to Anderson's style the characters are unconventional and some are downright unpleasant.

There was a Time article, that bastion of intellectual discourse, on over parenting. The upside of Time is that it reaches the masses and sparks conversation on morning shows. It may reach people who need to hear the message. I have beat this drum many times and I have whittled down to: back off, your children need to be themselves, live dangerously, and you (parent) need your own life.

Blah, blah choices right? It is just that I am tired of fighting about this. I am tired about fighting against American consumption. I am tired of fighting to tell people to eat well, eat at home, eat food from your home, and exercise.

I have shied away from the exercise sermon. It creates stress. It makes others feel less worthy and that is not the point. I wish that there was some way to let others feel my physical presence. I have peace with my body. It is strong. It can do anything. It wasn't easy to start, really, but once you do, it is impossible to quit.

I eat good food. I don't count calories or do systems. I eat very little meat, vegetables and fruits several times a day, and avoid processed food like the plague. I don't do it to loose weight, I do it because it feels and tastes better. But I should add that I exercise 6 or 7 days a week. I dance, yoga, weights,run, and bike.

I guess the answer to health and well being for me is rejecting the marketed American life. Don't eat what the tv tells you to eat. Let your children run amok, enough to get covered in muck. Instead of worrying about being odd, worry about being normal.

Not Knowin' the Seeds I would Sow

Angeline, Angeline, darker nights I've never seen.
I don't love these East Texas pines.

This funny time is beyond me. I walk about, trying to understand the context of this American life. On paper things are fine. Fine has always been my code word for 'the best possible in this situation,' but not today. Things are really fine.

I am secure in my work. The children are more successful then expected. The husband is tolerable, but, no longer a battle I choose. Of course there are things, the housing situation could be better. Money could be easier. Memories could be forgotten.

I am waiting for Godot.

The days are not quite so pointless as Estragon and Vladimir. In fact, the days are never pointless. But the bind of waiting for the pieces to move is constricting.

I don't know what to do with myself. I have a sword of Damocles with my thesis, it must begin, middle, and end. But you know, Jane says, "I'm going to quit tomorrow." Really, I need to start this weekend.

I am falling into the trap of 'so this is it?' I am not an old woman; 35 is not old. What am I supposed to do at this age? What is the rule? I am not interested in woman things. I don't like to shop, I don't like chic novels or films, I am not obsessed with my children's futures, I don't watch tv, I read reluctantly (due to the grad school obligations: I read that constantly), I don't want to play cards, drink, or go to church, and I hate the mom & kids groups at the library et al.

I know what I like. I like concerts and art museums, I am dying for good heated conversation, I love independent films, and I miss the bustle of the city.

Don't say move. I would only move for outlandishly good circumstances.

Sometimes I feel like the traps we lay for ourselves spring out of control.

It is a petty complaint. I am not fulfilled with things, status, or the things I see around me.

I would like to find the more in heaven and earth Horatio.

I watched Food Inc. tonight and I was going to tell you how the kids were thoroughly grossed out. We may have some veggie/ co-op lovers on our hands.

I want to take a little time to talk about Veggie Libel Laws.
Warning this is wikipedia, but you'll get the jist. Crazy, crazy stuff. I need to know more about it, but let's just say it needs fighting.

Bringing me to my main point: why are people so evil that they try not to get others to say "Industrial Food Production is unsafe for consumers."

Prepare to be posted as I learn more. Tip for the day, eat NOTHING processed.

Also as a shout out to me. I think I missed my calling as a Super Villain. Vigilante justice is so appealing.

For Teri:

The Weight

Thesis, thesis, thesis. The weight. Who knew that this self imposed guilt party was going to involve me looking for coasters and worrying about the davenport. My whiny spouse is pointing out that I have written more about NOT writing my thesis than the 200 words written for the thesis.

Why is this such a paralyzing endeavor? Why can't I start? The words should be: Current language education methodology has been swinging between the idea that languages should be done "naturally" in an immersion style. Meaning: If you just keep talking in the foreign language and the sponge brains of the students will use the input to then speak. The other side being that grammar rules should be presented and then practiced to proficiency.

Basically, neither works well alone. I am going to figure out what the trends are and analyze the flaws of both. Then I am going to suggest some middle road. I will probably throw in something about academics trying to make names for themselves over best practice.

Whoot?





Which brings us back to: what the hell? Write it down. Duh. But, the minute I sit down to do it, I back away. Fear? Dread? Cowardliness?

The Space Between

Life. Life is calming. I know that writing this is nothing more than throwing sand into the wind. It will blow, sting my eyes, but ultimately settle unnoticed back into the ground. There is no way to hold the grains, there is no way to get the moments back, and there is no way to explain how the moment that everything blew away tore through me.

Those poets and those novelists do not speak to the young. They try to remember and to help us make sense of losing. They reassure us and they let their own secrets and ghosts play. I am beginning to accept that there is no filling the hole that sits like a stone in our hearts, weighing, reminding.

Perhaps there are people that feel whole. Simple happy souls. Enlightened souls. Souls that have let regret wash away. Souls that honor their grief, but, do not live in grief. Souls that have love as a constant, unshakable, a foundation.

I would be lying if I didn't admit that I envy them. I covet their words. I believe in them, but I resent. I resent that I can't find these secrets. I resent that so many things, people, demands, past losses, present takers, cloud my days. Molehill mountains and enough of them make the present steep. I wish I could cut it all lose, but it is not possible to really let go. We don't cut and run.

I know that there are gifts. You don't have to remind me. I know that I could focus on them now. I need to grieve just a bit. "For all sad words of tongue and pen, the saddest are "What might have been."

Let it be. Let yourself be forgotten. Let go.

Not so hard really. Look at her. Van Gogh knew; of course he knew. He lost. He didn't accept the slow grind. I think that letting yourself float away with the sand is the harder choice.

I am tired today.

It's been awhile since I saw the plan. Nothing fast. One two, follow the rules. Three four, stay the course. Five six, slowly let time fix. Seven eight, keep my money straight. Nine ten, do it again and again.

"Character is a by product; it is produced in the great manufacture of daily duty." Woodrow Wilson

I wish that there was some small spark of hope. Martyrs are insufferable. They are not a gift. They are burdens; they burden themselves and that way are bound to seep that insidious reminder onto those they wish to save.

For this I am sorry.

Happiness in a bottle. I receive many lotions and potions and other beauty related items. I use them up dutifully until I can go and buy my lotion. I realize that Burt's Bees isn't exactly cutting edge or fashionable, but, for my money, it is the best lotion.

Happily finished with my other guilted into buying "come to my cosmetic pyramid party" lotion, I picked up a bottle of comfort. I also bought Sesame Street bubble bath for the girl. I looked at shampoo, but came up with a whole lot of meh. I need a shampoo secret.

I have been wandering around semi-aimlessly. I do have several books intended for study. They make me feel secure. I have something to do. I pick away at it day by day, which seems to be how this writing goes. Slow and steady.

Work is settled. Relieving. I am not going to make any attempt to find the next big thing. I am happy with the available real thing. Doodle is hoping that I decide to become a veterinarian, but Spanish teacher seems just fine.

Somehow this post seems mundane. I haven't read or done much intellectually this week. Being sick was all consuming. My system is still not perfect.