It's no secret that my mom and I spent lots of time together shopping when I was younger. There was no mall, no store left unturned by Fay and her little hunter, always finished around 4 or 4:30 The ritual would then consist of picking up subs from The Great Outdoors or a bucket of KFC with mac and cheese, coleslaw, and definitely mashed potatoes. Sometimes it would consist of going home with just one thing, probably another plaid button down for my father mom nabbed from a sale rack at Dillard's, and then eating leftover pizza or homemade barbeque chicken. There was also a good chance one of the movies we rented from Blockbuster remained in its case unwatched. Saturday night was a good remedy for that.
As time passed, our rituals changed, much to my mother's dismay. I was growing older and hated to be around other people and was moody and depressed without direction. She may have also been depressed, too, for reason's I may never know. Looking back now, I know something wasn't right by the way she filled bookcases of our home with things she'd never read or Barbie dolls she never could have had as a child. My mother, the woman who taught me to save things for later, was a hoarder to the nines.
Now, my dad is cleaning out our home and ridding it of the things that have always bogged us down. It hurts because Mom has no say anymore, since she can't really speak more than soft utterances of sounds and attempts at sentences under her breath, hunkered over with an old Cowboy movie blasting away the reality of now. The reality of Mom's tiny, frail body; jowels that are proof of a good life lived, though they hang on a face that doesn't remember past Christmases or Easter suppers. Maybe she does. I hope she does.
My dad has become a scavenger since he was forced to retire. He has found cards that I wrote to my grandma--his mother--, his old military passport from before he experienced The War, photos of the sweet toddler my nephew used to be. There is an excitement as he shows me his findings, like I will be able to fill in the blanks on the memories he wasn't there to experience. I usually can and do, but it is too much to be The Giver of the family, in a sense.
As Mom would have it, even after garage sales and attempting to run a small antique booth, there is enough stuff to assure anyone outsider that love existed in this house. Pflatzgraff plates, cream with faint pink roses on the edge, including the entire set used for every Christmas, Thanksgiving, and fancy birthday. Small ceramic loaf trays that were intended for banana bread she would make for gifts. So many unfulfilled promises lay in every cabinet, drawer, or shelf.
I'll admit, that even seven years after all this began, Mother's Day is hard. The first few years after The Incident, she was able to say things sometimes, still laugh at jokes, dance, all that. This past summer, the doctors believe she had a secondary stroke which has robbed my mom of any kind of joy.
Hallmark was one of our favorite hunting grounds. I loved looking at Charlie Brown stuff or Beanie Babies, while Mom reminisced, examining art or sentimental cards or anything involving Frank Sinatra. How she loved Ol' Blue Eyes.
I write about her in the past tense because I can't make sense of what she's become. She is there, sitting before me, though much more tiny and precious and sad than I've ever seen her in my days. Telling her anything, about my job and how I know she would be proud of me, get a smile and sometimes a kiss on the cheek. It is not long after, though, she may fall asleep on the couch because of her anti-seizure medication, or she will fight being fed, or she will fight, period.
It isn't fair. Life isn't, my mom assured me many times growing up. The first time she explained the Rolling Stones song "You Can't Always Get What You Want" opened the floodgates for her to be goofy in an attempt to distract me from my want of a new doll or movie. It usually worked, but there were plenty of times it didn't.
She wouldn't want me to say it's not fair because I believe she knows it. It's most unfair to her, to have her life shortened by my dad's and my brother's inaction, my fear, and everyone else's fake concern. I can't make sense of it and I never will. For those that try to console people with mother's that are barely there this Mother's Day, we have already experienced the following:
--Yes, I will be stronger.
--Yes, I will remember the good times.
--Yes, I look and sound like her.
--Yes, I'm as stubborn as she was.
--No, I'm not as smart as she was. She was a fucking engineer with any kind of college degree.
--No, God doesn't allow bad things to happen for a reason. They just happen. My mother did not believe in a God who was so vicious that he would tear families apart.
Some days I only believe in God because I knew my mother did and it gave her such comfort. I want that hope she had, that she will be able to live again and be free of this pain. She deserves to sit on the right hand of God and hear "well done, my good and faithful servant."
Other days, I pretend God doesn't exist so I can say this is the end of our story and it will be over soon. It hurts less if there's nothing to come after.
I am not certain how to handle this Mother's Day. Do I get her a card that she cannot read, let alone open and hold? Do I buy her clothes that my dad will not dress her in, or that she will spill Ensure on while fighting not to drink it?
For now, I will just give her my love, and tell her our stories, and hold her. It is more of a gift that she will be giving me than I could ever give her.
Thursday, May 3, 2018
Monday, February 12, 2018
2.12.18
Being censored isn't fun for anyone, and as I'm transcribing footage where a character curses, I'm left wondering if I have to leave it in the transcript or not.
I curse a lot and this bothers me. Sometimes there are not enough words in the entirety of the English language that could convey certain feelings of anger or pride or shame or empathy or companionship.
Casualness and cursing are part of every day life, and I feel like I want to be better than that, to have a more developed vocabulary than that of a junior in high school.
But, fuck, man.
My frustration with parts of my life can only be defined using a four-letter-phrase that my mother would be horrified to hear shoot past my lips.
Maybe that's something I'll address on my Lenten journey, my honest-to-God first ever attempt at this holy and bizarre thing.
Just an update to let you know I am still writing, though it never is on paper, electronic or wood. Floating in my heads are words that I've forgotten and stories that I need to share. Perhaps this could also be part of my journey. Honesty in the guise of art.
We'll see.
I curse a lot and this bothers me. Sometimes there are not enough words in the entirety of the English language that could convey certain feelings of anger or pride or shame or empathy or companionship.
Casualness and cursing are part of every day life, and I feel like I want to be better than that, to have a more developed vocabulary than that of a junior in high school.
But, fuck, man.
My frustration with parts of my life can only be defined using a four-letter-phrase that my mother would be horrified to hear shoot past my lips.
Maybe that's something I'll address on my Lenten journey, my honest-to-God first ever attempt at this holy and bizarre thing.
Just an update to let you know I am still writing, though it never is on paper, electronic or wood. Floating in my heads are words that I've forgotten and stories that I need to share. Perhaps this could also be part of my journey. Honesty in the guise of art.
We'll see.
Thursday, October 26, 2017
An Ending's Beginning
Six, or seven years, of tumultuous family bickering and arguments over the betterment of out matriarch come to a slow, quiet conclusion--likely rife with tears, confusion, and anger--tomorrow afternoon.
Six years this past September 1st that I witnessed my existence change.
Not just my existence, really, but that of everyone around me including my city, the other sibling that tagged along quietly everywhere we went. It was and is consuming, and it is tiring. Oh, how it is tiring to explain that my mother is not herself and that I am beginning to forget what she was like before. That yes, she looks like someone else, yes, she was a great cook, yes to random pop culture comparisons. From family members to complete strangers, I am so tired.
Tomorrow is the opening of a new chapter for all of us, but mainly her. Though I don't know what's going on in her mind, we all think she's still in there somewhere. Some days she doesn't know who I am, which I guess was to be expected since I've moved away and can't visit as much. Others, it seems like she never wants to let me go. I love those days.
Dad told me that she stares at him sometimes, perhaps wondering if it's him or an imposter. Since cancer ravaged his throat, he has aged at least five years only in a very short, traumatic one. I could understand if she doesn't recognize us anymore. It doesn't make that hurt any less. She must be terrified all the time.
Of all the well-adjusted people in the world, my folks have never been among them. Dad has tried to be more open about his feelings, especially about this and how it's a mixed blessing. It's gotten too hard, she's too unpredictable, and it's no longer safe for anyone. She's terrorized by getting her hair washed at the salon and refuses to even eat Snickers anymore.
It's so easy to reflect on the could haves and should haves that have passed by in rapid succession. All I know is that I did what I could and that's how we're here now. God knows the struggle this has been for us all and, though marred with sadness and long forgotten hope, he's granted us what we've been working for as soon as Dad started loosening his grip.
Tomorrow means something new and I don't know what or how that will play out. Thankfully, my husband will be by my side, as he has been through the entirety of this. Without him, I couldn't have had the strength to complete any of this but he would tell you otherwise because that's just what he does.
If you pray, give a prayer of thanks on our behalf; thanks for the life we've shared, all five of us plus those who have decided to join the journey somewhere along the way. Thanks that God has given us so many wonderful memories, things to learn, and places to grow. Thanks that Mom will hopefully be able to enjoy life again, even if she doesn't know we are part of it. We will always cheer her on like she has us.
Always.
Six years this past September 1st that I witnessed my existence change.
Not just my existence, really, but that of everyone around me including my city, the other sibling that tagged along quietly everywhere we went. It was and is consuming, and it is tiring. Oh, how it is tiring to explain that my mother is not herself and that I am beginning to forget what she was like before. That yes, she looks like someone else, yes, she was a great cook, yes to random pop culture comparisons. From family members to complete strangers, I am so tired.
Tomorrow is the opening of a new chapter for all of us, but mainly her. Though I don't know what's going on in her mind, we all think she's still in there somewhere. Some days she doesn't know who I am, which I guess was to be expected since I've moved away and can't visit as much. Others, it seems like she never wants to let me go. I love those days.
Dad told me that she stares at him sometimes, perhaps wondering if it's him or an imposter. Since cancer ravaged his throat, he has aged at least five years only in a very short, traumatic one. I could understand if she doesn't recognize us anymore. It doesn't make that hurt any less. She must be terrified all the time.
Of all the well-adjusted people in the world, my folks have never been among them. Dad has tried to be more open about his feelings, especially about this and how it's a mixed blessing. It's gotten too hard, she's too unpredictable, and it's no longer safe for anyone. She's terrorized by getting her hair washed at the salon and refuses to even eat Snickers anymore.
It's so easy to reflect on the could haves and should haves that have passed by in rapid succession. All I know is that I did what I could and that's how we're here now. God knows the struggle this has been for us all and, though marred with sadness and long forgotten hope, he's granted us what we've been working for as soon as Dad started loosening his grip.
Tomorrow means something new and I don't know what or how that will play out. Thankfully, my husband will be by my side, as he has been through the entirety of this. Without him, I couldn't have had the strength to complete any of this but he would tell you otherwise because that's just what he does.
If you pray, give a prayer of thanks on our behalf; thanks for the life we've shared, all five of us plus those who have decided to join the journey somewhere along the way. Thanks that God has given us so many wonderful memories, things to learn, and places to grow. Thanks that Mom will hopefully be able to enjoy life again, even if she doesn't know we are part of it. We will always cheer her on like she has us.
Always.
Tuesday, January 31, 2017
Happy birthday to The Sims!
Best Buy has always been a place of wonder and enchantment from me, even from my earliest memories. Whether we needed a new computer because someone pushed the wrong buttons (hint: it was probably me) or my brother tried to sneakily coerce my mom into buying him an overly-expensive Prince CD with PARENTAL ADVISORY upon the front of it, as though it was a scarlet letter. For me, it meant the chance to maybe get 1) a Backstreet Boys _____ 2) a movie from the cheap area or 3) that little portable black and white TV I had saved all my gift money and begged for literally every time we went there. Video games were something we reserved for buying at Babbage’s, Target, or Toys R Us. More often than not, they were my brother’s choice--not mine.
By the time the year 2000 rolled around, my brother had moved out since he was eight years my senior. This left me with my N64 and a PlayStation, as well as my parents’ PC. Most of the games I’d played on the PC were “educational” (I was homeschooled, after all), with Roller Coaster Tycoon and SimCity 2000 installed for good measure. When playing them during the day, I would often say that I was learning business principles, and my parents would leave me alone. Perhaps I missed my calling as a lawyer.
On one rainy day, as my parents contemplated the purchase of a new PC at Best Buy, I meandered the aisles of the store in an attempt to entertain myself. The ritual of CDs-movies- then-games rarely changed but was not observed this day. Something had pulled me to the gaming section.
It was in that moment my entire life changed forever.
Released in February 2000, twelve-year-old me fell in love with Maxis Studios The Sims. Having previously been a fan of SimCity, my parents seemed eager to purchase the game for me. My dad even commented on how it looked fun and cool to him, which helped me skate across the whole T rating issue. From there, a love story was born. Well, of course it was Bella and Mortimer Goth’s but it was mine, too. I had found a game that let me be creative and weird and tell stories. It was beautiful.
Seventeen years and many new editions and expansion packs later, I am still playing. This, of course, means I am much older now, but my need and adoration for The Sims is as strong as its been. From the PS2 version, I learned about nudist’s colonies, from the College edition of The Sims 2, I decided I never really wanted to live in a dorm. The Sims 3 helped prepare me for marriage and home-decorating...at least, that’s what I’ve told myself.
More importantly than learning things from Sandbox games, its the experience. When something bad happens to a lovingly crafted Sim, it hurts. When the blue screen of death appears out of nowhere and you lose the home you’ve been lovingly crafting, it hurts. Not to liken something as insignificant as losing a game file to bankruptcy, but the game did help me when that happened to my parents in 2008. It helped me cope with horrible relationships and self-esteem, as I could create whoever I wanted to be and the life that I had always dreamed of. The Sims gave me some kind of power that I never knew I had, something very few others game have ever done.
Here’s to seventeen more years, The Sims. Please go back to open world style gameplay in your next update, though. This Sim-fiend would be grateful for it.
Wednesday, December 21, 2016
The Most Important Movie This Holiday (and Probably Forever)
Free movie screenings are the best because they combine the two things I love most: free stuff and movies. Thanks to the Austin Film Society's generosity, I was able to view not one but two free screenings this week. Merry Christmas to me!
The first of which was Jackie starring Natalie Portman as Jackie Kennedy during the time of her husband's assassination. Beautiful cinematography is only overshadowed by Portman's performance. Its as if she stole Jackie's soul, breathiness of voice but smart and strategic. This was an important film for an important time.
But that is not the one you need to see this Christmas.
Tonight, my husband was able to join me in a preview screening of A Monster Calls. I will not be divulging any information regarding the plot, though the trailer is very good at letting one know exactly what to expect.
There was no viewing of this film for me, only experiencing it. The summary of the story is that a middle-school aged boy is dealing with his mother having cancer by befriending a giant tree guy. The trailer rests below.
If you know me, the year I've had or, rather, the years that I have had, you can guess it hasn't been easy. I'm not here to explain away any choices I've made or haven't or to seek sympathy. All I ask is that you view this film to gain a true understanding of those in your life who may be hurting.
Though not all of the story is personally applicable , the guilt, anger, fear, and betrayal Conor experiences are. There was not a moment this film didn't stir my soul or guide it into the place it needed to be. Was it enjoyable? Healing isn't always enjoyable and neither was this film. A Monster Calls and healing are not mutually exclusive.
Don't get me wrong--director Juan Antonio Bayona makes a gorgeous picture. There are scenes of watercolors, dreams, and nightmares, all of which are memorable and visually striking. Lewis MacDougall plays Conor, the young protagonist, and gives the best performance one could ask from any professional actor. I hope he's around for years to come.
Never have I experienced something, a motion picture or painting or literature, calm my soul all the while prodding it to deal with all the clutter left inside. Movies connect more deeply than many other forces in the way they can subvert your expectations and force you to address your own sins or suffering scattered across the silver screen.
This movie is not for children and has a PG-13 rating for a reason. Just because a child is the star and its about his life doesn't mean its suitable for little people.
There is much more I want to say about this film, and will do so in another post that is chock to the brim with spoilers and scene analyses. But for now, I will let my heart finish its response and my tears dry.
The first of which was Jackie starring Natalie Portman as Jackie Kennedy during the time of her husband's assassination. Beautiful cinematography is only overshadowed by Portman's performance. Its as if she stole Jackie's soul, breathiness of voice but smart and strategic. This was an important film for an important time.
But that is not the one you need to see this Christmas.
Tonight, my husband was able to join me in a preview screening of A Monster Calls. I will not be divulging any information regarding the plot, though the trailer is very good at letting one know exactly what to expect.
There was no viewing of this film for me, only experiencing it. The summary of the story is that a middle-school aged boy is dealing with his mother having cancer by befriending a giant tree guy. The trailer rests below.
If you know me, the year I've had or, rather, the years that I have had, you can guess it hasn't been easy. I'm not here to explain away any choices I've made or haven't or to seek sympathy. All I ask is that you view this film to gain a true understanding of those in your life who may be hurting.
Though not all of the story is personally applicable , the guilt, anger, fear, and betrayal Conor experiences are. There was not a moment this film didn't stir my soul or guide it into the place it needed to be. Was it enjoyable? Healing isn't always enjoyable and neither was this film. A Monster Calls and healing are not mutually exclusive.
Don't get me wrong--director Juan Antonio Bayona makes a gorgeous picture. There are scenes of watercolors, dreams, and nightmares, all of which are memorable and visually striking. Lewis MacDougall plays Conor, the young protagonist, and gives the best performance one could ask from any professional actor. I hope he's around for years to come.
Never have I experienced something, a motion picture or painting or literature, calm my soul all the while prodding it to deal with all the clutter left inside. Movies connect more deeply than many other forces in the way they can subvert your expectations and force you to address your own sins or suffering scattered across the silver screen.
This movie is not for children and has a PG-13 rating for a reason. Just because a child is the star and its about his life doesn't mean its suitable for little people.
There is much more I want to say about this film, and will do so in another post that is chock to the brim with spoilers and scene analyses. But for now, I will let my heart finish its response and my tears dry.
Monday, September 26, 2016
On politics
I thought my blog would be a safe space to discuss my thoughts on the debate in the entirety, moreover because I posted enough on Facebook already. The folks that read those thoughts are more than welcome to continue reading them on this blog. The Internet is a noisy place and I don't mean to negatively contribute.
Tonight was the night:
THE DEBATE
The "debate", also known as the tantrum-throwing-talking-over-show, was unlike any I'd heard in my life. For years, I had been raised to be a good Republican because that's what a "Christian" was, switching between altars of Jesus and St. Ronald himself. Being homeschooled didn't help this cause but in fact exacerbated the "brain-washing" that occured in my formative years. I do not think my parents ever meant this to harm me but I do believe they would die if they knew my deepest, darkest secret.
I'm with her.
I mean, I guess. She was never my first choice, for many reasons, but those reasons are now minute compared to the outrageous toupee'd pumpkin who parades himself as a yuuge success. I'm really with Bernie and think what the Clinton campaign did to him was obnoxious. Very House of Cards, if you will. However, I love my country enough to vote for Hillary Rodham Clinton.
There have been many things that have not felt right about Drumpf's campaign, message, or personality. He's brash and narcissistic at his best; mean, incompetent, and dangerous at his worst. In fact, the thing that made me 100% for Hillary (I mean, like, buying a car magnet and stuff 100% for) is Drumpf's character...or really the fact that he hasn't got one.
Political television ads are ridiculous, ranking up there with used car places or mini-malls in annoying factor. A poorly edited video with a microscopic budget is not a proper way to run your campaign, nor is an all out bloodbath, dumping everything on the other candidate as if they are the anti-Christ. Oh, do I remember my parents talking about that 8 years ago.
Clinton has an elegance about her campaign and its attack ads. In fact, when I first viewed this one about a WWII Prisoner of War, I was stunned. Secretly hoping for a mini-documentary about this hero's life, I was shocked to see it was a tactfully done ad by the Clinton campaign. It was not vicious; it was truthful. Drumpf is his own worst enemy.
The second ad I watched has been playing over and over in my mind and I cannot ignore it.
Can we ignore a man who degrades women? As a woman, one who has been considered "fat" or "chubby" or "overweight" by many people over her lifetime, I cannot. I cannot support him, cannot believe he is representing a party that I so closely associated rather foolishly with my religious convictions.
It is not just that he degrades us, it is that he would never see us as equal. What kind of world would I wake up in thinking that the President of a country I love, that my father and my grandfathers fought for, my grandmother emigrated to, would not see me as a valuable asset to the country? He would not see me as a person, rather as a piece of meat.
His comments tonight regarding "home grown terrorism" involved some pretty derogatory language, including a person who would be considered a deviant of society (a hacker) would be 400 lbs. Why is it necessary to: 1. bring up a person's weight in a political debate and 2. associate obesity with being a "bad guy"?
This isn't just about me.
This is about my mom.
She was brilliant in her top form, educating me every day while juggling managing my dad's business. In the 1980s, she was even an engineer of sorts without ever holding any type of higher degree. This woman is my hero. She left an abusive relationship to raise her son, gave up a promising career to make sure I became an educated person, and always tried to make sure I did my best.
Would he see her as a woman, a person, because of her condition? What kind of rules would he make to rid the earth of the disabled or people who couldn't contribute? This worries me greatly.
Because of the feminist my mother made me, believing I was equal to any man, any person at all, I will break her heart and vote for a Clinton. There is no way that I would ever put any support, ideological or monetary, behind such a hateful fascist.
My mom did not raise a fool. I have changed; I do not believe I am a Republican or Democrat. I try to remember what she taught me, about God being the one whom I truly adhere to, to be kind, to be loving, to resemble Christ in his compassion and love. Hell, they even named me after him.
It is because I value myself, my mother's legacy, and my grandmother's legacy, that I firmly will say:
I'm with her.
Tonight was the night:
THE DEBATE
The "debate", also known as the tantrum-throwing-talking-over-show, was unlike any I'd heard in my life. For years, I had been raised to be a good Republican because that's what a "Christian" was, switching between altars of Jesus and St. Ronald himself. Being homeschooled didn't help this cause but in fact exacerbated the "brain-washing" that occured in my formative years. I do not think my parents ever meant this to harm me but I do believe they would die if they knew my deepest, darkest secret.
I'm with her.
I mean, I guess. She was never my first choice, for many reasons, but those reasons are now minute compared to the outrageous toupee'd pumpkin who parades himself as a yuuge success. I'm really with Bernie and think what the Clinton campaign did to him was obnoxious. Very House of Cards, if you will. However, I love my country enough to vote for Hillary Rodham Clinton.
There have been many things that have not felt right about Drumpf's campaign, message, or personality. He's brash and narcissistic at his best; mean, incompetent, and dangerous at his worst. In fact, the thing that made me 100% for Hillary (I mean, like, buying a car magnet and stuff 100% for) is Drumpf's character...or really the fact that he hasn't got one.
Political television ads are ridiculous, ranking up there with used car places or mini-malls in annoying factor. A poorly edited video with a microscopic budget is not a proper way to run your campaign, nor is an all out bloodbath, dumping everything on the other candidate as if they are the anti-Christ. Oh, do I remember my parents talking about that 8 years ago.
Clinton has an elegance about her campaign and its attack ads. In fact, when I first viewed this one about a WWII Prisoner of War, I was stunned. Secretly hoping for a mini-documentary about this hero's life, I was shocked to see it was a tactfully done ad by the Clinton campaign. It was not vicious; it was truthful. Drumpf is his own worst enemy.
The second ad I watched has been playing over and over in my mind and I cannot ignore it.
Can we ignore a man who degrades women? As a woman, one who has been considered "fat" or "chubby" or "overweight" by many people over her lifetime, I cannot. I cannot support him, cannot believe he is representing a party that I so closely associated rather foolishly with my religious convictions.
It is not just that he degrades us, it is that he would never see us as equal. What kind of world would I wake up in thinking that the President of a country I love, that my father and my grandfathers fought for, my grandmother emigrated to, would not see me as a valuable asset to the country? He would not see me as a person, rather as a piece of meat.
His comments tonight regarding "home grown terrorism" involved some pretty derogatory language, including a person who would be considered a deviant of society (a hacker) would be 400 lbs. Why is it necessary to: 1. bring up a person's weight in a political debate and 2. associate obesity with being a "bad guy"?
This isn't just about me.
This is about my mom.
She was brilliant in her top form, educating me every day while juggling managing my dad's business. In the 1980s, she was even an engineer of sorts without ever holding any type of higher degree. This woman is my hero. She left an abusive relationship to raise her son, gave up a promising career to make sure I became an educated person, and always tried to make sure I did my best.
Would he see her as a woman, a person, because of her condition? What kind of rules would he make to rid the earth of the disabled or people who couldn't contribute? This worries me greatly.
Because of the feminist my mother made me, believing I was equal to any man, any person at all, I will break her heart and vote for a Clinton. There is no way that I would ever put any support, ideological or monetary, behind such a hateful fascist.
My mom did not raise a fool. I have changed; I do not believe I am a Republican or Democrat. I try to remember what she taught me, about God being the one whom I truly adhere to, to be kind, to be loving, to resemble Christ in his compassion and love. Hell, they even named me after him.
It is because I value myself, my mother's legacy, and my grandmother's legacy, that I firmly will say:
I'm with her.
Friday, August 26, 2016
champion
"Can we talk, um, about stuff?"
My request to eat ice cream with my husband is not unusual, though it has become problematic thanks to a recently discovered gluten problem. The things on top of my mind had nothing to do with wheat amino acids or calories or anything of the sort.
He seemed a bit shocked that I suggested we dialogue over the dinner table instead of in front of the television. Without a proper couch, or even living room set up, this is uncomfortable. I don't need it to be anymore awkward than that which I bring myself.
I'm anxious.
Rocky road, sitting in little glass bowls, staring at me.
"Talk to me, baby. What did you want to discuss?"
"Nothing..."
Wait for it.
"Well, I mean, when you left college what was your mindset? What helped you press on?"
Husband is a wealth of knowledge and self-motivation. He knows no failure and to not say no to himself. He's not only a champion of his own, but my champion.
He tells me the story of taking two months to complete a portfolio, as his parents graciously let him come home for a time. He then got the job he wanted. He knew nothing else.
He encourages me, holding me as he tells me the things I am accomplishing that no one else has done that he knows of. He tells me my mind is a torrential sea, swaying me back and forth. I need to be Neptune, controlling it's waves and ebbs, controlling it instead of the alternative.
He is my champion.
I will be victorious for him.
My request to eat ice cream with my husband is not unusual, though it has become problematic thanks to a recently discovered gluten problem. The things on top of my mind had nothing to do with wheat amino acids or calories or anything of the sort.
He seemed a bit shocked that I suggested we dialogue over the dinner table instead of in front of the television. Without a proper couch, or even living room set up, this is uncomfortable. I don't need it to be anymore awkward than that which I bring myself.
I'm anxious.
Rocky road, sitting in little glass bowls, staring at me.
"Talk to me, baby. What did you want to discuss?"
"Nothing..."
Wait for it.
"Well, I mean, when you left college what was your mindset? What helped you press on?"
Husband is a wealth of knowledge and self-motivation. He knows no failure and to not say no to himself. He's not only a champion of his own, but my champion.
He tells me the story of taking two months to complete a portfolio, as his parents graciously let him come home for a time. He then got the job he wanted. He knew nothing else.
He encourages me, holding me as he tells me the things I am accomplishing that no one else has done that he knows of. He tells me my mind is a torrential sea, swaying me back and forth. I need to be Neptune, controlling it's waves and ebbs, controlling it instead of the alternative.
He is my champion.
I will be victorious for him.
Monday, August 15, 2016
sixteen days
It's been a long while since I've written anything here, without much good reason. Writing is usually a stress reliever for me and, boy, how I have been stressed.
Half of this year, a good chunk of my 28, has been absorbed with my father's sickness. We are coming to a close on the radiation journey. He seems to be doing well; our phone conversations are less strained, his speaking is much clearer than previous efforts.
Sixteen days left until my birthday. I think. My math skills have been kind of lackluster lately. Maybe I need to get back to doing hundreds of Kumon problems every week! There are lots of things I need to get my brain back on track, out of cancer survival mode, doing what I was trying to before things fell apart.
I will be 29. Starting then, I have 30 things I want to accomplish before my 30th birthday. I'm actually going to be writing a completely separate, hilariously gut-busting blog about it, detailing my own rules for the 30 things I'll be doing. Ok, the only gut I'm really trying to bust is my own--definitely one of my goals.
After the Valley is back into full on production. There are some exciting developments that have taken place in the past week alone that I cannot detail yet. Just be warned, my film will be awesome.
Graduation also comes this December.
I'm trying to take a break from things that distract, people that hurt, and thoughts that destroy. It's hard, but I'm almost to the finish line and when I get there, it will be fantastic.
Half of this year, a good chunk of my 28, has been absorbed with my father's sickness. We are coming to a close on the radiation journey. He seems to be doing well; our phone conversations are less strained, his speaking is much clearer than previous efforts.
Sixteen days left until my birthday. I think. My math skills have been kind of lackluster lately. Maybe I need to get back to doing hundreds of Kumon problems every week! There are lots of things I need to get my brain back on track, out of cancer survival mode, doing what I was trying to before things fell apart.
I will be 29. Starting then, I have 30 things I want to accomplish before my 30th birthday. I'm actually going to be writing a completely separate, hilariously gut-busting blog about it, detailing my own rules for the 30 things I'll be doing. Ok, the only gut I'm really trying to bust is my own--definitely one of my goals.
After the Valley is back into full on production. There are some exciting developments that have taken place in the past week alone that I cannot detail yet. Just be warned, my film will be awesome.
Graduation also comes this December.
I'm trying to take a break from things that distract, people that hurt, and thoughts that destroy. It's hard, but I'm almost to the finish line and when I get there, it will be fantastic.
Tuesday, May 3, 2016
exhaustion
Silence on this blog is a side-effect of many things, including but not limited to dropping classes, visiting family members, and, of course, a very sick Dad with a very bad stage of cancer.
Of course, I am allowed to cry and feel miserable but it gets me nowhere. The Lexapro that massages my brain into some sort of satiated normalcy has kept me sane, along with this crazy wonderful man known as my husband. Other than that, I'm pretty much falling apart.
This is the basis for another blog I'm going to be working on here shortly. But if you are in need of this as much as I am, just remember:
It's okay to be mad.
It's okay to be upset.
It's okay to feel defeated.
But it's not okay to give up.
You got this, I got this, we got this. We're going to survive together.
Of course, I am allowed to cry and feel miserable but it gets me nowhere. The Lexapro that massages my brain into some sort of satiated normalcy has kept me sane, along with this crazy wonderful man known as my husband. Other than that, I'm pretty much falling apart.
This is the basis for another blog I'm going to be working on here shortly. But if you are in need of this as much as I am, just remember:
It's okay to be mad.
It's okay to be upset.
It's okay to feel defeated.
But it's not okay to give up.
You got this, I got this, we got this. We're going to survive together.
Saturday, November 28, 2015
hairy premonition
Sometimes I think God has a sense of humor and/or is making me learn a lesson about comparisons. This is nothing new. Now, before I continue, please don't comment or tweet or email that 1. God doesn't test people or 2. God doesn't test you about stupid things such as _____.
I get it.
Over the years, it feels like my pity or sympathy is an activator for some awful thing to happen to myself. When I was about nine or so, my mom, brother and I were at Tom Thumb grocery shopping. It was a pretty average shopping trip, though I probably begged to be taken in to the fake Blockbuster-type rental store in the front with overpriced VHS tapes and knock off Cowboys jerseys. Mom was standing dutifully with her checkbook and pen, while I was hanging on the side of the lane, admiring the skill and precision which the bagger could fit so much crap into one small plastic bag.
Then, I saw her.
I tried not to stare because I know there was a good chance Mom would lecture me on not being rude or worse--not take me to the fake Blockbuster. As I clung to the check-writing counter, my mouth on my folded hands, I saw a bearded lady.
Probably 16 or 17, this young woman had patchy wafts of hair swooped across her neck and cheeks. Looking back, she resembled someone who could have been part of my mom's side of the family. Or even future me.
As we walked away, saying our 'thank-you' and 'see you soon's, I remember looking at that girl and thinking, "God, I hope I'm never like that."
This is where God comes in a smacks me with something. Again, metaphorically or whatever.
Mom always told me that you have control over your future. Your believing, whether negative or positive, can change your life. She also told me about putting out good "vibes" to get people to like you, which I still have yet to master, but that is a discussion for later. I wonder if I have created self-fulfilling prophecies for myself, such as this poor-bearded girl.
Did, or does, she have the same disease that makes my face rough and scratchy every morning? The same disease that makes her have belly pains for no reason, anxiety, depression, weight gain, and the inability to naturally conceive children? Perhaps I did not invite the self-fulfilling prophecy in but became aware of the similarities between us and let it frighten me. The bulbous nose that sat on her face, thinner lips, wire-rimmed glasses, and brown poofy hair might as well have been a mirror into the hell I knew as puberty.
Or just being a teenager.
This curse or blessing has had a strange impact on me over the years. I used to have premonitions that would come true, but always of stupid things like seeing a cool girl's pair of Adidas slip-ons at Girl Scout camp. Three weeks later? Same shoes, same girl, same camp. Woah. I even had a voice, ever so clear, tell me one day I might as well give up my life because I will have to take care of my parents. That voice has haunted me more than the ones that allude to failed potential.
Lately, my thoughts have been more controlled and positive. Thanks to the invigorating conference I attended a few weeks ago, many things in my life have begun to turn around and my beliefs along with it. Perhaps God does still exist and maybe his promises are true. Maybe I'm not so much of a failure. Today, though, the bad thoughts came back and when they do, I think of the girl at Tom Thumb and if she triggered this self-aware doubt spiral otherwise known as my life.
Maybe I will never know if my thoughts do control my circumstances. The skeptics, of which many are my friends, will assure me of my superstition. Others will assert that I can change my life if I want, that my attitude and mindset must change for me to succeed.
I am starting to rebuild those brain pathways with good things, I think. Let's hope I can rebuild the ones that lead to the hair follicles on my chin.
I get it.
Over the years, it feels like my pity or sympathy is an activator for some awful thing to happen to myself. When I was about nine or so, my mom, brother and I were at Tom Thumb grocery shopping. It was a pretty average shopping trip, though I probably begged to be taken in to the fake Blockbuster-type rental store in the front with overpriced VHS tapes and knock off Cowboys jerseys. Mom was standing dutifully with her checkbook and pen, while I was hanging on the side of the lane, admiring the skill and precision which the bagger could fit so much crap into one small plastic bag.
Then, I saw her.
I tried not to stare because I know there was a good chance Mom would lecture me on not being rude or worse--not take me to the fake Blockbuster. As I clung to the check-writing counter, my mouth on my folded hands, I saw a bearded lady.
Probably 16 or 17, this young woman had patchy wafts of hair swooped across her neck and cheeks. Looking back, she resembled someone who could have been part of my mom's side of the family. Or even future me.
As we walked away, saying our 'thank-you' and 'see you soon's, I remember looking at that girl and thinking, "God, I hope I'm never like that."
This is where God comes in a smacks me with something. Again, metaphorically or whatever.
Mom always told me that you have control over your future. Your believing, whether negative or positive, can change your life. She also told me about putting out good "vibes" to get people to like you, which I still have yet to master, but that is a discussion for later. I wonder if I have created self-fulfilling prophecies for myself, such as this poor-bearded girl.
Did, or does, she have the same disease that makes my face rough and scratchy every morning? The same disease that makes her have belly pains for no reason, anxiety, depression, weight gain, and the inability to naturally conceive children? Perhaps I did not invite the self-fulfilling prophecy in but became aware of the similarities between us and let it frighten me. The bulbous nose that sat on her face, thinner lips, wire-rimmed glasses, and brown poofy hair might as well have been a mirror into the hell I knew as puberty.
Or just being a teenager.
This curse or blessing has had a strange impact on me over the years. I used to have premonitions that would come true, but always of stupid things like seeing a cool girl's pair of Adidas slip-ons at Girl Scout camp. Three weeks later? Same shoes, same girl, same camp. Woah. I even had a voice, ever so clear, tell me one day I might as well give up my life because I will have to take care of my parents. That voice has haunted me more than the ones that allude to failed potential.
Lately, my thoughts have been more controlled and positive. Thanks to the invigorating conference I attended a few weeks ago, many things in my life have begun to turn around and my beliefs along with it. Perhaps God does still exist and maybe his promises are true. Maybe I'm not so much of a failure. Today, though, the bad thoughts came back and when they do, I think of the girl at Tom Thumb and if she triggered this self-aware doubt spiral otherwise known as my life.
Maybe I will never know if my thoughts do control my circumstances. The skeptics, of which many are my friends, will assure me of my superstition. Others will assert that I can change my life if I want, that my attitude and mindset must change for me to succeed.
I am starting to rebuild those brain pathways with good things, I think. Let's hope I can rebuild the ones that lead to the hair follicles on my chin.
Sunday, November 8, 2015
woah.
Though Chicago was incredible, I'm glad to be home in Dallas. I'm still digesting all the incredible things I learned at Storyline. Man, I wish my husband had been able to come with me since this was the last conference (!) but I think I've relayed stuff to him the best I can.
Which I will do here, on my blog, soon.
The processing part is still happening. It will be for awhile, I think.
I mainly wanted to write tonight because I could not believe how many readers I had last week. Do you want to guess how many visitors checked me out on Wednesday of last week?
250.
YEP. That's a pretty big number, right?! I haven't had readers in those numbers since, uh, well, never. Nope, never. That's definitely encouraging and you will be seeing plenty more out of me in the days/weeks to come.
Thanks, you guys. It means the world to me!
-c
Thursday, November 5, 2015
Chicago: Day 1.5
Hi. I'm not sure how to start this entry because of the crappy 24 hours I've had. Well, not 24 hour but more like since 5 PM yesterday after I found my flight to be delayed. From there, it was finding the car rental place, being coaxed into spending way more money than necessary I'm sure on insurances and pre-paid gasoline. Guided by my trusty Google maps app, down through the seedy and actually quite "country" parts of Illinois towards my destination. I was told by a nice Sikh convenience store owner to "take care of myself".
I wish I could have had his foresight.
So far the best part of this trip has been collecting all the street passes on my 2DS. What a grown up thing to say, I'm sure. The seedy hotel with people screaming, a bed-bug infested room (I have bites now but could just tell last night. I was so tired I couldn't do a thing about it) was the last straw. This morning I swore on my Bible that I lost my keys somewhere mid-flight only to find Sleepy Christine had safely tucked them away in her bag, in a small little compartment.
Traveling and I are not close friends; we meet once and again, in hopes of kindling something beautiful and inspiring. Most of the time that's the case. Perhaps its the state of mind I've been finding myself in as of late that is causing such a rough go of things.
I do know that I am running myself into the ground, which is partially the cause, and that this conference will help me sort out that whole thing. I don't know what to give up. Hopefully God will make that abundantly clear because I am not completely focused on this trip, for obvious reasons. Upon reading the entry packet for the conference, I am amazed at the beauty this experience offers and am doing my best to focus on such.
Tonight there is a movie showing of Risen. Its about an account of Jesus' early years from the perspective of a dude who was not a Christian. It sounds good but the best part is Tom Felton is in it. I'm all about seeing a new Draco Malfoy picture. And I'm sure he would hate to hear me say that.
The instructions in our beautiful binder that was given to us were clear: this is a spiritual journey and it is best to treat it as such. I'm going to try to focus on the positives, like my husband also suggested this morning.
I am a live.
I am here.
We actually have money so I won't just be stranded here.
I'm in a new place.
I'm doing something for me.
That doesn't happen that much anymore, really.
God is already stirring something great in my heart and has been for the past few weeks. I have more motivation to complete the tasks I have been too scared of for a while. I'm revisiting my religion and spirituality because I don't want it to be what my parents' have--I want it to be greater.
Here's to a great Storyline conference. I'm looking forward to starting the sessions today.Will write again upon inspiration/break time.
I wish I could have had his foresight.
So far the best part of this trip has been collecting all the street passes on my 2DS. What a grown up thing to say, I'm sure. The seedy hotel with people screaming, a bed-bug infested room (I have bites now but could just tell last night. I was so tired I couldn't do a thing about it) was the last straw. This morning I swore on my Bible that I lost my keys somewhere mid-flight only to find Sleepy Christine had safely tucked them away in her bag, in a small little compartment.
Traveling and I are not close friends; we meet once and again, in hopes of kindling something beautiful and inspiring. Most of the time that's the case. Perhaps its the state of mind I've been finding myself in as of late that is causing such a rough go of things.
I do know that I am running myself into the ground, which is partially the cause, and that this conference will help me sort out that whole thing. I don't know what to give up. Hopefully God will make that abundantly clear because I am not completely focused on this trip, for obvious reasons. Upon reading the entry packet for the conference, I am amazed at the beauty this experience offers and am doing my best to focus on such.
Tonight there is a movie showing of Risen. Its about an account of Jesus' early years from the perspective of a dude who was not a Christian. It sounds good but the best part is Tom Felton is in it. I'm all about seeing a new Draco Malfoy picture. And I'm sure he would hate to hear me say that.
The instructions in our beautiful binder that was given to us were clear: this is a spiritual journey and it is best to treat it as such. I'm going to try to focus on the positives, like my husband also suggested this morning.
I am a live.
I am here.
We actually have money so I won't just be stranded here.
I'm in a new place.
I'm doing something for me.
That doesn't happen that much anymore, really.
God is already stirring something great in my heart and has been for the past few weeks. I have more motivation to complete the tasks I have been too scared of for a while. I'm revisiting my religion and spirituality because I don't want it to be what my parents' have--I want it to be greater.
Here's to a great Storyline conference. I'm looking forward to starting the sessions today.Will write again upon inspiration/break time.
Sunday, July 26, 2015
oversaturation.
Justin sent me a link on Facebook last night, but he prefaced it by saying it might make me super excited. What could it be? The WNBA team moving to Dallas is a reality? He got a new job? We won the lottery? I had no idea what this exciting news would be.
I opened the blinking message box; my heart sank. New super arcade and restaurant opening up in Richardson. You. Are. Kidding.
Part of me is excited, but that is the most miniscule part of my being. The majority of me is so so angry. That had been a dream of mine for almost a year now, and I've been silently doing research, planning menus, making lists of beer and alcohol to serve.
What the hell?
So, with this monstrosity opening up in practically my own back yard, the dream I had for my own arcade mean nothing. There's not a place I think it would succeed, except maybe Denton or another college town. My heart hurts over something that I really wanted to pursue but was too scared. First the building in downtown Carrollton, now this?
This has sent me in a tailspin since last night about what I want to do with my life. Why bother with anything? Everything has already been done and there's nothing new under the sun. Oversaturation, especially in a market like this, will not really let any one person succeed, true, but it will make it harder for others to follow.
What's next? I guess this is the point where I shove all those stupid business ideas and plans in to the toilet and move on. To what, though, I don't know.
Monday, July 20, 2015
the sea of blogs
I've been thinking about my future as a writer a lot lately. The well of inspiration is fleeting lately, where ideas that I have appear and then disappear only to be found on other websites or blogs. Justin found a job for me on one of my favorite film blogs for a writing position, requiring 3-5 (!!) articles a day, 200 words in length. Holy. Cow.
The writing market seems so intense and intimidating to me. Like with all things, I've thought that maybe I should invest in my own blog. Not necessarily like this one but more focused on fashion or film or religion. Or all of it?
This blog is great but I don't really want to monetize my own personal problems. I mean, maybe, but that's just really weird.
The writing market seems so intense and intimidating to me. Like with all things, I've thought that maybe I should invest in my own blog. Not necessarily like this one but more focused on fashion or film or religion. Or all of it?
This blog is great but I don't really want to monetize my own personal problems. I mean, maybe, but that's just really weird.
Sunday, June 14, 2015
hello, harvard
I gave it the good college try. Well, more of the please-just-let-me-pass-algebra try. Its not that this culture is new to me or that I detest it; the detesting goes to the people that make up the bulk of this establishment (pun sort of intended). That's right--THE GYM.
Believe it or not, I used to be thinner. Well, when I was a kid and played sports I was not thin exactly because, you know, being a kid, a Polish-homeschooled-TV loving kid. Despite those things I was freakin' active and my dad would tell you that I had fun jumping on the carpet while watching The Lion King on VHS. Puberty is a vicious bitch and caused my body to go berzerk. Well, so did thinking I had to be a certain size, depression, being made fun of by everyone in my family about it but my mom. You know.
Let's see, I'm guessing it was 6 years ago now that I entered a contest at the Galleria to guess how many whistles there were in a jar. Whoever won would be given a free month at a boot camp held at the mall. Guess who won? I liked it so much I invited my friend Emily to do it, and for awhile it was just us two in the boot camp. After awhile, I lost 30 pounds, started dating for the first time in my life (yes, at 22), and had confidence that I never had before. I finally pursued acting again because people told me I was pretty and I finally believed it.
After a rough period in my life, I gained it back and then some. Like, a lot. I will give you my stats now, just to cut through any BS:
Weight: 235ish
Dress size: 18/20
Goal weight: 170
"Ideal weight": 130-150
So, this doesn't include my measurements for one reason and that is because some mystical nymph stole my measuring tape. Or I lost it. Same diff.
I am going to the gym for me. Not to lose all the weight of my person, not to show off for lunkheads or prove some skinny bitches that they have nothing on me, because frankly they don't. My ass is still better than yours and always will be no matter how much you're on that stairmaster, honey.
I'm going so I don't have to be on high blood pressure medication anymore.
I'm going so I can be strong when lifting babies at the daycare on Sunday mornings.
I'm going so I can fit into my own clothes again.
I'm going so I can love myself.
Yes, part of me is proving my dad wrong; I can love myself at 235 even if he can't. I can see myself as beautiful and talented and, yes, an actress because I am.
Moreover I am proving myself wrong. There have been many times that I've given up. People may think I obsess over people like Melissa McCarthy or Tess Holliday to tell myself its ok to be "what I am" as opposed to what I should be, aka fat or lazy. That's not true. Those women are my heroes, they have encouraged me to take care of my life and my self because I have dreams and I am not going to die saying I never gave it the "college try".
This will probably feel like Harvard. My knees are bad from working at the deli for so long and now working at a desk job, and yeah probably extra weight. My arms are just weak because I play video games, duh. I get tired easily because I work full time, go to school full time, and wife/daughter/friend full time too. Its a lot.
This is the first time in my life someone like me has been famous. They're probably more beautiful or whatever but they have such joy about them and love life and people. They are not wonderful because of or despite their size--they just are. That's what I want to be and I am fighting to get back there.
Thanks, Tess, for posting pics of yourself with your personal trainer at the gym. You have no idea how much they have motivated me to get back in to shape.
Hello, Harvard. Time to get an A.
Believe it or not, I used to be thinner. Well, when I was a kid and played sports I was not thin exactly because, you know, being a kid, a Polish-homeschooled-TV loving kid. Despite those things I was freakin' active and my dad would tell you that I had fun jumping on the carpet while watching The Lion King on VHS. Puberty is a vicious bitch and caused my body to go berzerk. Well, so did thinking I had to be a certain size, depression, being made fun of by everyone in my family about it but my mom. You know.
Let's see, I'm guessing it was 6 years ago now that I entered a contest at the Galleria to guess how many whistles there were in a jar. Whoever won would be given a free month at a boot camp held at the mall. Guess who won? I liked it so much I invited my friend Emily to do it, and for awhile it was just us two in the boot camp. After awhile, I lost 30 pounds, started dating for the first time in my life (yes, at 22), and had confidence that I never had before. I finally pursued acting again because people told me I was pretty and I finally believed it.
After a rough period in my life, I gained it back and then some. Like, a lot. I will give you my stats now, just to cut through any BS:
Weight: 235ish
Dress size: 18/20
Goal weight: 170
"Ideal weight": 130-150
So, this doesn't include my measurements for one reason and that is because some mystical nymph stole my measuring tape. Or I lost it. Same diff.
I am going to the gym for me. Not to lose all the weight of my person, not to show off for lunkheads or prove some skinny bitches that they have nothing on me, because frankly they don't. My ass is still better than yours and always will be no matter how much you're on that stairmaster, honey.
I'm going so I don't have to be on high blood pressure medication anymore.
I'm going so I can be strong when lifting babies at the daycare on Sunday mornings.
I'm going so I can fit into my own clothes again.
I'm going so I can love myself.
Yes, part of me is proving my dad wrong; I can love myself at 235 even if he can't. I can see myself as beautiful and talented and, yes, an actress because I am.
Moreover I am proving myself wrong. There have been many times that I've given up. People may think I obsess over people like Melissa McCarthy or Tess Holliday to tell myself its ok to be "what I am" as opposed to what I should be, aka fat or lazy. That's not true. Those women are my heroes, they have encouraged me to take care of my life and my self because I have dreams and I am not going to die saying I never gave it the "college try".
This will probably feel like Harvard. My knees are bad from working at the deli for so long and now working at a desk job, and yeah probably extra weight. My arms are just weak because I play video games, duh. I get tired easily because I work full time, go to school full time, and wife/daughter/friend full time too. Its a lot.
This is the first time in my life someone like me has been famous. They're probably more beautiful or whatever but they have such joy about them and love life and people. They are not wonderful because of or despite their size--they just are. That's what I want to be and I am fighting to get back there.
Thanks, Tess, for posting pics of yourself with your personal trainer at the gym. You have no idea how much they have motivated me to get back in to shape.
Hello, Harvard. Time to get an A.
Saturday, March 28, 2015
father.
Compliments are as rare as precious gems, often shoved between passive aggressive comments regarding bulge and the future. When they do come, they are cherished and savored as one would savor a mirage in a desert. It exists, but barely and most of it lies within your own imagination.
There has never been a time that the words you are beautiful or you are precious, worthy, loved have left my father's lips; never on a special occasion, Girl Scout dance, and definitely not at my wedding. The praise he gives to everyone else, my sister, his so-called friends, or the potentially former drug addict he has informally adopted as favorite amongst the three he already has. I do not even know if he considers my brother his child, though I know genetically he is not.
Compliments about my appearance stopped when puberty hit. There were no more how cute/special/sweet are you. Instead, more passive aggressive fights. More ignoring. More prodding to stop being so fat, so weird, so ugly. Me growing up was not something my dad had ever considered.
Now I feel as though he believes I abandoned him for pursuing my own life. I no longer am at his beck and call, because my husband is my family now. The incessant calling to check on Mom daily for over six months, the nagging on sorting through their possessions as well as my forgotten ones, the disgust at my physical appearance. This is not melodrama, this is my life.
I do not feel attached like I once did. My view of God has changed because it is too closely related to my earthly father that belief in a celestial one becomes difficult. I voted for Obama and believe in gay marriage and I'm pretty sure my father knows but denies. He is in denial about life.
When I was a child, my family went furniture shopping. Mom and I went to the restroom, while Dad, my brother and sister were out looking at things. I told my mom, at age three, that my dad did not love me as much as Tracy. My mom looked at me, shocked, and this is probably why I still remember this. I could feel a trembling in my tummy and from the look upon her face to the he loves you, too, he just doesn't get to see her much, this was when I realized he did not love me as much as my sister and never would.
No matter how much he said he was proud of me after winning basketball championships four years in a row, nor when my drawings were accepted into an art show. He acts excited when he sees my commercials on TV or I tell him about my plans, but I don't know if I can trust that he really cares. This is the man who, upon my telling him I said yes to marrying my then boyfriend, he had to stop and tell me that Tim Curry had a heart attack.
Tim fucking Curry.
Ever since then, I realized my earlier suspicions were true. My mom loved me most, and while my dad might I certainly could not tell you if I believe it or not. He says I love you after we have conversations on the phone but sometimes seems embarrassed by it. Its not my choice that I don't have Mom to talk to anymore.
I miss her.
Though he comments often on how my sister should have went into modeling and how gorgeous, lovely, and wonderful she was, and how she could have been somebody, I realize I am already that somebody. His approval is the last thing I need because I never even had it. I am somebody; I am a model, I am an actress, I am a writer, I am a wife, I am a daughter and a damn good one at that.
I do not need the approval of a man who calls himself my dad but who acts as a cowardly lion.
There has never been a time that the words you are beautiful or you are precious, worthy, loved have left my father's lips; never on a special occasion, Girl Scout dance, and definitely not at my wedding. The praise he gives to everyone else, my sister, his so-called friends, or the potentially former drug addict he has informally adopted as favorite amongst the three he already has. I do not even know if he considers my brother his child, though I know genetically he is not.
Compliments about my appearance stopped when puberty hit. There were no more how cute/special/sweet are you. Instead, more passive aggressive fights. More ignoring. More prodding to stop being so fat, so weird, so ugly. Me growing up was not something my dad had ever considered.
Now I feel as though he believes I abandoned him for pursuing my own life. I no longer am at his beck and call, because my husband is my family now. The incessant calling to check on Mom daily for over six months, the nagging on sorting through their possessions as well as my forgotten ones, the disgust at my physical appearance. This is not melodrama, this is my life.
I do not feel attached like I once did. My view of God has changed because it is too closely related to my earthly father that belief in a celestial one becomes difficult. I voted for Obama and believe in gay marriage and I'm pretty sure my father knows but denies. He is in denial about life.
When I was a child, my family went furniture shopping. Mom and I went to the restroom, while Dad, my brother and sister were out looking at things. I told my mom, at age three, that my dad did not love me as much as Tracy. My mom looked at me, shocked, and this is probably why I still remember this. I could feel a trembling in my tummy and from the look upon her face to the he loves you, too, he just doesn't get to see her much, this was when I realized he did not love me as much as my sister and never would.
No matter how much he said he was proud of me after winning basketball championships four years in a row, nor when my drawings were accepted into an art show. He acts excited when he sees my commercials on TV or I tell him about my plans, but I don't know if I can trust that he really cares. This is the man who, upon my telling him I said yes to marrying my then boyfriend, he had to stop and tell me that Tim Curry had a heart attack.
Tim fucking Curry.
Ever since then, I realized my earlier suspicions were true. My mom loved me most, and while my dad might I certainly could not tell you if I believe it or not. He says I love you after we have conversations on the phone but sometimes seems embarrassed by it. Its not my choice that I don't have Mom to talk to anymore.
I miss her.
Though he comments often on how my sister should have went into modeling and how gorgeous, lovely, and wonderful she was, and how she could have been somebody, I realize I am already that somebody. His approval is the last thing I need because I never even had it. I am somebody; I am a model, I am an actress, I am a writer, I am a wife, I am a daughter and a damn good one at that.
I do not need the approval of a man who calls himself my dad but who acts as a cowardly lion.
Monday, February 16, 2015
#SNL40
I promised myself I would never start a blog by titling it with a hashtag, but since the world is referring to the SNL 40th Anniversary show that way, I may as well join the bandwagon this once. Every blog and news outlet has been sharing their opinions on the telecast, ranging everywhere from 'Why was there so much Kanye?' to 'Melissa McCarthy killed as Matt Foley'.
All the sentiments made are valid, of course, but I think we as a society put too much stock into what we think others think about the things we like. Like #SNL40. Yeah, there were weak parts and those have always existed in the confines of the layout of SNL. Skits will go too long, people will break, or the only laugh will be from the dude in the back who thinks its hilarious to watch the skit bomb.
Philosophical views aside, I really, really enjoyed SNL 40. Watching those brilliant comedians is always inspirational to me. I still want to be like them, you know? Lighting up the room, thousands of miles away, for millions of people.
Gives you goosebumps, doesn't it?
I was so glad to see my favorites back. My husband even knows that I've had a crush on Steve Martin since I saw the Muppet Movie the first time. He's incredible charming and quick witted, as was Dan Akroyd, Billy Crystal, Jon Lovitz, and the gang. Wayne's World always brings back fond memories of sneaking out in the middle of the night to pop in the VHS tape of the movie. Man, that was one of my favorite SNL movies.
I thought there were a few things lacking, though, personally. No Stuart Smiley giving sage advice to those who need to know that, gosh darn it, people like them. No Church Lady, which was okay given the whole Wayne's World thing. But no PAT? No Wild and Crazy Guys? What is the world coming to? It doesn't mean anything in the long run except, dang, I really liked those characters. Also, don't even get me started on Taylor Swift sucking the life out of the Californians. I literally shuttered.
So maybe while watching the show, I researched into taking improv classes again. I know, I know. I can't help but be inspired by these geniuses to try to at least feel like one. Maybe I'm good, maybe I'm terrible. All I have to do is try to find out.
Thank you, everyone who has been on Saturday Night Live. You help us experience a grand catharsis, laugh at ourselves, and laugh at the ridiculous world we live in. Without you, the world of comedy would be much smaller.
All the sentiments made are valid, of course, but I think we as a society put too much stock into what we think others think about the things we like. Like #SNL40. Yeah, there were weak parts and those have always existed in the confines of the layout of SNL. Skits will go too long, people will break, or the only laugh will be from the dude in the back who thinks its hilarious to watch the skit bomb.
Philosophical views aside, I really, really enjoyed SNL 40. Watching those brilliant comedians is always inspirational to me. I still want to be like them, you know? Lighting up the room, thousands of miles away, for millions of people.
Gives you goosebumps, doesn't it?
I was so glad to see my favorites back. My husband even knows that I've had a crush on Steve Martin since I saw the Muppet Movie the first time. He's incredible charming and quick witted, as was Dan Akroyd, Billy Crystal, Jon Lovitz, and the gang. Wayne's World always brings back fond memories of sneaking out in the middle of the night to pop in the VHS tape of the movie. Man, that was one of my favorite SNL movies.
I thought there were a few things lacking, though, personally. No Stuart Smiley giving sage advice to those who need to know that, gosh darn it, people like them. No Church Lady, which was okay given the whole Wayne's World thing. But no PAT? No Wild and Crazy Guys? What is the world coming to? It doesn't mean anything in the long run except, dang, I really liked those characters. Also, don't even get me started on Taylor Swift sucking the life out of the Californians. I literally shuttered.
So maybe while watching the show, I researched into taking improv classes again. I know, I know. I can't help but be inspired by these geniuses to try to at least feel like one. Maybe I'm good, maybe I'm terrible. All I have to do is try to find out.
Thank you, everyone who has been on Saturday Night Live. You help us experience a grand catharsis, laugh at ourselves, and laugh at the ridiculous world we live in. Without you, the world of comedy would be much smaller.
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
The Blogger's Dilemma
"Honesty is the best policy" is what people who are trying to get something out of you say. Its what teachers, moms, pastors, anybody with good moral fiber will tell you, whether you are a child or grown ass adult. I believe it, too, because honesty opens the doors for communication like nothing else will.
I hate to confess, though, that I never feel like I can ever be truly honest. There have been many things in my life lately that I am embarrassed by or ashamed of that I do not feel I can tell anyone. I am pretty open with my hopes and dreams but receive very little encouragement from my nuclear family. My father will give me advice all day long but will not listen when I really need to ask him something or confront him about something serious.
Another thing people say is "be yourself". Well, what if I don't happen to like that person? Shit, I know others think I am annoying when I am truly myself. Yes, I'm weird, a little goofy, and a very special little snowflake. Despite all that, I am still a loyal friend, good listener, and like to be silly with people as though I have known them awhile.
This is the most real I have been in a blog entry in a while, so please bear with me.
I am at a crossroads in my life, career, and health. If I don't make the proper health changes, my life and career are in jeopardy. If I don't start focusing on the career I want, time will pass through my hands like grains of sand and I will never feel accomplished. If I don't take my life seriously, I know I will have failed. If I don't enjoy my life, I will actually have failed.
Writing a blog gives me a place to release. I don't need people reading it or commenting on it in reality to justify my thoughts. This is something I have started to struggle with as I have become more reliant on my cell phone for entertainment, composure, and, for whatever God forsaken reason, self worth. It feels like the days of MySpace when how liked you are is based on how many friends you actually have.
Twitter and Instagram are still kind of new to me, even though I've had accounts for awhile. I'm trying to build a presence there and post things...especially when they are silly. That's when I'm at my best, I think. It shouldn't matter to me if my sister likes a picture of me or not or whether my Twitter friends are really real people that would love to collaborate with me. Those things would be great, but shouldn't doing it enough fulfill that desire? Its a hollow desire to feel needed or heard at best. Most of the time I do not feel either.
Honesty is my new policy. I am being honest with myself in my own insecurities and struggles. My father is always in denial. Maybe its about the druggie who is living in my bedroom that swears the cops "planted" heroin on him and how its not good for my mom or brother to be subjected to his infinite stupidity. Perhaps its about my mom's health, and how the massive amounts of yellow turmeric that are soaked into her jeans and the carpet are actually helping her brain and God can heal her one day if we just do one more thing different, eat one more pill, or go to one more fucking seminar.
There's a lot of anger but for as much I have to be angry about, I have much more to be happy about. My nuclear family kind of sucks now or maybe it always did and I was too naive to notice. Maybe I was never the nice girl that my parents told me I was, that I had always been a callous, social awkward and anxiety ridden twerp because of my being force fed Rush Limbaugh's propaganda and arrogance while completing math facts. Sidebar.
Life is not as miserable as it seems to be. J is the best thing that has ever happened to me. That might make you roll your eyes, and fine if you do. Our relationship is not perfect but it is the best out of anyone I know. We love each other, finish each others thoughts, dye of hysterical laughter almost every night. That is perfection to me and I am so glad I have it.
This has turned into a rant that I didn't intend for it to be. I should come back to this when I'm a little more level headed, less emotional, and WAY less tired. Homework is eating my lunch right now, mainly because I have very little energy to complete it. Even in the tiniest chunks it drains me.
If I'm being honest, I'm okay with that.
Goodnight, journal.
I hate to confess, though, that I never feel like I can ever be truly honest. There have been many things in my life lately that I am embarrassed by or ashamed of that I do not feel I can tell anyone. I am pretty open with my hopes and dreams but receive very little encouragement from my nuclear family. My father will give me advice all day long but will not listen when I really need to ask him something or confront him about something serious.
Another thing people say is "be yourself". Well, what if I don't happen to like that person? Shit, I know others think I am annoying when I am truly myself. Yes, I'm weird, a little goofy, and a very special little snowflake. Despite all that, I am still a loyal friend, good listener, and like to be silly with people as though I have known them awhile.
This is the most real I have been in a blog entry in a while, so please bear with me.
I am at a crossroads in my life, career, and health. If I don't make the proper health changes, my life and career are in jeopardy. If I don't start focusing on the career I want, time will pass through my hands like grains of sand and I will never feel accomplished. If I don't take my life seriously, I know I will have failed. If I don't enjoy my life, I will actually have failed.
Writing a blog gives me a place to release. I don't need people reading it or commenting on it in reality to justify my thoughts. This is something I have started to struggle with as I have become more reliant on my cell phone for entertainment, composure, and, for whatever God forsaken reason, self worth. It feels like the days of MySpace when how liked you are is based on how many friends you actually have.
Twitter and Instagram are still kind of new to me, even though I've had accounts for awhile. I'm trying to build a presence there and post things...especially when they are silly. That's when I'm at my best, I think. It shouldn't matter to me if my sister likes a picture of me or not or whether my Twitter friends are really real people that would love to collaborate with me. Those things would be great, but shouldn't doing it enough fulfill that desire? Its a hollow desire to feel needed or heard at best. Most of the time I do not feel either.
Honesty is my new policy. I am being honest with myself in my own insecurities and struggles. My father is always in denial. Maybe its about the druggie who is living in my bedroom that swears the cops "planted" heroin on him and how its not good for my mom or brother to be subjected to his infinite stupidity. Perhaps its about my mom's health, and how the massive amounts of yellow turmeric that are soaked into her jeans and the carpet are actually helping her brain and God can heal her one day if we just do one more thing different, eat one more pill, or go to one more fucking seminar.
There's a lot of anger but for as much I have to be angry about, I have much more to be happy about. My nuclear family kind of sucks now or maybe it always did and I was too naive to notice. Maybe I was never the nice girl that my parents told me I was, that I had always been a callous, social awkward and anxiety ridden twerp because of my being force fed Rush Limbaugh's propaganda and arrogance while completing math facts. Sidebar.
Life is not as miserable as it seems to be. J is the best thing that has ever happened to me. That might make you roll your eyes, and fine if you do. Our relationship is not perfect but it is the best out of anyone I know. We love each other, finish each others thoughts, dye of hysterical laughter almost every night. That is perfection to me and I am so glad I have it.
This has turned into a rant that I didn't intend for it to be. I should come back to this when I'm a little more level headed, less emotional, and WAY less tired. Homework is eating my lunch right now, mainly because I have very little energy to complete it. Even in the tiniest chunks it drains me.
If I'm being honest, I'm okay with that.
Goodnight, journal.
Sunday, January 4, 2015
Happy New Year!
Perhaps its a bit late to jump on the New Year's contemplation bandwagon, as we are already four days in to 2015. So far, my husband and I have been really working towards our goals. Yeah, we've also jumped on the bandwagon of focusing on them as goals instead of resolutions, which we truly did start before the year was over. We've been to the gym twice this week and we've seen my parents a few times already.
There have been countless articles on HuffPost or, eh, BuzzFeed among many others regarding making "resolutions" or goals as a couple. Even though we spent the entirety of 2014 married, I'm not sure we really had one other than to have a happy first year of marriage. Despite some financial setbacks among other things, I'd say that 2014 had done right by us. It's time to take 2015 by the reigns, though.
On my very favorite advice podcast, My Brother, My Brother, and Me, the brothers McElroy name something each year as a theme to live by. Well, vaguely, anyway. It's more of just a big long goof that goes on for a long while. They haven't decided on the name of 2015, though 20-Grift-teen has been a popular one for them. For me? I'm not so much into stealing shit as I am making myself better or whatever.
This, my friends, is the year 20Christine.
Oh?
Lame?
Yeah, probably. But this is my year. This year, despite simply rhyming with my name, is the year I will 1. get an internship 2. teach a bunch of summer camps 3. finish my mall documentary (I actually am quite close on this) 4. get healthy 5. be NICE to myself, dammit 6. refine my spiritual life 7. GRADUATE!
These are my goals but they're more than that. They are the things I have been chasing and I have spent too long waddling around in the mire of self doubt to not freakin' take charge of my life already. Did you know I'm 27? TWENTY SEVEN. There are so many things I want to do and see and be before I decide on one thing. I know people will say that I am being "indecisive" or perhaps even "immature" but you can keep those stinky words for yourself.
This is my life. This is how I'm going to live. It's going to be beautiful.
There have been countless articles on HuffPost or, eh, BuzzFeed among many others regarding making "resolutions" or goals as a couple. Even though we spent the entirety of 2014 married, I'm not sure we really had one other than to have a happy first year of marriage. Despite some financial setbacks among other things, I'd say that 2014 had done right by us. It's time to take 2015 by the reigns, though.
On my very favorite advice podcast, My Brother, My Brother, and Me, the brothers McElroy name something each year as a theme to live by. Well, vaguely, anyway. It's more of just a big long goof that goes on for a long while. They haven't decided on the name of 2015, though 20-Grift-teen has been a popular one for them. For me? I'm not so much into stealing shit as I am making myself better or whatever.
This, my friends, is the year 20Christine.
Oh?
Lame?
Yeah, probably. But this is my year. This year, despite simply rhyming with my name, is the year I will 1. get an internship 2. teach a bunch of summer camps 3. finish my mall documentary (I actually am quite close on this) 4. get healthy 5. be NICE to myself, dammit 6. refine my spiritual life 7. GRADUATE!
These are my goals but they're more than that. They are the things I have been chasing and I have spent too long waddling around in the mire of self doubt to not freakin' take charge of my life already. Did you know I'm 27? TWENTY SEVEN. There are so many things I want to do and see and be before I decide on one thing. I know people will say that I am being "indecisive" or perhaps even "immature" but you can keep those stinky words for yourself.
This is my life. This is how I'm going to live. It's going to be beautiful.
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Grateful
Every year at work, we have a different theme for student's to learn and for the community to adhere to. This year we are celebrating being grateful. Don't get me wrong--even though I may complain about my job, I am grateful for it. If I complain about my health, I am grateful that it is not worse.
Lately there have been many things popping up, convicting me that I have let my own standards fall by the wayside. Maybe its because of the growing depression and anxiety, or perhaps this is all causing it? To be honest, my family occupies most of my mind space, followed by school. It makes me feel like a bad friend, wife, and employee. I don't even feel like that great of a daughter.
Somebody like me usually tends to get caught up in the little details, the things from the past that won't leave. Anxiety is driven by these thoughts, man. Some days my past mistakes are the only things I can think about and they affect me greatly. I'm lucky that I have Justin to help me through these things but it should not be his problem, at least I think so.
Christmas and Thanksgiving always bring back memories that I cherish but have a hard time living through. I feel guilty for not being more grateful for my mom and all the work she did for us to have a fun Christmas. I feel guilty for not including a childhood bff in my life more after she moved away. I feel guilty about my family dynamics in general. Part of me feels like the true Christine is missing, while this adult person I've become is a total bitch. I'm working very hard to reverse this view of myself, whether it is true or not.
I'm trying to become more grateful than anything, holiday season or not. The experiences in the past have made me who I am. For every single fight, shopping trip, play date, movie outing, and ordinary day, I am grateful. Those days make me sad because they are gone, not what happened in them. The fact that so much has happened that has stolen some of the joy that childhood brought. I guess that's what every adult deals with at some point.
Hoping whoever reads this has a beautiful Thanksgiving, that you reflect on your life with gratitude, joy, and sorrow, but remember that it all helped you become who you are. That is a wonderful thing.
Lately there have been many things popping up, convicting me that I have let my own standards fall by the wayside. Maybe its because of the growing depression and anxiety, or perhaps this is all causing it? To be honest, my family occupies most of my mind space, followed by school. It makes me feel like a bad friend, wife, and employee. I don't even feel like that great of a daughter.
Somebody like me usually tends to get caught up in the little details, the things from the past that won't leave. Anxiety is driven by these thoughts, man. Some days my past mistakes are the only things I can think about and they affect me greatly. I'm lucky that I have Justin to help me through these things but it should not be his problem, at least I think so.
Christmas and Thanksgiving always bring back memories that I cherish but have a hard time living through. I feel guilty for not being more grateful for my mom and all the work she did for us to have a fun Christmas. I feel guilty for not including a childhood bff in my life more after she moved away. I feel guilty about my family dynamics in general. Part of me feels like the true Christine is missing, while this adult person I've become is a total bitch. I'm working very hard to reverse this view of myself, whether it is true or not.
I'm trying to become more grateful than anything, holiday season or not. The experiences in the past have made me who I am. For every single fight, shopping trip, play date, movie outing, and ordinary day, I am grateful. Those days make me sad because they are gone, not what happened in them. The fact that so much has happened that has stolen some of the joy that childhood brought. I guess that's what every adult deals with at some point.
Hoping whoever reads this has a beautiful Thanksgiving, that you reflect on your life with gratitude, joy, and sorrow, but remember that it all helped you become who you are. That is a wonderful thing.
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