alone time spent painting.

last night i was flipping through the channels on television over and over before finally giving up and doing what i should have been doing the whole time. i did some chores around the homestead, and went upstairs with my audio-track-playing-device and my headphones, and rocked some ass, while continuing to paint my Moroccan-inspired cabinet. and of course, there was some exploration of my psyche, as always.

my sister had her son "dedicated" to... their Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ... which is to say, he wasn't christened, or baptised, but his life was promised to the church...

and my mom is trying to teach oli to say "dear jesus"...

which we don't agree with. and until recently, we have been able to tactfully and tastefully avoid without insulting their beliefs. and being part of this family has steadily driven me a tad insane. to actually come out and tell my mom that we don't believe in organised religion is to say that i am "exactly" like my dad [alcoholic heathen], which is not the case. i told my sister that the dedication video was online, and asked if she got the link. my mom then asks me if we were having oli dedicated. my automatic response [with a small chuckle no less] "no." how condescending. yay!

so i paint the cabinet, and reflect, as always when i am alone, and i realize that when i am more like my mom, i am unhappy. when i notice similarities, it drives me crazy. which is probably a little bit of that rebellion that i didn't get out of my system when i was younger. but also, it's the rational side of me seeing just how strange my mom really is, and wanting to avoid it. because i do see things in me that are just like her. and she's not a bad person, just not who i want to become.

i thought about some of the guys i'd been with, and how i was never... "good enough" as i used to think. but i learned a lot about myself since then, and remembered that they weren't "good enough" for me really. that there was in intense connection between us, but they weren't ready for that, and it wasn't my fault. because that's what the irrational tells you when there's a break-up. that you're no good.

and i thought about the relationship i'm in, and how respected, and loved, and cared for, i am. and i give that all back. and sure we fart around eachother, but we share everything. we exercise together, and talk, and walk, and shower, we are so... right for eachother.

and a tool song came on, and i thought of burning man, and then how much shit maynard talks about it. but really, in it's basic of all purposes, what is burning man? a huge party, in the desert, with loud constant music, art, people, drugs, alcohol, whatever. it's an escape from reality and responsibilities. that's what it is. and what is it to be a hugely rich musician? to live however you want. there's not need for an escape. so why can't we all live like that? why can't we all live in a way that makes us happy, that we don't need to escape from? what is it about life that makes you unhappy, that you can get rid of?

inevitability

i suppose it's inevitable to change. i mean, really, we change every day to some degree. it's always interesting, if not devastating, to see how people you were once close to change so drastically. or, on the other hand, not at all. many people grow into something more responsible, adult, responsive, than their high-school past self. too many people grow into something mediocre, and "middle-class" average. and others still, don't change one bit.

whether it's who you're attracted to, how you react to situations, or what have you. change is one of those things that helps us to survive in the always-changing world. maybe it's "stability" in not changing. or maybe it's stubbornness, or maybe it's just... pathetic. which is sad in itself.

i was just on the phone with heather earlier, and we were discussing what it is to be a parent. that was a huge adjustment in my life. as it's supposed to be. but, i am also still myself [or, at least i try to remain me], which is to say, once i was "mother", that didn't become my only role. i think too many people with unhealthy parental role-models assume that you have to lose who you are to become a parent. that's just not true at all. that's sad. everyone copes with becoming a parent differently. the last couple of days have been super hard, since Oli has been throwing tantrums a lot. it's something new for her to try out. and we need to be strong, and not throw fuel on the fire.

part of being a parent is being aware.
of your actions, reactions, responses, body-language, interactions with others, and many other things. if, say, Oli was to break her arm. to react in a panic would only make her freak out more. which wouldn't be comforting. and would train her to over-react to everything later in life. the other day i was using the scalpel, and forgot i placed it on the floor when i got her up from her nap. she found it, and cut a little slice in her fore-finger. so i helped her clean it, and stop the bleeding, while comforting her, and not screaming, or crying. she handled it quite well. needless to say, the scalpel is put away now. but i could have blown everything out of proportion, and made everything worse.

it's being in control of yourself, and not letting impatience overtake you. not like i try to be in control though. recently i realized that i try to control... EVERYTHING. and one of those external controls[time] has been kicking my ass lately. i attempt to not pay too close attention to the time anymore, though that's unrealistic in some situations.

could it be? a regret?

perhaps.

i discovered a letter from my dad to my mom, i am assuming written near the collapse of their marriage. it was filled with anger, and brutal honesty. a so much adoration.
how can that be?! even as he was expressing his [well deserved] anger, he allowed her to continue to use him as her door mat. it was heartbreaking to see how much he loved and hated her.

i was cleaning my garage, and i had cleaned out all of the expired food, and junk from the shelves. i sorted through all the old baby clothes, toys, donatables, and keepables. and i came across a large plastic bin, which had pictures, letters, graduation announcements, and all that crap. and i see this letter, and i read it. the entire 4 pages of pain, lack of sex, and mind games. i wonder if my sisters' dislike of my mom was fueled by our dad. when my mom kicked her out, she moved in with him [well, my mom delivered her things to my dad's doorstep the day of his wedding], and claims that he was more a "friend" than a "dad". i can see how that would work. he's never really been... an authority figure really.

he's always been on this search for happiness and acceptance, something many of us are familiar with. he thought he found that with my mom. but she was just as broken as he was, if not more. he thought he found that with his new wife, but she just really ended up being an enabler. she's just as co-dependent as the rest of us. if not worse. and in complete denial.

it's hard to explain to people [especially when they are co-de too] what it is to be co-dependent. and why it's such a damaging thing. i don't remember talking to my dad about my classes. or his wife. i don't think i'd be able to properly describe it. i guess it's like being an addict.

[some outstanding title]

something translucent flits through my mind
as a gossamer strand
not quite on the borders of sight.
it's bound to be amazing
as soon as i can reach it

there's a subtle pain in remembering
tears at the skin a little
it's hard to look back sometimes
but necessary to go forward

blah blah blah
i'm no poet. these are just random thoughts tied together on a page. i am trying to do things for myself sometimes. this one's for me. it'll be one of those blogs i read 3 years from now and not know what the fuck it's ambiguity points to.

am i an artist? i don't know. i was given the title of "writer" a little while ago, but i can't identify with that. i'm not an author, poet, journalist. i'm not sure what that makes me. in the land-o-th'-blog, it's entirely too difficult to classify myself as a writer. though i didn't go to school for it, or anything really, what does that leave me with? what DO i label myself as?

i guess i'm a thinker. no philosopher here. i just think, and try to connect my past- present- future- selves. i hope we get along. as of right now, my past self was an idiot, i'm not sure how much i like her. don't think i'd be friends with her if i had the opportunity. but i have better insight than anyone else. i guess i'd call myself an actor. my past was mostly bit-part acting.

something slipping.

something is definitely slipping through my grasp. there was a friend that i'd turn to, no matter what. those horrible lonely times when i was going through a break-up, or when i just needed to talk. our lives obviously went in different directions, though i always thought we'd be close. like a "no-matter-what" friend. not just a best-friend. bff's... i mean, really?! come on.

and here i sit, poking through pictures, the wife would probably be pissed. it seems i am a topic of "crap-talking" when i am not around. [source upon request] and it makes me sad to think that i am disliked for something i truly have no control over. i never thought my life was something to be jealous of. i mean, i fit in my own puzzle. really that's all one can do. my husband was mine when i first laid eyes on him, our daughter: the closest thing to perfection, i don't work, live glamorously, but i love fiercely. at the moment, that's what i do best.

and the perception: that he is still in love with me. that i am better than her. the truth, if she could get over her hang-ups and be happy, and realize he's so completely in love with her, even if i dropped my pants in front of him with no one around, he wouldn't do it. [i'm 98% sure about that statement] but i did get to see the... sorrow in both their eyes. makes me sad.

it's the ending of an era. which would be my one true regret. i wish we had remained closer. i know it was my own defense mechanism that kept us apart when it did. all i can do is hope he reads this and knows it's for him. -passive aggressive!- there's no other way i can think.

social fucking stigma.

something makes me wonder if i'm seen as a negative influence. i'm not even entirely sure that would bother me. i know what goes on in my head, and the motivation behind my choices. sometimes i make immature choices.
sometimes i have an emotional response, which i know is incorrect.

i think this all goes back to my idea to obliterate "preconceived notions". i am trying quite hard to do this. it's hard. like my friend Heather, whose parents did not teach her much (but did frighten her of a lot of things), i must re-learn quite a bit. i actually had a conversation with my mother about "social stigmas" and what they mean, and what their disappearance would mean. she proceeded to become very uptight, and negative toward me.

what are these notions born from? is it really your past experience? or is it something you've been blindly convinced of? "think for yourself, question authority"... it's a pretty basic statement, and one that i've pondered about quite a few times, but never really grasping the gravity of it's entirety. ok, so i like to believe that i think for myself. at least, i am capable of retrieving data that is stored in my brain, and i can tap into memories of my own (not to even get into the ever changing status of our memories!), but this whole "question authority" part is what just blew my mind last night. i used to think of it in MUCH more superficial ways. you know that whole "anarchist" point of view. the cheesey symbols, and refusing a government (totally dumbed down i know), but to truly QUESTION AUTHORITY:

what does this mean to you? who are my authorities? a very brief search for the word "authority" brings up law, government, experts, parents, "an accepted source" [whatever the fuck that means], a persuasive force.
naturally our parents should be an authority in our lives. people we can trust to make informed decisions in tune with their moral compass. but how many people are so individualized to realize that is what they are doing? so many people just go along with the masses because it's easier to not think for yourself.

let's look at something rather simple. there are people in your life that you probably will not like. through years of training, i am an expert[authority] at being passive-aggressive. so, when i don't care to be around a person, rather than make them feel bad, i avoid them. that's probably also a co-dependent trait. what is it about me that makes me unable, completely incapable, to be that brand of mean to someone? is it even really mean? i'm not deciding that this person is a bad person, or evil-incarnate, i am just happier when they are not around, which makes me not want to be around them. big frickin deal.

i'm guessing that my whole life i've always wanted everyone to like me, so it seems crazy to tell someone that i don't like them. and i mean genuinely not like me. not just because your husband was in love with me, and you're jealous now, because i'm still prettier than you. *smack!* oh, yeah i noticed that.

i DO dislike people. genuinely good people. they mean no harm, yet i still just fucking dislike them. and i just can't bring myself to tell them. i suppose i am so self-centered that i think they'll be bothered by it enough for it to be a big deal. woo. i love having that kind of power over people [whether or not it's only in my mind we'll probably never know]. i have so many people fooled. and all i do really, is compare my life with theirs. oh, i do try to make my home as nice as i can as often as i can, but boy! lemme tell you, if i know someone will be over, i'm going to clean even more, and give the illusion that i can do it all! as a stay at home mom. i guess i should thank my mom for that. i probably already have.

so then, these social stigmas. i. smoke. pot. i also bake cookies, and invite friends over. i. do. drink. whatever.
i am a responsible parent too, i never do these things with my child aware. i never do these things if it will endanger her. i am also a hostess by nature. if i smoke pot, and you're at my house [and i have enough] i will offer for you to smoke. it has nothing to do with the fact that i want someone high with me. it's just simply offering what i have if someone sees me indulging. the same would go for iced tea, coffee, cake, ice cream[only one kind though]. or fricking scrapbooking if that's what i'm doing. i think there's this notion that i'm a "fucking stoner", or a "pusher". i happen to be able to function well, if not better, in society than most people i know. even with all this shit in my head. yes this has gotten a little defensive, even aggressive. i probably stock up on all my aggression to unleash it in written form. it makes it a little more permanent.

tangent: i was sorting through my old blogs on yourspace, and it was quite interesting to see when everything started changing. in regards to... well, everything.

pickles.

walk-by shootings are good for the soul...

last night there was a shooting on my street. i believe it was about 4 houses south of ours, there was a walk-by shooting, at about 9p.m. NINE FREAKING PEE EMM. Seriously? isn't it amazing that it happened before MOST PEOPLE ARE EVEN IN BED?! Don't thugs have a ridiculously early bed time? perhaps if they napped a little during the day, they wouldn't be so grumpy. it was curious to see so many people COME OUT of their houses just shortly after.

the rumors: two guys on foot (at first they were black, then someone said mexican)
walked up to the house
the facts: at least 9, maybe up to 15 gun shots, about 5 to start, then a second set of blasts.
as of today, ezra informed me they were .45 bullets, he found about 4 on the opposite side of the street.

and the street light happens to be burned out near their house.
and i know one of the sons has been in and out of "juvie" for the last several years.

and what does this become?
a selfish thing for me. y'know, if i had been planning to walk by someone's house, to shoot it, and then leave, i would have second thoughts. i'm half a block away, and i am still mildly FREAKED THE FUCK OUT, and i'm not even on a first name basis with the "victims". i'm also a skeptic: i'm pretty sure they did something very shitting retarded, and this is the "payback". so, i'm already kinda nervous about living here. paranoid i suppose. rumors say that the street behind my house alternates normal families, and drug dealing families. yay. lifestyles of the ghetto-faboo. you can mark my words with this; if i ever make enough money where i have to make a choice between driving the newest purtiest jag-u-ar, or living in a decent-yet-expensive neighborhood, you better believe i'm moving a.s.a.p. yet my neighbors, drive cadillacs, and fricking lexi, and they live HERE... hmm.

yes i'm freaked out. yes i've heard other gunshots in the near vicinity in the last year, at least on 4 other occasions. i already don't go out at night. i avoid riding my bike at night, because i have this bizarre phobia of my fucking neighbors.

a couple of months ago a young girl rang our doorbell because she mixed it up with the house that got shot. i'm glad the shooters didn't make that same mistake. i'm pretty sure there's no real shooter's-code-of-ethics that says they have to triple check to make sure they're at the right house. or maybe they did. i've been seeing a few more strangers the last couple of weeks wandering down a dead-end street? isn't that an odd way to realize you went the wrong way? "oh hey, we need to keep going, it's around this... dead end"...

and i am still a "what-if"er at heart. i'm trying to break myself of that habit. it's that curse passed down generations on my mom's side. i mean, i was just trying to beat heather over the head with the idea that what-if's don't matter. they weren't phrased quite as a what-if, but i know how to read between those lines. whatiftherewasastraybullet?! whatiftheygotthewronghouseandhitus?! the list can go on, but there really is an increased paranoia living here now. i've always hated this 'hood, and now it's more justified than ever. and i can't WAIT to move.