Author: auntygreens

Yesterday. Yes, more yesterdays, but this one is happier. Yesterday, I called home, so excited. I was driving down a hill, in our spectacular fall weather, grey skies, gorgeous yellow and orange trees. It was a split second. This red tailed hawk fell from the electrical lines, snapped his wings out, and flew right over my car. Less than twelve feet from my windshield. Stunning. Absolutely stunning. It’s tail was as red as a cardinal. I watched as it soared around the tree, brilliant yellow leaves framing it.
Less than three seconds.
I love moments like these. Absolutely love them. They change me. My perspective.
Today, I tried something hard. Very, very hard. It flopped, but I got the answer I needed. And, in many ways, I’m glad it did. A private moment, buried in irritation. Buried in feeling anger over walking in on a road I know other people do, stared at as though I was scoping out someone’s business instead of being in a place of healing and contemplation.
I was trying to resolve conflict within myself. My heart had been beating, hard, most of the day. I felt exposed, as I had thought the time I had picked would remain private, and it had not.
In a moment, I had exposed my own pain. Left my car. Went for a last walk down this road I had chosen for myself, days ago. Half way, a hawk dropped out of the tree line, flying over a cornfield. It cried, soaring and wheeling. Chasing over the morning doves and hunting. It circled and circled and cried and cried. I stood, transfixed. Shielding my eyes from the sun.
The doves fluttered around, scared, and rightfully. Their wings sounded like dry leaves rustling in a gust of wind.
I decided, then, the hurtful comment that kept me from resolving this conflict previously didn’t matter. I’ve said it didn’t matter, for weeks. That the hurt had built up, inside me, and I had let it. That there wasn’t any shame, on my part. Only for not reaching out sooner. And if it doesn’t, whatever, it doesn’t. I’ve gotten through the worst of it, on top of trying to change my life and dealing with the drama at work. And to see this hawk, being what it is, hunting the way it did, enjoying the sunshine, crying out in sheer joy… I feel focused again.

It’s a day for quotes. I think the words I’m trying to avoid are “full circle.” That I’ve hit this point again. Seems like yesterday. And yesterday and yesterday.

I have the song, “Yesterday,” going through my mind, as I’m writing this.

“Yesterday
All my troubles seemed so far away
Now it looks as though they’re here to stay
Oh, I believe in yesterday
Suddenly
I’m not half the man I used to be
There’s a shadow hangin’ over me
Oh, yesterday came suddenly”

I recognize that I changed my writing and reading styles a while back. On many levels, my family was too serious. They took themselves too seriously. I heard this quote on the radio the other day. I’m sorry, but I don’t know who said it and I’m not going to take the time to look it up. Just know it isn’t mine. I will, however, be incorporating that into my mantras. It fits too well. This is paraphrased.

“I think teenagers should be kids. Because having wisdom as such an early age doesn’t seem like any fun.”

This is true. Any person who, at a young age, had to develop the skills to go out and get what they needed, from someone other than their parents, for stability or “the basics” or having to get a job at a very young age, knows exactly what I mean. And we get tired at an earlier age.

There’s another quote that’s sticking with me. From a bartender I used to know. Another missed opportunity, for a deep friendship, but … anyway. “If you can’t run with the big dogs, stay on the porch.”

Alpha. Yup. Said it. Went there.

Alphas are. We exist. Every day. There’s different kinds of alphas, too. Most of us have been through so much shit, we are comfortable, even if we do complain about it, with shit. Doesn’t mean we like it. We are *comfortable* with it. I guess, with a situation I’m dealing with, I’m deciding about work life. I want a slower life. Half of what I talk about, with the conversion of my kitchen, my house, getting rid of possessions, and slowly extricating my ex from my life.

I have to say that dealing with Huffy’s negative personality has driven home a lot of lessons. About the person I used to be. Flipped, in some ways, for what I know was my reality. I was a big dog. Still am. I don’t have the patience to deal with someone who tries to be a big dog and never will be. I have enough I’m dealing with. It’s a daily challenge. One that is sucking me back into a life I don’t want.

My sister, with all the butting heads we do, says things so flatly at times, they are like boards to my head. “Why would I want to know what it’s like to be raped, or have an abusive ex?”

And she’s right. So painfully, obviously right. Why would anyone?

It irritates me, from a personal standpoint, that Huffy aggrandizes her situations to make herself look more badass than she will ever be. Could ever be. It demeans her. It demeans me. It demeans the other people who have to work with her. It demeans anyone who has suffered. I’m not saying what she’s feeling isn’t hurtful. It is. But it isn’t my problem and it shouldn’t be shoved down my throat every minute of every day, like it’s her right to do so.

Holding back on this, because it’s at work, makes it difficult to get through my day without chewing her head off. Especially combined with her officious, “I’m better than everyone around me” attitude. Every time I hear her comments, or call someone stupid, when I know she has no clue what that other person’s job could possibly entail, grates on my very nerves.

I could say, and did try to, at first, ignore it. I shouldn’t have. I should have nipped it in the butt, right then and there. I stopped being the kind of Alpha who dealt with that, to prevent this sort of build up. It isn’t healthy for anyone. What I want to say the most is: “stop wasting your life, and mine, by the way, by being something you aren’t. BE WHO YOU ARE. Uncover your blessings and stop taking everyone and everything around you for granted, just for your ego.”

I’m giving that blessing to myself, as well. My own stability. I had it, there, for a couple of weeks. Was almost comfortable to say “yes, I will stay here.”

I’m also giving myself the blessing of laughter. To unplug. I’m writing Holly right now. Because I still have hundreds of pages to strip out of both Hawthorne and Oak. I need to get my story lines dealt with and back on track. And put more humor back in.

I may not like these emotional crossroads I keep returning to. Coming full circle. But! I have a place to walk, now, without people. I have a room set up to get my workouts done, so I can lose weight. I miss Pi horribly and my house is still settling. I miss laughing every morning, seeing his Alpha male butt trot into the kitchen. I’m listening to Frank Sinatra more, to get some of that back. My other cats know there’s a change and we’re all coming up with new routines. New “good mornings” and treats to have at night. My sweater is almost complete. And I have someone coming to fix the dryer this week. The money to get that fixed. Two ways, with three backups in case they fail, for employment, with a steady value of income that I can work around. A crush that, while I gave up on it, still makes me smile. My sewing table is set up and I can work on quilts or manufacture hard copies of my books, whenever I want.

I may miss Magoo. But he missed out on jello and more giggles and what built the sunshine between us.

Slow. Giving up the anger at what’s been shoved down my throat and what’s been ripped away. Replacing negativity with productive. Replacing void with fabrics and fun. That’s the point. That’s been the point, all along. My rules, when I split with my ex. To keep my feet pointed in the direction I want to head in. To find other hard-asses who aren’t willing to take their reputation and images so damned serious, they miss out on life. To find sunshine out of thunderstorms. To find sunshine in sunshine. And fuck all the rest, because it didn’t belong to me, anyway.

The nice thing about crushes is that they end. After this wonderful, terrifying emotional roller coaster of angst, misery, and that all-too-necessary brain-frying oxytocin, it can slide to a gentle stop of bemused comfort.

That’s the main difference, I think of crushes when you are 14, vs in your forties. That and the mute button.

The reality is that I have very little in common with this person. At least, not as far as I’ve seen. And, because of the 10 rules I promised myself I’d never break when I left my ex, I know this person doesn’t meet a handful. So I got the high of feeling like a damned grinning fool without the slam-stop of humiliation at the end.

I can enjoy the thought of how sunlight hits his eyes, without remembering the cranky bitchiness of impatience.

I lived with that impatience before. In both of my last two exes and dealt with that flaw in several family members or friends. It made me miserable. I won’t do it again. There isn’t anything in the world that is worth living with that poisonous negativity. It makes my own flaws harder to deal with, on top of that. I let other people’s selfishness suck me further down into the garlic juice.

There is so much beauty all around us. I think that’s half of why I constantly thought there was something wrong with me. Because I didn’t have a body type that sent my hormones over the moon. So what if someone has a hawk nose? They could have the most gorgeous blue eyes, or a face full of wrinkles that lights up when they laugh, or long, thin fingers that are so graceful, you could picture butterflies landing on them. If you choose to see only flaws and ugliness in people, well… then that’s all you’ll ever see.

I think that’s also why I was able to deal with the rapes and beatings. I’ve lost friends who think I should hate all men because of it. I can’t. Not saying it was cool, what I had to deal with. Not once. “Lost” may not be the right word, there, either. Because I can’t fathom pushing anyone into hating anything on a broad basis. Except, maybe, mosquitoes. And fleas.

I don’t think men or women can be categorized into A/B. Ever. Because part of my frustration from this summer was dealing with a bunch of men who were the biggest gossips. Image conscious. Touchy. As bad as any bunch of teenage girl cheerleaders who are vying for the homecoming crown.

The thing is, I met some of this group who are the best sort. Diamonds, rough cut, with smiles, sense of humor, jokes, hard-working, and the biggest hearts you could possibly imagine. People I could see setting down with at the end of the day and shooting the shit over a campfire. The bullshit would be mostly tall tales and aggrandized stories that everyone knows are half-fluff and love just because of that.

How could I ever hate so much that I would miss out on that beauty? I get tired of hearing women bitch about “men.” As though being male is wrong. It isn’t. Stop playing victim. Leave that to people who truly are, and stop dragging survivors of actual assault and abuse down into your claptrap. I’ve dated pianists and construction workers, chemists and military. And there has been beauty in each and every single one.

What’s nice about this crush is that I actually got tongue-tied. More than once. It’s nice to know my numbness has receded enough. It’s made me more aware of what I do want out of life. That slow, quiet, fun lifestyle that I’ve been building for the past six years. Sitting at the end of the work day with an audiobook, with my candle fire going over the tv, with my cats chasing their tails, and me with my sewing. Or blowing the stink of boiling red cabbage out the window, because I needed to make new pH strips. Or finding a new way to make corn seed sprout. All the things I can do and get into trouble with, without the impatience of a cranky, self-serving, critical voice constantly picking at me or my projects. Just… beauty.

And, after joking with Jana yesterday, my next one will be to learn how to make walnut butter, so I can make walnut butter cookies…. MMMmmmmm… My kitchen’s going to turn into an absolute mess!

Quote from my book: Hawthorne:
“Master Track mentioned that, sometimes, you want the asshole to stick around.”
She snorted.
“It got me thinking about why. If it were me, I’d want someone honest.”
“Honesty isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
“What?”
Jules about pissed her pants, with his expression. “Think of it as a different version of garlic juice. Sure, it’s healthy for you. But you put that on a wound…”
He rolled his eyes. “Okay.”

I mentioned the other day that I am happier. This is a good thing. Weird, but good.

It’s something I am not used to being- happy. Oh, I’m not saying I haven’t had moments. I have.

This is underlying happy. Building on itself. Bridging gaps over all those PTSD holes.

Part of why I write Smashed Potatoes. For other people who have social awkward or PTSD. It’s a huge deal for me.

I think that having those “come to jesus” moments and being as honest as garlic on a wound are two different things. I think that “being raw” or “being real” falls more into the garlic on a wound category. Odd, coming from me. Most of my close family would look at me cross-eyed. I am not “known for being tactful.”

It’s been a misunderstanding for a long time. Massive gap, especially between me and my mother that never healed before she passed. I understood that her gentler ways meant as much to her as they did to me. But she didn’t fully get the damage she had done, inadvertently, with them and the sheer number of messes I had to clean up in her wake, and that I was basically getting emotionally slapped around for being her hammer. Or… garlic, as the case may be.

Forgiveness for that is… difficult.

“I didn’t mean it” doesn’t mean there isn’t still hurt, mess, damage, and mistrust to deal with. It doesn’t fix any of that.

For me, I guess, it’s what comes after those words. Which is usually nothing and nothing changes.

I’m mentioning those things for a reason, obviously, or I wouldn’t be putting this down on paper. Even electronic paper.

My family picked at my so-called flaws so much, I basically had nothing but garlic juice going on in my head. The good from them rarely got through, because I was waiting around for another shot of stinging pain. I even had those same people tell me, quite frequently, that they were “doing it for my own good, so I would know how to act properly.” What they thought were those “come to jesus” moments, but were really a difference of opinion and they couldn’t handle it.

I have two sets of PTSD. One emotional, from my family. One physical, from… well, you can guess. The physical kind is actually a lot easier to deal with. I have things I can touch, see, and smell, to get myself out of the memory hell.

It’s the other I have so much trouble with. And that is why I am mentioning that I am happy. Why I am happy with this so called crush and why I am happy with my cooking and the space in my kitchen. Those are spaces in my head now. Good spaces. Happy spaces. Along with my sweater, my cats, my writing that I never gave up on. Those spaces where I never gave up on myself. Instead of therapizing them, I am making them. Letting them come in and build a wall. A good wall. Between me and the garlic.

YAY!!!! MY CAR IS FIXED!!! Actually fixed. I found a new mechanic that is NOT interested in ripping me off. It’s amazing how nice it is to have a steering wheel I can trust and that I am *actually* supposed to be able to hear the radio over the sound of tires on pavement.

Odd couple of weeks, with a new job. That’s okay. I am keeping promises to myself. Not to get sucked back into daily anger rituals. I’ve been cooking more. A lot more. It means more dishes, but, I am happy. Sucks that I lost my scottish cookbook. I have crapped out, having lost a lot of skills, but I can’t help but laugh at myself. It’s been fun, having space in a kitchen again. I feel free. Free to fuck up, but also free to enjoy food again.

This crush I’ve got…. It’s been kicking me in the ass. Getting more comfortable with it. Slowly. Most days, I am super glad no one actually knows about it. OR the guy. Especially the guy. I am turning beet red, just typing that out. This is so damned silly.

I’ve always thought something was wrong with me, because I don’t lust after people. Only a very, very minuscule amount of people. I can count on one hand and have fingers left over. Parts of people, I’ve found attractive. Parts. But I see people as… people, I guess. Not bouncy partners.

I’ve even had people get “involved,” thinking things they are dead wrong about. Because those friendships or connections hit other sides of me. I’ve let go of friends who do this- deliberately interfere because they assume it’s a sex thing when it had to do with aspects of my life they don’t understand. I know it comes out sounding nearly the same. But it is so…. not. There is someone I owe my life to. He won’t see it that way. I will. It sounds stalker-ish. I forever will. He’s lead an extreme life. So have I. We had a conversation one day. A strange, intense conversation. Without realizing what, exactly, I had said, or how it was interpreted, I found forgiveness for the death of my first child. It’s a precious gift. I absolutely didn’t trust the person I was talking to, beyond a certain point. I know, without doubt or hesitation, that that gift that was put in my path and I wouldn’t be where I am, now, without it. And to have someone else, who didn’t understand what they were messing with, get involved and keep the person I had been speaking to, and I apart, where I could have given that same care and understanding back, where it was needed and unspokenly asked for… It rips at me. Nothing I can do about that. Except end the second friendship, with the person who interfered. Why in the world should I ever be ashamed for being given a gift like I was?

I mention this because it’s getting ridiculous out there. And I don’t mean Covid or the racial crap.

Expressing interest is somehow wrong, these days. Like it’s offensive. When the real problem is is not being able to accept “no” or “we’re not compatible.” I’m not understanding this.

I made promises to myself six years ago. And I haven’t gone back on them. What to do and what to accept.

And I guess, I am coming back around to that. With this crush I’ve got. Nothing would come of it. I know that. I don’t expect it to.

But I can say: I am healed enough, now, to even think about dating again. Even better? There’s someone that I actually put in my spank bank. And I do have a type. I had a friend point that out to me. She was able to give a physical description without me even having to say one word. I nearly wound up on the floor, giggling. I still do. Giggle.

Silly. Very silly.

But I am smiling. A big, shit-eating grin. It’s been plastered on my face for weeks now. I am letting it stay. Right along with the other one I am getting for being back in my kitchen.

Been a while since I’ve been on. I am forgiving myself for the DOH! moment. I’ve been really cranky this summer. Emotionally all over. Not surprising. Every time I think I’ve had something figured out, to make life stable, it blows. I am forgiving myself right at the moment for thinking I should have had that all settled and that I shouldn’t be affected.

I need some sort of structure in my life. While trying to build that, in this time of craziness, I’ve posted on FB, not here on my blog.

I’ve gotten myself out of three major jams in the past month. Frustrated that those solutions didn’t pan out into permanent solutions, but hey, I at least got out of the problems I was in. I did a lot of hard, scary things in order to get that done. And for once, I was happy to meet that old part of me that was/is capable of doing that.

I’ve also reconciled some part of me. That fear is something to conquer. And terror, which is not the same thing, is something to be respected. At a distance. It’s okay for me to be terrified of something. It isn’t a weakness. Per se. That’s finally getting through my head that I don’t have to be a rock all the time. It’s okay that some part of me isn’t “neutralized” in numb calmness. I don’t have to repeatedly expose myself to something that terrorizes the internal parts of me in order to “fix it.” If I was merely afraid, then yes. But accepting me means accepting this aspect of terror for what it is and letting it actually exist.

In doing so, I’ve actually let a lot of very subtle, little things happen.

I miss Magoo. A lot. We had a massive blowout, which I will not get into, in March. But, in a many ways, I am glad he is not currently part of my life. Sad that he is not. It’s okay that I feel all of that, even though it doesn’t match or balance. His absence is an ache I sense all around my heart. His presence would be a different one, because of where we can’t bridge a gap, so I am happy we aren’t hurting each other.

I’ve met a few new people.

Including some more crazies. I have no idea where I keep finding these ones. The ones that think I need saving and I must put all my problems on them and change who I am for their needs, and when I call them on it, I am either crazy or a bitch. I’ve let go of two of these people within the past four months. One just this week. Go be your insensitive, unsecure person somewhere else, please. I may understand your issues but it doesn’t mean I am here to fix you or have to stop being myself for your sake.

Part of it is… I’ve had it with whiny people. Who think they know what hard is, until after they talk to me. I’m sorry, not really, but yet, I am, that I just can’t get upset that someone else might need to work 2 jobs to pay the bills, when I was working 8. I feel a slight tremor of compassion for someone’s kid who missed out on walking the stage for graduation this year, but not really, when I think of all the kids who never had that in the first place. Life’s tough. For everyone. And getting upset and twisted and saying it’s hard that that got missed out on, when I missed out of so much of my life, because of my family’s twisted sense of denial, like never having a wedding, or having my ex suck the absolute fun out of buying a new bike for myself by insisting that I take a safety class, or having that same said person deliberately delete one of my manuscripts and play it off like it was nothing.

And, as nasty as that was to say, and as bad as that showed me to be, I don’t feel guilty about any of that the way I used to. I have strength. Sometimes, it’s a brittle strength. When I look back at everything I’ve overcome to get where I am? Shakes head. I have no idea. I know how tired I am. I say it, all the time. But I made it here. Here. Over all that crap. Deliberately being sabotaged by family, by coworkers. I am still capable of love, true compassion, and I’ve published 8 books. Why shouldn’t I love me for me, respect me for me? Not out of ego (although, I must admit that’s there, too,) but I am crippling myself, the way others did by not being secure in what I’ve done, from where I came from.

That terror thing let me admit something to myself. I actually have a crush. Me. Never expected that. Not at my age. Not after everything. An actual tongue-tying crush. Based partially on physical. Never, never, ever, in a million, gajillion years would I have ever said that could happen. It’s a flash in the pan, and I know nothing would ever come of it, but holy cow. I feel silly, happy, and mouth-tied. I’m letting it be. Only told one person who that is. (And it isn’t Magoo, for those of you who are wondering.) Not even fully who. Just a first name. I turned beet red. Wow. I am laughing at myself in embarrassment at the moment. But still… laughing.

I’m still working on my sweater. I have the back, both sleeves, and one front panel done. One more front panel, a pocket, maybe two, and crocheting to cover my knitting foul-ups to go. Still loving the color pattern and I can’t wait until fall when I can wear it.

What I’ve done today:

* Put up 2 small pools to help local wildlife get water. I used kiddie pools and solar powered waterpumps. My sister and I added rocks and bricks to help both birds and insects be able to access.
* Refilled the hummingbird feeder.
* Weeded
* Added four stores to one of my RPG games
* 2 loads of dishes
* swept the floor
* applied for 3 jobs
* made herby potatoes
* checked on Smashwords. My books will become available on 10 different sites once the programming is done. WOOT!


Herby Potatoes:
Bake 1 very large baked potato (takes about 30 minutes while you are watching TV.)
Cut the potato in half, and chunk. Take off the skin.
Add to an electric hot plate with sprinkles of Mrs Dash or other herbs.
Add in handful of frozen broccoli
Add in 1 tablespoon butter, in small pats, to the hot plate. Close. Cook 10 minutes
Stuff your face.


I have a plan to keep up with the gardening over the next heatwave and get more plants in the ground. I am looking forward to mounds and mounds of basil. We’ve already attracted a few fireflies and hummingbirds.

My life is SO DIFFERENT than it was even just a few years ago. I am enjoying my days, without having someone drag me down, destroy my things, destroy my self-confidence, force me to his schedule, or suck the joy of my curiosity out of my day-to-day because he has to take everything personal.

I’ve met someone who is interested in me, who I am, and while shy, is willing to remain himself without running me over.

I’ve made my household cleansers that do an awesome job.

I may be scared out of my mind half the time, but there is such beauty all around me.

I’ve been told more than once that I am my own worst enemy.

The frustration I feel right now is something I am not going to spend a lot of time on.

I have faced lots of obstacles in my life. With very little help or understanding by others. Just the opposite, in fact. I know it makes me different. Goodness knows, I’ve posted about my narcissistic ex several times and mentioned the violence of my life.

I see a lot of posts on Facebook about how angry everyone is. How frustrated people are.

You have a right to have an opinion. A voice.

I guess I have to say that if you want to take and make all of this COVID stuff personal to your specific lifestyle, that’s your choice.

I have to say that dealing with workplace bullying and feeling ostracized is not something I talk about very much. I do live differently. I’ve had jobs that I am well qualified for given to someone else because I am different. I’ve been denied promotions. I’ve been treated as though I am a child because of my birth defects. I’ve been shot down or had my ideas stolen by others because I tend to see a lot of things my bosses don’t or because I keep things simple.

You don’t see me screaming about that. I think the worst I have said is that I am tired of being treated like a doormat.

Right now, as I am job searching, I’m just as scared about money as you are. My business won’t support me. I made career goal choices back in November that I am sticking to, as hard as that is to do- turning down a job offer- because I realized there are some limits that aren’t worth crossing for any employer. I realize that interviews go both ways, even if the HR people I talk to are judgmental or aggressive. It affects me even more right now, trying to go after jobs that better suit those career choices to support the care I feel for others, instead of treating people as disposable. Over the course of my life, I had to learn to be flexible, maybe too flexible, to support my family, to keep my home intact, to build skill sets. And now, HR people see that “moving around” I did as a contractor as “unreliable” when the normal before COVID was to stay in a position for 3-5 years, instead of taking care of clients or seeing that some of those clients can’t make up their minds about what they want or need and it’s time to let them get to it, instead of cramming my thoughts down their throat.

I understand your need to stomp. Because I have, too. I also have to say: be accountable for your life the way you’ve made me accountable for mine. I have to own my mistakes, choices, and successes. I’ve had to learn to adapt far beyond what is commonly acceptable in order to live with the choices I’ve had to make, whether or not those circumstances were under my control, which they normally were not.

I lost myself along the way. To my ex. To my family. To employers that enjoy seeing people crack out of their own feelings of helplessness or ego. To being forced to give up a career path I can never get back because I’ll never have the money to go after environmentalism or forensics. So you can lose yourself to your anger, to society, to the poison I see in the sniping of others. Or you can adapt. Make new choices. Let go. See what we all have in common and find NEW WAYS to make your business run. You can make yourself miserable. Or you can find ways to make those laws work for you. You can make yourself sick or you can open your heart again to love, and finding ways to take down your walls and limits. That choice is always yours.

WOOOT!

I may be a bit slow on this, but I have found an awesome place that will get my books on the following sites:

So HUGELY excited about this. Going for Google Books next. WHO-HOOOO!

Kobo

Apple

Library Direct

Baker & Taylor’s Axis 360

OverDrive

Scribd

cloudLibrary

Gardners Extended Retail

Odilo

Gardners Library