Monday, September 16, 2013

It Doesn't End Like You Think.

I woke to a full fledged panic attack this morning.

They're always fun, right? Especially when they happen only ten minutes before you have to wake the children. The cranky-assed, tension-sensing, guilt factories ... to whom you gave birth.

I went back to bed after I put the girls on the bus. 


When I finally got up, it was after eleven.

I know - right?

This could be the beginning of another sad, sad story ... but it isn't. 

Something slid into place inside my brain today. I got on the phone before I was half way through my first coffee and by the time I finished my third, I had talked to a couple of good contacts ... each with thoughts and suggestions as to my future employment. I also discussed the possibility of downsizing our truck and maybe picking up a 2nd beater car. We need to be ready to be mobile. We're both looking outside of the house for work. 

I opened a door today.

I need to open another, tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I am going to approach our mortgage lenders and the default insurer about possible solutions available for our situation. I mean, I have centered my career around mortgage financing - you would think I'd utilize my own talents for myself, for a change. Who knows ... maybe I know my shit after all. I am not entirely certain any of them will do anything for me ... the point is, I need to try. 

I need to show up.

I need to fight.

My husband told me this morning that I don't have to give up on my mid-life crisis if I'm not ready ... I just need to start making some money WHILE I'm having it. He's an understanding sort, eh? 

After my morning of positive contact, I decided to finish polishing up my resume ... I confirmed all of my references (via telephone ... so that I have up to date permission to use each of them) ... I looked on line for jobs ... I even emailed my resume and a writing sample to JJ. There is a position there that I would LOVE!! Unfortunately, I don't have a Bachelor of Journalism ... but ... well, I suppose it's fairly transparent what I did there, but the fact remains - I need a job.

Then, the phone rang. It was my friend. My friend who is really more like my sister than either of my 'biologicals'. My friend who is going through her own circle of hell of late. She and her boss have a proposition for me. One that would create a contract for my business... it would also offer a huge benefit to my friend and I could still be helping her (like I have begged her to let me do already) but I would be getting PAID! 

It's far from written in stone here ... we have to meet and work out the pricing and then present it to previously mentioned boss ... but it's a presentation to a fully warm audience. Plus - I would not be competing with anyone else for the job ... it would be a matter of showing the inherent value of my service. I think I can manage that.

This could be the bridge that I need. 

Then ... maybe I could still land the other contract in the meantime. Worst case scenario, I'd have to give one up, but I may very well be able to handle both. It's really easy with the right systems in place. It's just a matter of setting it up properly. 

This would buy us some time to get the house sold.

Oh ... gawd!

The relief in that would be orgasmic. 

So ... as you can plainly see - it wound up being a pretty darned good day, all in all. 

"I need to act ... and then function will be restored"

... DAMN IT! I am fricken BRILLIANT!

If only I ever listened to myself.

Sunday, September 15, 2013

The Dragonfly Effect

There is a conversation that is happening in my head lately. 

It is between two very distinct sides of my brain and each has a passionate stance.

The logical part - the one that says things like 'uh ... ya - we need to have groceries if we're gonna eat, folks' and 'how many basements are you going to dig before you get off your ass and do something about it, for the love of Christ?' 

We took a vote and we officially hate that side.

... and then the illogical side - it seems hell bent on encouraging me to steep in my own stink for as long as is humanly possible. Letting me explore my feelings and chase my bliss ... because it is my God given right to be all that I can be and the rest of the world just better get with the damned program already and let me have this. ALL THE MAGAZINES SAY I'M SUPPOSED TO WANT IT! 

This is the side of my brain that is busy having a feeling over here and ... 'wah! I'm not happy working full time ... wah! it makes me a bad mother ... wah! it makes my house dirty all the time'... and wah! I don't wanna work for another bad man'... I will only take the 'perfect job' ... I wanna have my own business! Wah!'

Boo fucking hoo, D. How are you gonna feel when the vodka budget dries up - huh?

I am insufferable. How does anyone stand listening to me?

I am not sure if I will look back on this time in my life and be able to excuse it all away with some suburban bullshit disorder from which I am clearly suffering. We'll call it 'The Dragonfly Effect' ... after me. Fitting, I think.

It is time to go and unpack my big girl panties, dust off my resume and get a job ... NOW! It is time in so many ways. It has GOT to be nearly hysterical to watch me skillfully avoiding such a plethora of signs smashing past my head - screaming that it is time to get back out there. I got me some mad avoidance skillz. 


The thing that makes me sad is that my husband (and no, he is not a saint ... he's just my very best friend in the whole world) would gladly sell his soul to be able to give me what I want so desperately - to be home with the kids. It breaks my heart how selfish I have been. I have loaded so much pressure onto him. Oh - and as an added bonus - I've also been sad, moody, needy and looking for attention in stupid places. I've rewarded his good nature and genuine desire to please me with selfishness. Here's another kicker - HE feels responsible for the mess we're in.

Uh ... yeah, 'cause it was YOUR idea to move my mother in with us... and it was YOUR idea to have 'the perfect house' so we'd never ever have to move again until the kids were all grown up... and it was YOUR idea to talk your boss into laying you off so you could have an extended mid-life crisis. 

Oh ... no ... that was me. Right. 

It's a damned good thing that this man was previously married to someone so terrible that I look like Donna Reid in comparison ... there's some karma gone wrong right there. His reward for not killing the first one is me. 


I do have to wonder why he hasn't kicked me in the arse with a frozen boot yet.

You know, I started writing this post with one goal in mind ... but as these words filter out of my brain receptacle, a whole new perspective reveals itself to me. Writing is such useful therapy. I've even been hiding from that. Boy - there are some freaky little mechanisms in our psyches. No wonder we are so horrid to each other - look at how crazy we act with our own selves! 

I have got to smarten up. I have never done anything like this before. It's like I'm stuck in molasses or something. I'm afraid of my own shadow. So I've just 'frozen'. I'm calling out to the universe to give me a sign  ... and then sitting and watching missed mortgage payments pile up and pieces of the house falling apart.

Then the thoughts come buzzing in ... we can't sell the house if we can't fix the major issues ... we can't fix even minor issues if we can't put oil in the tank ... we can't rent this out for enough to cover the mortgages and where would we live ... are we circling the drain again? ... and again ... and again ... and then I can't breathe.


How much more of a fucking sign do you need, you asshole? GET.A.FUCKING.JOB! ...and if that doesn't cut it, GET TWO! The kids will adapt. No, it isn't the way I want to do things ... how many goddamned people are parenting the way they want? Living just the way they want? Working at exactly what they want? Fuck off! Who in the hell do I think I am, anyway? 

I'm spoiled.

You know ... I think it is possible I always have been ... and I just didn't see it.

I have to admit, I am pretty selective on the things I see. I honestly don't want that to be my truth, but it is.

I like pretty words every bit as much as ugly ones, so long as they paint the right picture. I may sound like I'm just feeling sorry for myself ... I mean, I SO am ... but I have tried to make my attempt at self employment valid. I went after two big contracts. One was a complete loss on the professional side but had a strange win on the personal side ... and the other is still awaiting fruition. If I can land that particular fish, I would secure our position for at least another 6 months ... and if that happens, then everything I have said becomes less about being selfish and more about being a successful risk taker and savvy entrepreneur.

So, you see my dilemma?

...and then it's hurry up and wait all over again. 

So how many basements am I going to dig? 

At what point do I simply say ... okay, I'm applying for everything I am remotely capable of doing and letting the universe decide what happens next? 

I know this is my push. I know that when you freeze, the universe reaches out and gives you a little love tap ... in the nards. 

I 'know' this, philosophically ... but when taken in the literal sense, it is still so bloody hard to act.

Perspective would be good here, psychological disorders and all. 

A very dear friend once called me a verb. 

Verbs 'do'. 

Being a verb means that in order to function, you must be acting.

I need to act. 

Then function will be restored.

I marvel at the simplicity.

Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Schumbody Schtop Me!

I always loved that line in "The Mask". This post won't be nearly as cute and endearing as that movie was. 

This is not going to be pretty. I strongly suggest that anyone who doesn't want a reason to smack me right up the side of my head may not want to read any further. I'm about to share something that, if I had a brain in my head - or an ounce of self respect - I would lock in a vault and pray nobody ever found it.

I need to understand what is happening inside my head right now, and it seems like I can't always do that without laying it all out in the air and letting the sun dry all the damp, moldy bits ... you know, so I can take it all in. See it as a whole. Not all intertwined inside the folds of my grey matter.

I am standing in a room coated in a thick layer of insidious gas ... like say, ether ... and a couple of flint rocks rolling around together in my hands. It's like I can't be happy unless I have something to obsess about. Something that is dangerous. Something that can't help but ignite... leaving a trail of mass destruction in its wake.

What is the matter with me? I'd say that I have 'bored housewife' syndrome ... but it isn't that. I have done things almost as stupid as this before. The one saving grace there was that I knew I would never actually meet the other participant in that little tragedy. Not flying this trapeze with the safety net of relative anonymity.


So ... I met with the ex-boyfriend I mentioned in a previous post. It was a good meeting. I didn't over share - you would have been so proud of me ... I was. I looked good that day. Not over done, just right. Hubs was actually having a ball teasing me about my 'date' ... which I found to be absolutely adorable. 

We met at a cafe and spent about an hour talking. It was ... restrained and awkward, but oddly it fed something inside of me that, until I got away from the situation, I didn't realize was so ravenously hungry. He told me that time had been very good to me... and there was a weight added to the very that said a great deal more than any of the other words. 

Yummy, yummy sustenance for the awakening beast within.

So ... I walked away with an ego boost that sent my spirits through the roof and the possibility of a contract within his firm. All good, right?

Sure ... if I was a normal person. 

I think I speak for everyone when I point out that 'normal' doesn't really enter into my thought process in any way other than as a tool of measurement and comparison.

We met last Monday and I left it with him to contact me if the job aspect was to come to fruition. Tuesday came and went ... and Wednesday - no contact. (Have I mentioned my lack of patience?) By Thursday, my obsessive compulsive mind was in a frenzy. The beast was starving for attention and my fingers just started tickling keys ... of their own volition, of course.

I wrote a lovely, non-damning (but just leading enough) email, which I saved in my drafts. Then, I contacted him and asked for a private email address - to which I could send my 'harmless' (though admittedly personal) note.

...and then I got just exactly what I thought I had wanted... his reaction ... and it was a gooder. There was a line in it that resonates inside my mind: "Jesus, woman ... you look and sound just the same as when we were together ... hence the reason you've been on my mind". 

Can you hear the alarm bells ringing? Woot ... Woot ... Danger Will Robinson ... 

Here's the thing: I am vain ... and I seem to require an inordinate amount of attention. I mean, I am likely the 'most paid attention to' wife on the planet. My husband tells me daily how beautiful and sexy he thinks I am. He listens to me and talks to me and everything I say, think or contrive is important to him. The problem is that I am also housing a seventeen year old version of myself who was hurt so badly by this ex of mine, that she is crying out to hear what he has to say. She is jumping up and down and throwing a massive temper tantrum ... begging to get her few minutes of restitution for all the years of feeling thrown away.

She's doing it in a very VERY dangerous way, though.

He wants to meet with me again ... so he can 'better explain himself', in person. I know that I shouldn't ... and I told him as much in my answering email. I told him how happy I am in my life and that although seventeen year old me is bordering on mania just to see him again, forty year old me has much to lose by that action. Not to mention him ... but he isn't my problem anymore, so I'll stay focused on me.

You know what is really funny? Back about 15 years ago ... when the Swiss Air disaster occurred, he showed up at the bank where I worked. When I got off that evening, he met me at my place and we chatted for hours. I was single then. He was married to the woman he had passed me over for and they had a child together. He made a very tacit pass at me and I stopped him ...because it was inappropriate. He then made some comment about my 'goodness' and left ... never to be heard from again.

Why didn't the beast show her nasty self then? Is it because I am aging? Is this some sort of mid-life crisis-y bullshit that I am going through? Is it because I have worked so effing hard at losing all that weight and now I am wielding the power I have suddenly found in that? Is it because now I have something to lose?  


...and I want to so desperately it hurts.

I know I need to stop pulling at this thread. For all our sake. I just know me well enough to be able to lay odds on how long it will be before I can talk myself into seeing him again. I won't do it behind Hub's back ... THAT I won't do. He'll know - so that I am accountable.

I don't understand this compulsion... and compulsion, it is. I am fully engaged in head-on obsession here.

Why is it that what we think we want is so often the worst possible scenario of the bunch?

Save me from the beast. Help me find the right balance here between satisfying the young, broken hearted girl and preserving the beautiful life that she has managed to build in spite of her past.

As always, I remain

Dramatically Yours,


Friday, August 2, 2013

Like Eeyore on Oxy

Is THIS me, or what?

Well ... maybe not so intelligent or quiet ... but the rest fits.

Oh, I don't think you can smoke thistles, so maybe not that, either. Crap ... even my metaphors are flawed these days.

It's cloudy ... and cold.

The truck is supposed to be fixed today ... providing nothing else breaks in the process (like the caliper did when Hubs tried to bleed the brakes last - costing us an additional $120).

We are supposed to go camping tomorrow ... providing the weather holds.

I can't find my tail ... prolly fell off anyway.

I'm totes NOT... 'okay', that is. Although, I will tell you that any hugging is done at your own risk. Could go either way, I might freak at being touched ... or I might dissolve into a snot flying, projectile tear fest of a melt down. There's really no way to know which it would be ... I might recommend a 'no touch' policy ... for your own safety.

Just pity me from afar. Passionately, but not too loudly ... I has a headache, too. It starts at my big toe and goes up from there. 

I am so down this past two (or so) week stint ... I am a walking, talking "tripping hazard" (you know ... over my bottom lip). Even chemical intervention (you like how I did that little play on words?) isn't doing anything positive. Likely because alcohol and cannabis are both depressants.

D'uh, dumb-ass.

On my list of "worst enemies" there is a picture of me... covering the entire front page.

I am walking around, inside out. Like a throbbing, raw nerve. The voices of my children are like stabbing knives in my grey matter. Everything my husband does, says or even thinks gets under my skin like scabies. Actually, that can be said for pretty much everything that breathes ... and not a few things that don't (anymore ... kidding).

I am such a freakin' mess that I have taken to waking up in the morning (assuming that I slept at all) bracing myself for whatever bad news is going to hit me today. 

Will it be something else breaking? I mean we are down not one, but TWO lawn mowers. The pool pump broke a week ago. The truck STILL does not have brakes of any notable amount. Our carpet shampooer is busted and the vacuum isn't sucking properly ... which is ironic, considering how much everything else seems to be.

Or ... will it be something bouncing (and I am not referring to Tigger here)? 

Or maybe a sick or injured pet?

Whatever it is ... I'm certain of two things - it will make me even more sad AND it will cost more money. Money we do not have.

Is there some sort of process I can do that will turn off my self pity? I desperately need to find my happy place. I can't seem to escape this very negative head space. They say you attract what you are and I am currently inclined to believe that. So ... what? What do I do? This isn't passing. I'm starting to panic on a whole new level and my perspective is not even in the same neighborhood as someone with a modicum of sanity.

I need some help. I just don't know who to ask.  

... on a related note, my family just arrived back from picking up the master cylinder (for the truck) bearing cinnamon buns ... hot cinnamon buns. It's bad, people ... he's resorting to bringing 'offerings' to the beastly goddess.



Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Cuckoo Ka Choo Choo


It's time for a ride on the crazy train, folks.

I am neurotic. 

I know ... *GASP*, right? 

Seriously though ... I am not unaware of my short comings as a humanoid. I suffer from an upsy-downsy sort of existence even when the terrain around me is relatively mundane. I honestly thought for most of my life (to this point) that it was an anti-boredom mechanism built into my drama soaked brain. So, for the most part, I have been inclined to embrace it somewhat.

Here is a highly inconvenient truth for me to chew on - neurosis does not a successful business starter-upper, make. 

Let me give you a visual for instance:

click click click click ... click ...

So we get started on the climb.

This is the more labour intensive part of the process, but oddly is the part in which I am most comfortable - mostly because there is action on my part and therefore, I have a false sense of control.

I like control.

I know ... *GASP*, right?

I get a call for a quote. (Seriously, how much do you love that I made myself a stick figure with jugs?)

click click click ... click ... click ...

The prospective client meets me and I sell them on the benefits and value of my service.

click click ...

The day comes and I perform my service ... they are thrilled and pay me.

click ... click ...  

My mood is super high!

I am on top of the world! My mind is fertile and the ideas are flowing like a leaky box of cheap wine. The future of my business is bright and subsequently, all our financial woes are in danger of being eradicated!

... click ...

The bottom falls out of my life.


The power company informs us that we have two days to come up with two grand or our service is being cut... Our second mortgage payment gets screwed up in this mix of begging for mercy and finding sufficient hush money to throw at them... This creates an additional $65 in service fees between our bank's NSF fees and the lender's... Then, the car payment is shorted in the attempt and a payment that was originally $159.00 is now subject to an additional $120.00 in service charges... The second mortgage - after having been late last month due to the screw up, is then due again and we were $26 short to cover the PAC when it tries to clear... We transfer the money and call to ensure the payment is covered - we are assured it is fine, only to learn that it is NOT in fact fine and the payment gets sent back a second time - thus creating not only another $65 worth of fees, but also cancelling the automatic PAC - so now, we have to DRIVE TO THE GOD FORSAKEN LENDER EVERY FLIPPING MONTH AND PAY CASH! (because they will no longer accept cheques from the likes of us, either)... The first mortgage payment is then shorted because of this game of Financial Twister that we are playing... That creates another $120.00 worth of service charges to be tacked on... Oh, and the brakes went in the truck... So we can't drive anywhere until they are fixed ... and I have two jobs that need to be quoted this week.

Here's another inconvenient truth - brakes cost money to fix. 

Actually, so does food... and entertainment for two children that are off school and have ZERO to do. THIS SUCKS!!! We haven't even been able to go camping due to either gross lack of funds, or vehicle issues.


I am in a state of mania. I am wound so tight, you could likely shove a lump of coal up my ass and get a diamond in 24 hours. We have decided that we need to try to sell the house again. Even if we just get enough to get the hell out without losing it, we'll be much farther ahead. We won't qualify for another mortgage for a number of years, but at least we could ... someday. Not so, if we lose it.

This sounds like a reasonable plan, right? Yeah ... well we are in a super flat market and THIS house, for which I still require a fairly pretty penny, is in need of some work... and here's the third inconvenient truth of the day, THAT, my frens also costs money. Lots of it.

We are going to try anyway ... throw it to the wind and hope, pray and possibly negotiate with Satan a little that it will work out. And if not ... well ... I guess we'll move onto 'plan G' ... or are we at 'plan H' already? I dunno ... we'll do something. Maybe have a REALLY big bonfire ... and roast some big assed marshmallows on the burnt out shell of our life.

(Holy crap, I just googled mania and I truly may fall right into that definition.) Yikes. NOPE! I reject that diagnosis ... I can NOT afford any more meds.

It is such a kick in the crotch to have worked so hard all these years, flipping houses to get here ... only to screw it up so colossally, that we find ourselves facing choices that are nearly indigestible.

Honestly, if it was just me and Hubs ... this would have been an easy decision. But it isn't. There's Shorty and Stretch ... not to mention my three cats, a dog and our fish ... who has chosen now to get sick and act like he's going to live up to his reputation of "heartache in a bowl". Oh well ... one less mouth to feed... maybe I could feed him to the cats ...

The truly sad thing is that I would be so grateful to stop feeling like I am about to stroke out at any moment, that I really don't even care anymore. I'm so tired ... and cranky and vile and sad and embarrassed and ashamed and scared and sad some more... and tired some more. So tired, I can't even sleep the past few days.

This is so old.

I love my peeps more than anything on this ol' rock we call home. I am responsible for their well being. I am responsible for my own, for that matter. I don't know how much fight is left in me at this point and I am starting to reconcile myself with the worst case scenario here. It's not like we are battling a life threatening disease or anything. I mean ... we're looking at packing our shit, finding a rental and suffering through a foreclosure and I suppose another bankruptcy. Easy breezy, right? Well ... no ... not so much, but we'd survive it.

Doesn't seem overly palatable to me - especially given my background ... but if given the choice between hardships, I'd still choose this eventuality over one of us being sick or injured ... or worse. It's just that I now live in fear that we'll drag ourselves through this ... on our faces ... by our eyelashes (as we have been doing) and when we finally get the wheels back on the bus, something (else) horrible is going to happen.

Somehow, that doesn't really make me feel a great deal better in this moment.

Universe, I need you to cut me some slack here. I realize I'm not in a bargaining position, but I'm asking. We either need to luck into a buyer for this house (for enough money to actually get out) or we need a very large financial shift for the better ... and I will make this distinction: NOBODY can get hurt or sick or die in order to fulfill this request ... k?

So ... a big contract for Hubs' business ... or mine ... or a lotto win - $50K would be great! ... or a buyer for the house ... or a really good job (for either of us - we're both looking) ... or some real assistance from CMHC's default management department (whom I will be contacting this week to see if there is any help available for us) ... any of those things would be super.

Mm K. So we're good?

K - great ... I'll be here. You just let me know what you need me to do.

D - out.

Thursday, July 11, 2013

Je Regrette

My Mom is moving out next weekend.

It's finally here. 

THIS is what we've trained for, people!

I find myself fervently wishing our house was sold and that we were also moving on ... into a more affordable and subsequently healing housing situation. We aren't, but I am still attempting optimism in the healing department. 

I have long believed that regret is a wasted emotion. It really is. I mean, you should learn from your past, but spending valuable time on regret seems highly counter productive ... but I have to say if ever I felt regret, it is about this situation I find myself living of late.

Don't get me wrong, I really love my house ... but more than anything, I just don't want it to beat us. I regret buying it more than any other one decision I have ever made (and truly, that is a weighty statement right there). Further to that buyer's remorse, I regret getting it into my head that my mother should live with us ... and I regret trying to save our sorry asses with the gangster bank 2nd mortgage ~ I liken THAT little move to trying to catch yourself before you fall down a flight of stairs, only to break both of your arms in the process ... further impeding your ability to survive the original trauma.

Ah, hindsight ... you can fuck right off, okay?

So ... in the interest of living in the moment, we are attempting to make the most of an otherwise suck-tastic situation and have been planning a very inexpensive (as in ZERO monies, if possible) renovation for Mom's soon to be abandoned in-law suite. We likely should be trying to rent it, but heating this house with oil is just not a viable option for us ... and there is no other way to heat that area. In the Winter months, that space costs us more in oil than it brings in ... and we can't get any more money for it than what we had asked previously. 

To that end, we have decided on the following course of action: 
1) we are looking for a 2nd hand CSA approved wood stove and some chimney (which admittedly WILL cost money, but would pay for itself in no time flat) to put into that 'wing' of our home
2) once next weekend passes, we're going to open up the wall between the spaces and reclaim it for our own use
3) we are using the existing material (with the exception of some drywall and eventually some paint) to create a patio-accessible bar area
4) using the same frugal formula, we'll move a door, a couple of windows and a wall opening here and there ... take the big bath tub out and put my washer and dryer into that space ... and change it into a truly usable space - including the kids' toys, video games and so forth

It's about another 800 or so square feet that we can now utilize. Despite myself, I am getting excited about this prospect.

Once this has been completed and the toy room has been moved back to the main level, the two additional bedrooms on the second floor can be turned into an income opportunity. We are advertising for two university students to board through the school year with us. We are adjacent to a university town ... not right in it, but very close. 

This would do two very important things:
1) INCOME! I'm thinking like $1200-$1500 per month in income.
2) The students I am hoping to attract would be international students. What an opportunity for my girls to learn about different cultures ... and to broaden their view on the world. 

This is the plan.

Also, I am ever hopeful that the relationship between Mom and me will mend on its own ... over time. But I regret the need.

She is happy and excited and her man is a prince among men ... so it's all good on her end. I managed to NOT share my true feelings about this whole situation, so that's good - at the end of the day. I am optimistic that the healing will just occur on its own. Less chance for me to screw it up that way.

It is time to close this chapter and start fresh again. We can't sensibly dump the house, but maybe we can finally start to recover from the past five year stint.

Ya think?

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

...and now for something completely different

I'm going to be entirely self-indulgent.

Cripes ... I couldn't even type that without snorting out loud.

I think I have successfully chased away all of my readers ... or certainly anyone who ever comments. That's alright, it would be much better for me if I could just be completely candid and unedited. I doubt it's going to happen, but it's worth a try, I suppose. I am so bloody worried about what others think of me, I'm becoming a pathological obsessive freakazoid. 

I had this long conversation in my head today while I was having a shower. I was having it with JJ (the conversation, not the shower). 

~ I am still going to meet with him to discuss the possibility of doing some work with his employer. It would be a cherry gig if I could get it. Honestly, it would give my company a massive punt forward. For better or for worse, really. It would either prove to me once and for all that I CAN actually do this ... or that I can't. Either way, it saves me a whole lotta time and heart ache. 

It is important that I follow this up. I am afraid, though. For some disturbing reasons, too. The worst of which has to be that I am OBSESSED with 'how attractive' he finds me, when we meet. Like I'm 'right stupid in the head' with it. It means the world to me that he not only thinks it, but voices it. ~

Uh ... why Bambi?

Anyway, I was having this conversation ... with JJ ... in my head (nothing crazy to see here) ... while having a shower - and the things I learned about my own life were really rather striking. I was regaling him about my life - including, but not limited to - my crazy, in all its glory. I was even toying with the idea of telling him about this blog for the love of gawd! Could I BE any more needy? I mean, why don't I just jump up and down in front of him, yelling "praise me, like me, want me!!!"? Perhaps even topless. I have no shame, it would seem.

What is the matter with the way I am wired that I act like this?

I feel like I want to understand - maybe I would be sorry to, though. Seriously ... I was gushing about how super fabulous my husband is and how easily he can 'work' me (... as opposed to the way JJ and I used to solve our disagreements - by throwing temper tantrums that almost always resulted in me being hurt somehow) and how peaceful our existence together is. It was almost a physical pleasure that I got from that. Then, I over shared (in my pretend conversation ... in my head ... in my shower) and now I feel guilty for it.

I'm fuckin' losing it.
I've fuckin' lost it.

Why do I want approval from this man? Is it because I secretly hope he regrets what he did to me all those years ago? Am I really that tragic and petty? (That was rhetorical, PLEASE do not confirm this for me - I'm too fragile) I'm supposed to be better than that. I'm a high road walker (that's not slang for an inebriated whore, either). It is somewhat disconcerting that I have digressed this much in the last 15 or so years ... perhaps even devolved a little.

I'm disappointed in myself. I don't really know what to do with that.

I guess as long as these are just thoughts in my head, I can ignore them. What do you figure the chances are that they'll stay there? Especially now that I have assigned them words?

I need to meet with this man, display some semblance of believable sanity, NOT over share, be "nice" and get what I actually need from him: an influential business contact. That's it.

Could I grow up just enough to actually pull that off?

Guess we'll find out next week - that is when I am aiming to approach him again. That's a three week lapse ... should be sufficient lag, shouldn't it? (ACK! Games people play)

...and on that note:

Monday, July 1, 2013

Heavy In Your Arms

"I was a heavy heart to carry ...

My beloved was weighed down ... my arms around his neck ... my fingers laced to crown

I was a heavy heart to carry ...

My feet dragged across the ground ... and he took me to the river where he slowly let me drown

My love has concrete feet, my love's an iron ball ... wrapped around your ankles ... over the waterfall"

Ever have a relationship like this? 

I did

Oh ... how did I love him ... let me count the ways. I loved him like a love song ... before Selena friggen Gomez went and ruined that line. 

It was like a wrought iron sculpture, the love I had for that boy: 

Massive ~ Heavy ~ Black ~ Beautiful

"JJ" was my first love, my 'first time' and my first real taste of heartbreak. We spent most of the two years we were a couple (at the ripe old ages of 16/18 and 17/19) embroiled in a massive power struggle. Of course at the time, I was struggling with the recent brutal rape of my best friend, a massive depression, the onset of agoraphobia, quitting school and generally falling apart. 

Not to be out-done, JJ promptly went ahead and developed life threatening allergies to a then unknown ingredient that seemed to be present in everything the boy put in his mouth. He essentially died right in front of me once. I saved his ass. It scared me right through to my core. Seared that shit onto my grey matter. In fact, I believe that very moment was what has caused me to be such a helicopter parent to this day. It happened right in front of my eyes ... he was gone. Fortunately, I was able to get him to a hospital fast enough that they could reverse the anaphylaxis. They zapped him, shot him full of epinephrine and he was okay. But, it affected me. 

We were so dramatic. Like ... soap opera dramatic. We fought like feral cats. We WERE essentially, feral cats. Un-domesticated teenagers who thought they had their futures all figured out. I was going to marry him. He promised.

He used to take me everywhere. We would get in his little dodge omni and just ... go ... whale watching, to the wild life preserve, to a neighboring province ... exploring down some back country road ... everywhere and nowhere.

I adored him. Worshiped the ground he walked on, in fact. I believe in my heart that he adored me, too ... as much as he was capable. I think that the weight of containing me and my messy-ness became more than he could handle ... especially since he had his own demons to master.

Alas, it was not meant to be.

He was not "strong enough to stand protecting both (his) heart and mine"

I brought the bad things out of him. It wasn't on purpose - I just did. Ferocity was what he brought out of me. It was scary sometimes ... most of the time, really. We would get so physical with one another ... and he was so much stronger (physically) than I was, so I got hurt ... often. I really did deserve what I got ... I would fight so hard to just win, already. Cracked three of my ribs just before we broke up, in fact.

"This will be my last confession ... 'I love you' never felt like any blessing ... ooohhhh

Whispering like it's a secret ... only to condemn the one who hears it ... with a heavy heart"

There have been a number of moments in my life where I can say I was truly broken. This was one of those times. I needed someone in my life that didn't take anything. So did he. I'm not really sure how long he was seeing the other girl before he managed to break up with me. It may have been weeks, maybe months ... I really don't know. The point is, he cheated on me, dumped me and then married her ... had 3 kids, moved on with his life and made something of himself. 


Fast forward 23 years ... I am starting a business. I need every ounce of help I can get and I'm really not too proud to ask for it from anywhere or anyone (or am I?). He has a big juicy title and has been in the media somewhat lately ... so I figure I'll get a personal reference from him. Why not, right? Not like he doesn't owe me a little good will ... 

So ... I began looking for contact information for him. Not so easy to locate. It took me a month or so, but I finally tracked him down this past Thursday. I sent him an email and asked him to call me. I wasn't too concerned that he wouldn't contact me ... I honestly thought that he would, at some point.

I hit send on the email and went off to do some housework.

It was less than three minutes from the time I sent the email until the phone rang and it was him. Guess I was right. He was ... different. He even sounds different. He says he's old ... that the job has aged him. Possible. I know work stress can take a toll. He's recently graduated from a business course. From fuckin' HARVARD, if you don't mind.


Harvard business school. This guy was a muscle head back in the day. A rugby player. Now he's taking advanced business courses from Ivy league schools... he wants to retire from his current position and ... oh, maybe run a hospital next ... Good Christ.

How in hell am I supposed to compete with THAT? Little Miss Uneducated. GAH!

Well ... I proceeded, undaunted. Told him about my new venture, about leaving finance, about my kids and hubby and mother and a bunch of other stuff ... I was so gob-smacked at some of the things he told me, I didn't ask a lot of questions, just mostly responded to him. It was ... weird.

There is a fundamental part of my being that still belongs to him ... pretty sure it always will. I think I am special to him, too. I think he wonders sometimes 'what if' ... 

There was a moment - after he asked me to text him the next time I was in the city and we'd meet for coffee - where I felt ... less than. Does that make sense? I felt like I had something to be ashamed of or some other stupid bullshit label that I assigned to myself and my own dissolution with my life ... but then I remembered the life in question. We're awesome. I have a fairy tale marriage, with healthy and gorgeous evil genius kids and I'm starting my own bloody business. Where's the fail? 

We have struggled through some hard assed shit ... and we are still here, queer and loving every minute of it. We've been doing 'for worse' for years and still manage to love each other more with each passing year.

For better is the easy part. We've persevered ... and I should wear that like a bloody tiara! I have EVERYTHING I have ever truly wanted ... right now. How many people can say that and mean it?

So I am going to meet him ... soon. I will get whatever help from him for my business that I can. I will enjoy him, flirt like a school girl, make him sorry (even just for a minute) that he let me get away and then I will walk away.

Is it wrong of me to hope he is fat? Or bald? Or old? Actually ... I just want his wife to be any of those things  ... but from all accounts, she is like uber chick. She's a nurse manager and mother of three and they have a cleaning lady and she's likely pretty and skinny (the wife, not the housekeeper ... although who knows, perhaps she is, too) and ~ and ~ and ... he chose her over me 23 years ago and was likely very right in doing so.

That smarts a little.

I am happy to report that I am as light as a feather in Hubs' arms. Take THAT, JJ.

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Fraught: adj (of a situation or course of action) Filled with or destined to result in (something undesirable). in: I am fraught with self doubt.

If I could make just one wish, I think it would be to have the ability to know the difference between instinct and fear. {Oh - who the hell do I think I am kidding? If I had one wish, I'd want money. Plain and simple. Then, it wouldn't matter what was fear and what was instinct.}

I performed an organizational service for a client this past Friday. It was awful. Truly. She has OCD and (based solely on my non-professional and completely uneducated medical opinion) a hoarding disorder. But, she wants help ... she just isn't ready. I learned a BIG lesson. Several of them, actually. The "Coles Notes" version of the story is as follows: I spent just over nine hours working on three of four closets I was hired to organize. I got to hour six (and closet three) and she lost it and had to have everything back the way it had been. So, I did as I was asked. She paid me half of the original $90 quote (which was barely a third of what should have been charged to begin with) and I left ... with a broken heart.

Women like me are the reason we don't rule the world, you know. It isn't that I don't use my brain in the decision making process ... but my heart ALWAYS gets the final say. It is exceptionally challenging to be rational when you are feeling your way through life the way that I seem to do. 

Oddly, this experience isn't the cause of my self doubt. It certainly has coloured my overall sense of happiness a drippy shade of grey, but it is not the culprit in this story. I am.

I am seriously questioning whether or not I have what it takes to be an entrepreneur. It would seem my signature move - to cover my head up with my blanky - is seriously lacking in the results department. It pisses me off to think the way that I do of late. I mean, I've spent the better part of the last two decades railing against evil entrepreneurial bosses to whom I dedicated my heart and soul (not to mention brains, creativity and a metric ton of work) ... only to feel under appreciated, under compensated and ... yes, I'm going to say it - abused. 

Of course I thought I was as smart as they were. Smarter, in a couple of cases. Of course I felt completely competent to apply my talents to any job worth my attention. I am good at anything I truly focus my attention on. I am a worker bee... as much as I like to be the queen on the weekends, the reality of my situation dictates that I may, in fact, be a simple drone. You never see 'business for self' bees, do you?

Can you see where I'm going wrong?

It isn't about being smarter. It isn't about being good at what you do - or even being the best. It isn't even about luck (though I have little doubt that luck has factored into a number of successful businesses over the ages). It's about self promotion. Plain and simple.

I seem to have a mental block for that talent.

The past eighteen months or so have been ... priceless. I have learned just enough to make me realize the scope of what I do not know or (in many cases) understand. I have stripped myself down to the bones and tried with all my might to understand myself ... with very limited success. I have learned a few truths that perhaps left a bit of a welt in the process - but the one prevailing truth that keeps smacking me on my mouth is that I strive (often to the detriment of everything I am attempting to accomplish) to be authentic.

I think this is why I am so obsessed with what everyone else thinks of me ... because it is so important to me that I am authentic. Real. Transparent. True.

Here's what else I have realized: Self promotion and authenticity are not happy bedfellows. The reason my previous experiences with the true entrepreneurial spirit (or at least the male version) have left me in complete mystified awe is because they are (or were) so full of shit, I can't imagine how they ever escaped the flies. Full of shit right up to their eye sockets.

That can never be who I am to the world.

So what do I now do with this revelation? Is there a way to self promote and still be true to who you are? Who you wish to be in the world? 

Don't get me wrong here - I am not blind to my short comings. I'm not attempting to be the Mother Theresa of closets here. I just want to be honest and fair and do good work that makes my clients happy. But how in the name of crap am I supposed to DO that with no clients? And how I am supposed to GET clients if I am not self promoting well (or enough ... or at all)?

Ergo, I am fraught with doubt. 

At what point do I call the death and go back to drone-hood ... knowing I'm unlikely to ever align myself with a boss who has a similar desire to be authentic ... or do I fight? Which is it? I'm gambling with the most important things in my life - my family. So - is it fear that fills me with this doubt? Or is it instinct telling me to haul ass and get the hell out while I still can?

You decide ... and let me know, eh? I'm stumped.

Until next time ~

Authentically yours, 

Danica Dragonfly (the contrived moniker that I go by so nobody really knows who I am in real life ... can YOU say irony, children?)

Thursday, May 30, 2013

How Many Obsessive Compulsives Does it Take to Clear a Closet (or 4)?

I have won a job!

It is taking place tomorrow ... likely for most of the day, although I gave her a deal of only 3 hours. 

This lady is just lovely. She is (I would guess) in her early seventies, has a teeny little geriatric yorkie and is OCD to the enth degree. Her place is immaculate. Seriously. You could eat off the floor in that place, I'm sure. 

So ... why would she hire the likes of me? She's a closet hoarder ... literally. She stockpiles ... like a squirrel. There are four closets in her home and they are so full ... though admittedly, there is an organization to the chaos. She's reaching out for help (which according to what I have been reading on the disorder, is a very positive sign). I met with her the other day and she essentially told me that I don't have a chance of actually accomplishing anything with her. That she will not let me throw anything out. She will not let me downsize her clothing that doesn't fit. That all I will accomplish is to rearrange what is currently there.

Sounded like a dare to me ... and I grabbed it.

I mean, what better test to my skills than this, right? I figure what I will learn from this job is priceless ... I even told her if she is not happy when I am done, I will not charge her. Perhaps not the best business move, I suppose ... but I am counting on the goodwill I will create there. I am also planning on showing up packing some supplies that I would normally want to charge extra for. Not anything crazy, but some stuff you can pick up relatively inexpensively. Vacuum bags, hooks, an additional closet bar. Stuff like that.

I have been reading up on the psychology behind the hoarding disorder. This is going to be a serious challenge, but if I can make even a small positive step with this client, I can not only confidently quote my next hoarder, but I can feel secure in my own ability in organizing. Really, THAT all by itself is enough payment for doing the job ... not that the $90 would come amiss.

I have decided that if she is still unwilling to part with things, I will employ a different tactic. One that will take time to show her, but hopefully will bring me back to her by the end of the year to revisit her situation. A long shot, for sure ... but apparently, I have become a betting girl on this matter. I believe I can help. I truly do., if I could just stop obsessing about it, we'd be all set.

Yeah ... right.

I'll let you know how it ends up.

Stay tuned.

Sunday, May 26, 2013

Pretty Sure My Cat is a Secret Agent ...

It's true.

He ALWAYS looks like he has somewhere to be.

I think the pissing on the beds is a cover. Because nobody would suspect a cat who's pissin' was a Secret Agent ... right? 

To whom would his 'intel' be valuable? 


*crickets chirping*

Boy, that's a sticker, eh? 

Who in the heck would care, really. 

Still ... I am convinced. He's certainly up to something.

In other news ...

Hubs and I would have celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary yesterday ... if his father hadn't died the week before our scheduled date, forcing us to reschedule our nuptials. I maintain that he did that intentionally. Our unofficial anniversary wasn't really in any way connected to what took place yesterday, but we went on a date! First one in ... oh, dear ... I really couldn't tell you how long. I'm gonna say there would be 'years' in the equation. 

We went to see Star Trek and utilized a gift card that Hubs got as a gift from one of his clients for dinner. It was really nice. Well ... except for that one thing ... but I'll get to that - later.

Don't get me wrong ... I consider every Friday night 'date night' in our house ... and we usually do something special to mark the end of the work week. We'll have drinks, the kids get a dance party or a camp fire ... or maybe a movie. Sometimes we do games. It depends on the weather, the general mood(s) of the group and so forth. 

This is unfettered joy for me... well, so long as Stretch doesn't get her arse in the air. Generally speaking, though ... it's usually really great. 

The girls have a fun time. We get to engage with them on a fun, rather than (so much) parental level ... it's good. I look forward to it every week. Then they go to bed (usually a fair bit later than normal) and Hubs and I get a little time on our own. 

Then we have sex, fall asleep and ... reboot.

Often on Saturday, we try and recreate Friday ... we are met with varying degrees of success, but all in all, the system works. 

I worry that this is unhealthy and we shouldn't do it. The drinks, the ritualistic substance abuse. Hubs is not so much, but I am a bit of a pot head these days. It makes me much more ... fun. I am fun with my kids. They like me a whole lot better (not that they know it, per se) when I have engaged in the wonder herb. I am so creative ... and patient... and un-clenched. That's it! That's the slogan for marijuana: You, Un-Clenched. Marketing is my BITCH!! 

Does this make me a bad mother? Or a bad adult? 

We would never EVER drive or anything stupid like that. It's all at home, safe and sound. Sitting in our own back yard, by our fire pit. Or at the dining room table. And generally, everyone is happy. I seem to feel pretty damned guilty about it for some reason. I would just die if one of my kids' friends' parents found out. Really, I would. Am I bad?

But is that the truth? Am I a bad parent?

I don't ever do it anywhere near the kids. They have no earthly idea. I imagine in my mind the moment in their teens where one of them figures out Mom's a pot head. I'm torn between that infernal mother's guilt and hysterical laughter. I can almost see the expression on Shorty's face as she explains it to Stretch (my scientist).

I don't know how to feel about that.

So I am a 40 year old, walking, talking coping mechanism. Have I failed? Hell, we've survived some shit together. It could certainly be worse. Could certainly be better, too ... but what does that mean? Is that a modicum of success?

I love to get attention from anywhere I can find it, but at the end of the day - I adore my spouse ... and could not conceive of replacing him with anyone... ever. Not even in the middle of the night when he's snoring in my face and I want to smother him with my body pillow.

I live in the house I wanted ... albeit, we are paying a hefty price for that ... but here we still sit.

My girls are healthy and fairly happy. I firmly believe that for all my defects, my children KNOW they are dearly loved ... and that they get on my nerves. And that's okay. They can get on my nerves until the cows come home and it will not change how dearly loved they are. Does that count?

I think it should.

I'm not a perfect person and I am surely not a perfect parent ... but I care enough about the job to suffer the shame of attending a weekly parenting group. Actually, that is not fair of me. The other parents at that group deserve better than that. They are real, too. Flawed. But they love their kids enough to try and do better. 

Still, when I think back to the things my mother instilled in me that I value most:

You are cherished.
Say you're sorry and mean it.
Be true to you. Always.
You can be or do ANYTHING.
Always keep your bus fare.
I will love you even when you are being an asshole. Really.
You must keep a tidy home. Otherwise people will think badly of you.
Don't wash colours with whites.

I think she did okay, don't you? She didn't teach me to find my soul mate ... I lucked into that. She hadn't found hers ... then.

These are the things that I want to teach my girls. Plus the soul mate thing. I want them to have spouses that deserve them. I want them to feel successful - in whatever they choose to do in this life. And I want them to be happy. (Whatever that is) If I can get anywhere close to that, I will consider myself a raging success.

Oh ... and they should have cats. I'm pretty sure my daughters will have cats.

Friday, May 24, 2013

2 POSTS IN 2 DAYS ... Stop the Presses!

Yeah. I'm back.

Guess I still have things to say ... what a shocker.

I have been wandering around my life for the past several weeks nearly tripping over my bottom lip. I don't really understand why I am so glum. I mean, it isn't like there aren't stressors, but I've tromped just a little too far into ridiculous just now. I am second guessing E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G... and in the process, I am driving myself (and everyone around me) Cray Cray.

Let me give you a 'for instance':

I am attending a number of groups and classes. One is a parenting group every Thursday evening. One is for the self employment program that happens every second Tuesday evening and one is a marketing training class that I managed to wiggle into with the Women in Business located in my home town. That happens every Tuesday (all day) ... but it is by far my favorite. THESE women know their collective shit!

...and I feel like a complete moron in their presence.

So ... you would think that a normal person who felt the way that I do would sit quietly and not attract attention to themselves, right?

Have you MET me? No ... most of you have NOT had that little pleasure, and yet you likely STILL know full well that I do not sit quietly and make like a mushroom... NOT drawing attention to myself.

I appear to be incapable of sitting quietly ANYWHERE. GAH!

Nope - I have to interject and ask stupid questions and draw the conversation to MY business and MY obstacles. Or at the parenting class ... to MY kids and MY problems. Not that groups aren't meant to do a certain amount of that ... I don't mean to suggest I am being completely inappropriate. I just can't seem to shut the hell up. 

I need to get the words SHUT and UP tattooed to my hand ... so when I see it, maybe I'll do it.

So then ... in my pathological need to be understood, I have to EXPLAIN that I know I talk too much and share too much and that I feel bad about it ... all the while ... I.AM.STILL.TALKING.

I pulled this one last night at my parenting group. There I was, regaling the attendees with the story of how every week I coach myself driving in to NOT talk so much... and every week on the hour long drive home, I berate myself on my inability to do so.

Why did I do this? ... you may find yourself asking (I know I did). Was it because I wanted them to tell me I didn't talk too much and what I shared was relevant and actually helpful in many cases? (Not to mention funny and entertaining.) Because that is what they said.

And yet ... I am obsessing over THAT today. 

Please make this stop for a little bit. I know I said I wanted to delve into my depths and better understand myself ... but it is down right scary in here. I want to go back to blissful ignorance. At least for a minute.


So ... hubs has had an amazingly good week of business. YAY! Bills are getting some hush money and I am going to the grocery store this morning to spend some dough on food. I'll also swing by the liquor store and get some vodka and beer for the weekend. 

This is like freakin' DISNEYLAND for me. Why am I not happy?

My meeting yesterday went very well. My counselor actually complimented my efforts and though he agrees I need to start making some money, he feels my attitude and actions support my staying in the program. 

DAMN! I must be one hell of an actress! Maybe I have missed a calling there.

OH! I can't believe I have not posted THIS little nugget yet ... my mother has announced she is moving out with her new man!

... I'll give you a minute to take that in ...

I am THRILLED! For so many reasons, it's hard to name just a few, but at the top of my list is the fact that it is HER idea and she is HAPPY about it. This was the only solution that was likely to end happily. She is aiming for October, which in classic 'Mom' style is about the worst possible time of year for her to go as renting that place in the winter months is more expensive than it's worth ... but we have decided to install a second hand wood stove over there (for alternate heat) and simply reclaim the area for us. She costs me more now than she pays ... so I am of the impression that it won't cause much of a difference. Hope like hell I am not wrong there.

What I find amusing (and I use that word ironically) is that I am so mad at her... and I have to tell you that even with all of my introspective behavior of late, I simply do NOT get that one. But mad, I remain.

I am fairly certain this thread is not done being pulled, but in the interest of actually getting to the groceries before the girls get home, I am leaving it for today.

It feels good to write. I should do it more.



Thursday, May 23, 2013

Oh Lord, Please Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood ...

This is such a fear for me that I tend to explain myself into either crazy stalker status or drive people away with my incessant justification, reasoning and explanation... not to mention waffling, retooling and general pain-in-the-assery. It drives people away. The very people to whom I want to be closest.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. 

I often contemplate whether I am wasting precious energy trying to understand why I do, say and feel the things I do. My official position on this is that it's all part of making positive change. I am beginning to wonder if I should just continue living under the assumption that I am 'normal' (whatever in the hell THAT is) and stop trying to make something interesting out of it.

There are a couple of festering situations wreaking havoc on my world just now. They are keeping me awake at night ... haunting my thoughts during the day and basically derailing any actual progress ... in any of the areas in question.

In no particular order of importance, the following diatribe is meant to exhaust some of my desire to explain myself ... without actually DOING it to the people involved in these situations:

My Business ... is hard. Well ... the business is not hard, it's the acquisition of the business that is making me want to wail. I never expected it to take off like a wildfire ... I hoped ... I fantasized ... I even focused very hard on the whole 'positive energy out into the universe and its ability to create abundance', but I never had an expectation of immediate greatness in self employment ... I mean this is ME we're talking about. I have a few cool talents, but I have massive inner limitations, too. I hates them. 

What I did however expect, was to have supplied more than ONE complete stranger with my services after three and a half months of constant effort on my part to find business. Constant effort ... hmmm. That seems to have varying degrees of meaning in the world. My idea of constant effort is not cutting the mustard. It is exhausting me, but it is not providing results ... and I am meeting my counselor today for a 'talk' ... to which, I am not looking forward. I fear I may be getting a warning today that my time in this program is in jeopardy.

Would that be the worst thing in the world? No, I guess not. I could go out and get a damned job and be done with all this bullshit, pie in the sky ideal that I am holding out there like a kid who just made an epic mud pie out of dog poop. I mean who the hell do I think I am, dictating to the world what I need in order to be happy - right? Why do I get to just stop and say: NOPE - I'm NOT working under anyone else's schedule. I'm NOT taking a chance on yet another abusive boss/employee situation that will suck everything good out of me and leave nothing for the people who actually MATTER to me in this world. I'm NOT losing myself in another person's dream again. I am needed here, with my children (not to mention my spouse) ... and the universe just needs to smarten up and help me do that. Who in the hell do I think I am, anyway? 

What am I ... crazy? Sadly, no ... I just like to play a crazy person in real life. I think that I believe it makes me more palatable somehow. The reality to that is rather the opposite, I'm afraid.


A situation that should have been easy, was meant as a nice gesture from people who care about me ... has turned unpleasant. I have buggered it up so bad with my insane thought process, indecisive nature and ridiculous misplaced pride, that one of the more important relationships in my world is experiencing unpleasantness of an epic proportion. I'm driving her away from me ... and I STILL have this overwhelming desire to not only explain, but to fix it, please her (along with the others involved) and do what has been suggested. The problem is that to do so would involve my either accepting something that I am tremendously uncomfortable with or coming up with funds that have no business leaving my familial unit. Not only that, but it would mean taking from my family and going to do something just for me, while leaving everyone else behind ... AND (although he covers it fairly well) I can tell that my hubs is not so crazy about the whole idea ... even though he is now attempting to find a way to make it happen - I still know in my heart that if I go forth, he may feel I am being selfish (my words - not his). Add to that the fact that I am supposed to be working full time on my business venture ... and this situation/event would take me away from that as well.

If you are familiar with the "Myers-Briggs" personality profile, I am an ENFJ ... the pleaser. Greatest downfall: Tearing myself apart trying to please everyone and winding up pleasing nobody ... and often pissing a number of them off in the process. WHY WHY WHY do I have to make everything so GODDAMNED difficult? Seriously - what IS that?

This is making me cry. Rather a lot. It also activates all the physical responses to letting someone else down, doing something you know you shouldn't - but at the same time, you really should - and being selfish, prideful and a giant pain in the ass. You know the ones I mean: Nausea, sookiness, general yuckiness in the pit of the tummy, troubled/ broken sleep, GUILT, unhappy dreams that say mean things in the night ... I'm sure there are more, but I'll leave that to the imagination.

I must have done something VERY bad in a previous life, because I don't think I've done anything so awful in this one to illicit the level of guilt I feel every moment of my life. I am seriously the most guilty human being I have ever met. It is borderline psychotic ... and I can NOT seem to control it.

I am so sorry for this situation. I wish I was different. I really do.


I located someone recently on the dreaded face book that I really should have left alone.

I think I have figured out my (true) motivation ... and that was that I was looking for an ego pat. (Lord help me, I am so needy of approval and acceptance ... it will be my undoing.) This was a fella that I knew in my old life. He was friends with my then boyfriend and I was highly attracted to him during (and subsequently AFTER) the break up with said boyfriend. He seemed to be into me, too - although I have to admit that I was highly delusional during that time. There are 'truths' that reveal themselves (lately, for some reason) to me about that time in my life that absolutely FLOOR me. It never ceases to amaze me how much we lie to ourselves and how entirely I could sell some of these ideas to myself. Truly. 

Anyway, nothing ever went down between us ... it would have been wrong - for either of us to engage in. That doesn't mean he wasn't hot, soapy shower fodder for me ... for a good portion of my single experience. It also doesn't negate the level at which I desired his affection and attention. Nor does it change the fact that I seem to have a 'need' (although my 'wants' are admittedly often upgraded to 'needs' without meeting the basic requirements) to a) apologize (for something that never actually happened) and b) find out if I was imagining his affection or if it was real. (... because ... I need to know this ... why?)  

This man is happily married with offspring ... living his happy life. Why do I need to super impose myself into that? If he denies he had any feelings for me, I will be crushed. If he DID have feelings for me - what damned difference does that make and why the hell would I go flouncing through his subconscious NOW? I do not understand why I do such stupid things. And now ... God help me ... I am fighting this enormous desire to email him lengthy essays ... EXPLAINING myself. I did communicate with him, but I kept it to talking about my kids, hubby and employment ... but now he has not responded to that last communication. So here sits crazy... fighting urges that win much more often than they should.

I mean, what the hell - right? If I get what I apparently want from him ... which is an admission of having been attracted to me ... then what? What have I gained? A temptation that I neither need nor want? Yet ... here I am ... in the moments between obsessing over my friend situation, my cash flow situation and whatever else is bumping around in there, obsessing over what to say next ... you know, to explain myself.

I think the time has come for me to be busier with things that happen OUTSIDE of my head. Perhaps getting a job might be good for me.