Ticking

When the buzzing sound from my alarm clock infiltrated my deep sleep at 5:15 this morning, I awoke immediately, eyes wide. I rarely remember my dreams, but this morning memories of my dream cut vividly through the pre-dawn haze. I could not remember where I was in the dream, and I can't recall any real sequence of events. All I remember is sitting on a wooden floor, staring down at a baby, my baby. I don't know if the baby was a boy or a girl nor who his/her daddy was. I don't remember--or maybe I never knew--whether the bouncy chair he/she sat in was a shiny new gift or an abused hand-me down. What I do remember is looking down with love in my eyes at a tiny, smiling baby and feeling pure, unadulturated happiness.

I don't and have never wanted kids (though I always reserve the right to change my mind). Maybe my "biological clock," which I've always regarded as little more than myth and legend, is ticking away, messing with my subconscious. Maybe the dream was a simple response to the news that one of my friends recently gave birth to a healthy little boy. Maybe the fact that Jack now seems serious about never wanting children (teaching in inner-city Baltimore will do that to a person) is making me worry that if I ever do change my mind and decide I want to have children, he won't be on board. Maybe I should get a puppy.

Guilt

I'm no poet, but when emotions are swirling through my mind and my head is crowded with thoughts, poetry provides an amazing release. I sit down and write a poem probably once or twice a year, but this was the first time that I'd ever shared any of my work.

Poetry allows a writer to express and explore raw feelings. No reasons. No stories. Pure emotion.

Our emotions are what unifies us as people. Regardless of their race, ethnicity, religion, sex, social status, sexual orientation, intelligence, education--everyone experiences love, happiness, passion, ecstasy, fear, nervousness, sorrow, pain and suffering. The words to describe these emotions, the causes that evoke them and the way a person deals with his/her emotions may differ from culture to culture and person to person, but everyone feels.


The holiday season always sends my emotions into over-drive, but as I grow older, the resentment, anger and sadness I am used to feeling time of year has given way to a much more powerful emotion, guilt.

My parents separated when I was just two-years-old. I have just one single memory of their brief time together. I was sitting at the top of our chocolate-brown carpeted steps, watching my parents through the wooden rungs of the banister, with my knees tucked into my chest and arms wrapped around my shins. I could hear yelling, the sound of glass breaking, and then I saw blood. Or, at least what I thought was blood. Turns out my father, in a fit of immaturity, had doused my mom with Heinz 57. 

After my parents divorced, I lived a dual life. My mother and father shared dual custody. I had two very, very, very different families. My mom's house was the type of house that children should grow up in. In her house, I was encouraged, disciplined, loved and cared for. I wouldn't say I was spoiled, but I sure never went hungry.

At my father's house my life couldn't have been more different. He remarried three times, twice to the same woman (who he apparently just recently divorced again). With his wives came step-siblings for me, and with their inevitable divorces I would once again become an only child. He introduced me to the dark-side of life--to motorcycle gangs, a plethora of drugs, over-doses, criminal life and jail. By twelve years old, there wasn't a drug I hadn't seen done, and by the time I was sixteen, there wasn't one I hadn't tried myself. He was too fucked up to see anything wrong with doing hard drugs with his pre-teen daughter. He was too fucked up to remember to buy groceries. He was too fucked up to keep his promises and too far gone to love me.

Throughout my childhood, I bounced back and forth between these two worlds. Sometimes I would get tired of being hurt, and I would swear-off my father, his home and lifestyle. I would stay with my mom and wait for him to call. He never called.

His parents, my grandparents, used every Thanksgiving as an excuse to force my father and I together. He would make empty promises that things would be better if I came back...he wouldn't talk down to me anymore...I could have a kitten...There would be no more fighting...no more drugs.

Every year, I believed him. And, every year I was let down. My anger, resentment and sadness grew until is consumed me. I hated him and everything that made me think of him, including the holidays.

Now, I find myself consumed by a new emotion, guilt. I am no longer angry at my father. I feel sorry for him. He is financially ruined and in poor physical and mental health thanks to the bad decisions he's made throughout his life. I haven't spoken to him in a couple of years now. It hurts to much. Hearing his distant and faded "junkie" voice repeat the same things over and over, makes me sick to my stomach. The last time I stepped foot in his house, I literally threw-up. The last time I spoke to him on the phone, he blamed me for our failed relationship. I guess he has to lie to himself to live with himself.

I feel bad that I'm not strong enough to look past the past. I feel guilty that I don't try to have a relationship with my father. I feel horrible that I know he won't live much longer and that doesn't make me want to reconnect with him. I feel selfish because of my need for self-preservation. I feel frigid because I'm not sure I have any love left for the man who calls me his daughter. All of these emotions combine together to create a guilty feeling that eats away at my soul.

PS - Thanks to all of you who left comments on my poem. Your insights and support inspired me to write this post. Writing helps me understand and cope with my thoughts, and hearing from all of you reminds me that I'm not alone in my experiences. Thank you!

Sometimes I wish I wore a suit of armor,
Shiny, metallic,
Impenetrable.
A suit of armor to protect me against the weight world,
To keep me from feeling.
To keep me from caring.
A suit of armor,
Cold, smooth,
Indescructible.

What's on my mind...

President Obama won the Nobel Prize.  His receiving the award is quite obviously a political move on the part of our European friends, but that's OK. The move shows support for the president's ideas and confidence in his ability to make those ideas a reality. Everything comes down to politics...

On NPR this morning a critic of the current administration faulted the President for not having made a lot of headway in bringing peace to the Middle East. What an unfair statement. The man has only been in office for 8 months! There has been fighting in the Middle East for thousands of years....

Enough about politics....

I am ready for the long weekend. I'm not big on the idea of commemorating Columbus, but the day off work is much appreciated.

I refuse to buy grocery store tomatoes. I'd rather go without than eat those things.

I also refuse to fall victim to the mass hysteria surrounding swine flu.

My Google Reader has well over 200 unread posts. I'm sorry for not stopping by your blogs this week, but I have been very busy with work. I promise to catch up on each and every one of your posts this weekend. Pinky swear!

Ahh Paris! In just over six weeks, I will spending my days visiting museums, wandering the streets of Paris, picnicking by the Seine, relaxing in Parisian cafes....By night I will be enjoying fine fromage and pain fraîche, and vin, lots of vin. I need to find out about Parisian DJs and best spots for EDM....

My lavender plant is blooming....that means gin time! I make the most delicious drink called a gin fizz, with Bombay Sapphire and lavender-infused simple syrup.

Jack and I go through 12 ounces of whole coffee beans a week. At $10 - $12 a pop, we are talking about a $600 a year coffee habit.

Tomorrow I am going to start my own little crash, refresher course in Spanish. I've been meaning to make time to practice my language skills for a while now.

Also on the agenda for this weekend is a bonfire party on the bay, a trip to the Baltimore Farmer's market, and helping at the Lantern Parade workshop. I plan to spend all day Monday in the kitchen, making ravioli, butternut squash soup, beef stew, tomato gravy and pesto to freeze for the winter.

Have a great weekend everyone! : )

What's on my mind

Some days I wish I were a cat. I would love to lay around the house all day, being stroked and soaking up the sun.

Be good, or be discreet.

I have great legs. My ankles are delicate and feminine, and my calf muscles are firm and defined. What do you love about your body?

A third old friend has re-entered my life...what is going on in the universe!?!

I've finally reached a point in my life where I know that I could be happy anywhere, doing anything. My happiness is not situational or circumstantial, it is part of my essence, my soul.

To-do lists, appointments, big plans, tough choices...life is hard. Wonderful, but difficult at times.

Our time on this planet is short. How can I make the most of mine? I know that I can't live forever, and I wouldn't want to, but it would be nice to leave this world having made a difference. It's not recognition I seek; I just want to know that there is a purpose, a meaning to my life. Sometimes it feels all for naught.


There's the beginnings of a poem I wrote in my blogger drafts, but I'm not sure I have the guts to finish it, much less hit publish.

I am really tempted to buy a pair of the sparkly pink go-go boots I saw online...But, when can a respectable girl like me ever wear something like that?

my strange little world

Some of my favorite blog posts to read are those with short random snippets, so I've decided to explore that style myself. Thank you Lizzi, Brandi, BustySatan and Lora for being my muses.

I accidently bought "light" lager. Ughh. Should I put it out of its misery and toss it off the back porch?

Kayaking is my favorite hobby, because every time we get a few inches of rain I blow off all my chores and hit the rapids. It's nice to live in the moment, even if it's only for a moment.

I'm trying to lose a few pounds before my trip to Paris in November, so I downloaded an app to count calories called "lose it." It seems that the only way for me to trim up and maintain my drinking habit is to skip dinner. That can't be healthy.

Forgiveness is what Yom Kippur is all about, but I can't help but wonder if some actions are simply unforgiveable.


Speaking of Yom Kippur, I am thinking of fasting this year. After my birthright trip to Israel this past March, I have a renewed desire follow Jewish customs that I had given up on.

When I dance, I feel like the whole world is smiling.

Beets are delicious but they turn my pee an odd shade of pink.

Have you ever tried marañón? It's the fruit that produces cashews. When you bite into it, all the moisture is sucked out of your mouth and your tongue feels rough and dry like a cat's.

Whenever I say "Maryland," I say it like "Mara-land." I'm egotistical like that.