Novacaine

I am experiencing a period of sensitivity.

This happens to me sometimes. I become temporarily unable to see the humor in things. Off hand comments sting; insults and petty digs pierce my soul. My whole self feels raw, as if there is a sucking wound in my chest. My skin is tender.

It is not unlike the way that depression feels, but it is not wholely like it either.

It is during these times that I am most erratic. I will have an out of character soul-baring conversation with a coworker only to follow it with a days-long self-imposed exile. I am more still and silent than usual. I hold everything I see and hear close to me to be examined later. I dwell and I obsess about absolutely everything. I search for meaning and significance where there is none to be found.

Do I know this is happening? Yes. Do I know it is absurd? Absolutely. Can I stop it? Not a chance.

I fear that its a return of my crazy. That all of the sadness is coming back. I fear that I can't ever escape it. I don't want to wake up at 45 and still be in therapy trying to come to terms with age 19, my father, my sister. Justin. It has to end. I deserve an end. So I keep still and silent. If I don't react too quickly it can't get out.
And so I find myself sitting up in bed tapping this out on my phone. (My laptop would, of course, choose this time when I most need to blog to misbehave.) Taptaptap tap taptap. Dwell. Dwell. Dwell.

I'm dwelling on a comment made by one of the kids who works for me. It was mostly off-hand, but it hit disturbingly close to home. It mirrored something BestFriend commented (scolded) about last week; something TheTransplant mentioned weeks ago; my own secret fears. BestFriend is almost always right, but she's especially always right when I most want her to be wrong. I really want her to be wrong about this.

I know I'm being silly and stupid. I know I should shake it off. I know that I shouldn't care. I wish I knew how to be less insecure, more confident.

I should practice what I preach: What Other People Think Of You Is None Of Your Business.

But I'm weak and insecure and I have this gaping wound in my chest and it won't stop.
So until the melatonin I took kicks in, I'll be here tapping and dwelling. Taptaptap

Ah Ha

I think it has become clear that reverb-ing is not my best thing. But for me participating in the challenge was about jump-starting my writing again. I never realize how much I need my blog until I've neglected it horribly. By the time I realized it this time I was stuck. I tried to write, but I just found myself staring at that damned blinking cursor. There are ten or so saved drafts on my blog dashboard- all of the unfinished reverbs. Some of them are simply the prompt. Others are unfinished drafts: half thoughts, fragmented stories.  This hidden wasteland is probably just as telling of my year as any whole published post. Rereading the reverb posts makes me sort of ashamed. I wonder when I lost my voice. When did my words switch from chatty to stilted? Has my life always been so empty?

Anyway, in realizing that my blog has become cluttered with these half-formed posts, one jumped out at me. It struck me in a way that it hadn't before. Perhaps I will drag them out and finish them at some point this year. Perhaps I wasn't able to write them yet because I didn't need them yet. Who knows?


Reverb11
Prompt for December 24: Ah Ha: What deep thought struck you this year? How did it change you? 

I rolled over sloooowly. It hurt to move and for a moment I was disoriented, unaware of my surroundings. I reluctantly opened my eyes and the room came into focus. 
Brown bed sheets, white wall. Loose change, Bic lighter, digital alarm clock, lotion, and a man's watch on the nightstand. Earrings, necklace, bra, underwear, cocktail dress, I was fully dressed in my party clothes from the previous night. Spartan furniture, large TV. Silver heels (mine), discarded jeans on the floor- belt still threaded through the loops (not mine). More walls, they're extreme whiteness marred only by scantily clad girls, "The Official Rules of Beruit", and Bob Marley. 
I was alone. At Lames's. In his bedroom, to be exact. The night before we'd gone to his company Christmas party. The party was a two drink affair, but it was not a two drink night.
This realization was a relief, if for no other reason but that it meant nothing inappropriate had happened. I was safe. 


A week or so later, over cocktails and appetizers, I related to BestFriend a story of my night of over-indulgence after the Christmas party. It led to how laughably cliche Lames's room was; how every single guy I knew when I was 19, 20, 21 had virtually the exact same room.

"So, anyway, I realized..." I started to say.
"You need to stop hanging out with 21 year old boys?" she finished for me, eyebrow arched. That was not what I was going to say, but I was so startled by her words that the rest of my thought was lost forever.

I was already embarrassed about over-indulging that night. I hadn't drank so heavily (or been so hungover) in an incredibly long time, maybe years. But aside from the heavy alcohol consumption, it had been a tame night. No crazy antics, no inappropriate naked business, no law breaking. I was a polite guest. I didn't make a spectacle of myself.
Her judgement hurt. 
I think it hurt most that she was right. 

Not about my friendship with Lames, of course, but about the scope of my life. There's nothing wrong with drinking or sometimes drinking a little too much. But being 25 and making a habit of drinking to excess with a handful of barely-legals would be pathetic. It is passed time for me to get it together for good. I need to stop trying to be 21 again. I can't go back. I can't fix it. No matter how much I want to, or how much I joke about it, I can't be young forever. 

I had already realized that I need to let go of my father-issues, but I hadn't realized that I needed to let go of this too. I didn't realize that sometimes I'm still just trying to be popular, drinking to be popular. 
I'd forgotten how I self-destruct.I'd forgotten that I'm my own worst enemy.

So I'm going to grow up and I'm going to shut up. 

Be flexible

Reverb11
Prompt for December 20: Be flexible: Sometimes life does not go according to plan. Tell us about a time where you had to be flexible and change your plans. How have you made changing your plans work to your advantage? 

In October, I went back to Fayetteville. 

The night I was scheduled to fly home a terrible thunder storm rolled into Northwest Arkansas. The plane was grounded and what should have been an easy boarding process became an endless, hours-long wait. 

Sometime between eating a dubious-looking airport sandwich and re-wrapping my sprained ankle, I became unwillingly engaged in conversation with the three ladies sitting across from me. 
I do not usually talk to strangers in airports. I am a book-open-ipod-in kind of traveler. Really, give me some classic Southern rock, a novel, a Canada Dry and I'm good to go.
These ladies were in town for the War Eagle Craft Fair (who knew?). As it turned out, they were from Lompoc. Lompoc is a small town about an hour south of mine most notable for being home to an Indian casino, a prison and an Air Force Base. After some gentle interrogation on the part of the apparent ringleader, it was discovered that I knew one of their sons in a friend-of-a-friend way. (Ok, truth, he sold my ex boyfriend car stereo equipment and I still had his card in my wallet because I'm a crazy pack rat.) I soon tired of the interrogation and excused myself to limp toward the cafe in search of an Americano and an electrical outlet. 

My flight eventually boarded around the time I should have been landing in California. After spending some time on the tarmac and additional time issuing dire warnings that we may be rerouted to an airport in the desert, we were finally wheels up. 

After five hours and the bulk of Uncharted TerriTORI later, we landed at LAX. Due to my sprained ankle and the fact that my ass had been asleep since we were jostled about over The Rockies, I was unable to bolt out of the plane like I usually would. When I finally struggled out of the plane, the Lompoc ladies were waiting for me. 

The ringleader related a long story- the gist of which was that they were stranded. At LAX at 2 am. I somehow found myself agreeing to carrying the three ladies and all of their luggage north with me in my tiny tiny car. 
I blame the time changes and the fact that I'd been up for nearly 24 hours.

Forty-five minutes later, the ladies, their ten bags and I were squashed into TheEgg and headed north. The Matriarch suggested that we drive through Malibu. She neglected to inform me that this would add significant time to our trip. The ladies in the backseat promptly fell asleep and snored nearly all the way up PCH. The Matriarch stayed awake the whole time. She alternated between asking me extremely personal questions and telling me every minute detail of her diet and medical health. By the time we reached Ventura, I wasn't sure if I wanted her to keep talking to help me stay alert or go to sleep so I could have some peace. 

After creeping through the low-laying fog on the coast I finally delivered the ladies to their respective doorsteps. I found myself with an empty car and a package of wax-paper wrapped apple turnovers finally homeward bound. I did my best to follow The Matriarch's driving directions, but between the fog and the winding roads I found myself lost on the dirt roads that run between the strawberry fields. An hour later, I finally found familiar territory and then the highway- a good twenty miles off track. 

I crawled into my bed as the sun was coming up, exhausted but no worse for the wear.

Those ladies were nutty, but they were probably the only reason that I made it home safely that night. And the apple turnovers were delicious. 

Challenges

Reverb11
Prompt for December 19: Challenges: What did you wrestle with in 2011? What did you learn? What challenges do you see in 2012?




I work for a man who reminds me of my father. 
By now we all know that I have ... issues... with my father. I have actively excluded him from every event in my life for the past four years. He doesn't even have my cell phone number.
To say that having a boss who resembles him presents a challenge would be an understatement.


I struggle to communicate, to cooperate. Sometimes I fail epically. I continue to struggle on, though. Not all of the conflict I've had with my boss is my fault. He makes mistakes, too. He is impatient and defensive; perhaps I remind him of someone too. Ultimately, it doesn't matter. This is my issue. It is not my boss's fault that he reminds me of my father. 
Not all of their shared traits are negative. 


At the end of the day, issues aside, I love my job. And so I struggle onward.

Self compassion

Reverb11
Prompt for December 18: Self compassion: Were you gentle with yourself in 2011? Tell us about how you were compassionate towards yourself in 2011. Or maybe you want to be more compassionate in 2012. How will you be kind to yourself?


In January, I declared that 2011 would be the year of love and self-indulgence.


Outwardly, I failed miserably. I didn't splurge wildly or over-indulge myself in anyway. I didn't throw caution to the wind or take chances. I spent much of the year stressed about work- under rested and over caffeinated. I ended several friendships and set serious boundaries in others.


I think that last part- the friendship ending- was the most compassionate thing I've done for myself in a very long time. I've come to realize that self- indulgence and self-compassion don't have to be about giving yourself a free pass or being wildly frivolous. It can just be about saying no. It can mean taking time for myself; refusing to feel guilty; raising my standards; choosing not to give it my all.


So maybe I failed on a large scale, but I won so many smaller battles. In 2012 I can only hope for more of the same. I hope to continue to set boundaries and reasonable expectations for myself. I hope to take time out for my sanity, and to learn to place blame where it is warranted. 
I suppose a little bit of coddling and frivolity are in order too.

Make

Reverb 11

Prompt for December 17: Make: What did you make this year that you're proud of? Was it a success or did it flop and you learned something about how to make it better next time? Do you have any special handmade projects planned for next year? 

One of my earliest memories is of weaving baskets with my mother. 
 As a child I thought that everyone's mother sewed them elaborate First Eucharist dresses of tulle and taffeta or historically accurate Laura Ingalls outfits (complete with a sunbonnet!). I didn't understand that other parents bough things like playdough and Christmas ornaments.
My mother passed these skills on to me. I made my first queen-sized quilt in the fifth grade. In high school I sewed a red satin flapper costume for a Roaring 20's themed dance. I made my own bridesmaid dress for my favorite cousin's hippie wedding. I cooked dinner for my siblings and I every night after my mother went back to work when I was 13. As I grew older I realized that not everyone has this same skill set, it blew my mind when friends couldn't sew on a button or hem their own pants. 
I realize now that this skill set, these "domestic arts" are important, something to be proud of even. There was a time when I was made to feel that these skills, "women's work", wasn't useful or valuable. For a few years I stopped sewing and baking and "making" in general. 
This year, I decided to change that. I started making again. And I did. I let my creative juices flow.

This is the creation of which I'm most proud:

Obviously, I did not make LittleMiss. I did, however, make the super awesome tutu she is wearing. The materials for the tutu cost me about $17, and the construction time was about an hour to an hour and a half. It wasn't difficult or inconvenient to make-I made it sitting on the floor in front of a Say Yes to the Dress marathon. The biggest challenge was probably choosing the colors of tulle. But it wasn't about the money or the time. It was about creating a birthday present for Little Miss. She was super excited about her birthday present and insisted on donning it immediately. 
Seriously, isn't she the cutest thing?... I'm at that creepy stage in my twenties in which I covet other people's children but don't actually want any of my own.

Give

Reverb11
Prompt for December 16: Give: When and to what did you give your all this year? How do you define "giving"?  Describe what it means to give, and how you plan to give over this coming year.


"Giving" for me does not usually have a positive connotation. "Give it your all" usually references emotionally exhausting experiences. I have a tough time finding a balance between being supportive and allowing someone to take everything I've got. I allow the people in my life to use me up emotionally. I support and I give until there is nothing left and then I become resentful. 


I resent the people I love for needing me too much. Or for not needing me as much as I need them. For not loving me as much as I love them. Or for loving me too much. I lash out. I'm cold and cutting. My distaste for them is vocal, brutal and unrelenting. I turn people's words around on them and spin situations so that the retelling highlights others' flaws. 


I am a bitch.


Giving is hard for me. It is never enough. It is altogether too much.


This year? I will give only what I can spare, what I can afford to lose. I will give love, but I will not give up my dignity. I will give forgiveness, but I will not sacrifice my needs for the wishes of others.