Googling "sympathy losere images" responds with a few great images.

I wish I had the kind of personality where I didn't internalize everything.  It bothers me when total strangers are upset with me, so when someone consistently and deeply hates me, I can't let it just roll over me.  I know, I know, I should just feel mildly sorry for him, confident in the assurance that living well is the best revenge: except for monetarily (and possibly career-wise) I am clearly ahead...

[Wow, everything takes on a different flavor now that I know he is trolling this.  Hey you, loser. F-off. You are not wanted here, and you are hurting yourself and the children as much as you are hurting me.]

Anyway, i should be getting groceries, and instead I lost about 3 hours just feeling scared and sorry for myself.

I was sitting with the boys last night, before they got to sleep, just talking about whatever.  Moo has taken to calling these our "whine sessions", where they can just complain about whatever is bothering them that day, although truthfully, there is not too much whining. So I'm just relaxing, yawning, thiking about how much I have left to do before I go to sleep. And I mean to let out a lazy "I'm so tired", and instead it comes out "I'm so scared."  Dang! Did I really say that?! Damage control!!

Too much stress personally and universally, and I'm scared.  Maybe I shouldn't be, I know.  But, I'll tell you for sure, I avoid classes about "Betachon (the trusting side of faith) means never having to say 'I'm scared'".  For me, right now, that would be like saying "Anything is possible, so lift that car off the ground."

I have books for Po waiting at the library.  Between cycles at the laundromat, I went at 11:57 - I read the sign that the library doesn't open until 1:00.  So I did other stuff for the boys, was insulted by the wasband, who tried to humiliate me.  In the end he definitely comes off looking like a total jerk to more people than he anticipated,

[Hey you, I said go F-off, I'm not writing for your sake]

and yet, I go home and sulk and eat for three hours, go back to laundromat, then library at 4:12 - library closed at 4:00.  DAMNIT!!!!Damnit, I can't take it, damnit........and I just cried.  Then went back to the laundromat, then here to work (also for the second time today), to set up something that had to be done this evening to prepare for tomorrow.  And I so hate my job anyway. Hfff.

And I just want someone to bitch to, but all my friends are being so good to me and already doing so much for the barmitzvah, and I really don't want to go to the well again. But maybe I will anyway.
 

Freakiest Baby Item in a While

Oh my gosh! I passed the box for this monstrosity out on the curb for garbage collection.  A child is supposed to sit on this "chair" with a gaping hole and ARMS TO GRAB HER, then do her business in it to HEAR IT TALK TO HER TO CONGRATULATE HER afterwards!?!?!?!?
And we wonder why kids are so messed up...

(Yeah, I do have more relevant stuff to write, but I'm holding my tongue for now.  Let the troll sit tight.)

Guess Who's Reading

Back in the ancient days, when Zenith computer monitors displayed little more than orange type on a black screen, and email was a new toy mainly confined to academia, my programming professor, recently transferred from the abandoned “communications” department, warned all us young’uns to be careful not to send out emails in the heat of the moment.  Emails are written in private, allowing one to escalate an entire rant to unfortunate heights without the stabilizing factor of the recipient present, or at least listening in real time by telephone.  Emails do not allow for the nuances of timber, pitch, facial expression, etc.  Emails are there for the recipient to save and use, every word captured exactly. And, unlike snail mail, emails are so darn easy to send immediately, without the need to stuff into an envelope, address, stamp, and walk down to the corner mailbox, affording less time to awaken your better judgment to just rip the silly thing to pieces.

Luckily for me, although not to my credit, I am so in love with the flow of my own words in print, that I will often re-read my email letters many times to perfect before I hit that Send button. (This is yet another example of a commonality between myself and the Wasband that one might point to as a reason why we belong together…what can I answer?...)  So I felt relatively safe that my computer-disseminated thoughts were not coming back to bite me.

Yet, someone has been trolling this blog, probably as well as my FaceBook comments. Now I know I had said previously that, as this is a public site where I ENCOURAGE strangers to read my essays, it doesn’t make sense to accuse a reader of “trolling”.  I guess I didn’t consider the possibility that someone would attempt to use what I had written here against me in court.  Whoops! Silly me.

So let me share some of the things I learned today:

·         You really never know who is reading.

·         You really never know to what unimaginable levels some people may be driven by anger.

·         You will have a hard time using a post from a semi-anonymous, hobby-type blog as admissible evidence in an American court of law.

·         Should you attempt to enter into a protracted legal battle, it is wise to find counsel who is able to convince you when your case is frivolous. 

I might have thought one would not need to be even an ex-lawyer, to understand those last two points. Again, silly me.  

For all the rest of you followers, perhaps I should be clear: You should not take anything written here as unaltered truth.  Although all these blog posts start in my head, triggered to some extent by occurrences in my life, I let them flow into an artistically judged essay.  This is a semi-anonymous, hobby-type, clearly-public forum = I can write whatever the hell I want, and who is to say what is fact or fantasy.  Unless you are Ms. Useful or Little Miss Inside, if they even exist, or a select handful of other people who actually know me enough to reasonably see these essays for what they are, it is absurd to assume you have any idea what is true, what is a metaphoric stroll or dizzying hyperbole, and what is pure fairy tale. 

But really it’s all completely true, except for the stuff that isn’t, that is anyway, even though it isn’t…

Okay?  Anyway, hi there troll!!! It’s so satisfying to know you are took the time to read me.  And although no one else would understand your humor, The Flopster Society had me rolling with laughter.

More of the same

Because we live in bizarre coincidence world, mine is the block of divorcees.  I certainly wouldn't have chosen that, it wasn't when I moved in - one family was still together when I came, and one women moved back to her parents house after I was already in my place.  Don't get me wrong, it is a lovely block, and I'm glad to be there; I just wonder if it is perceived by others as the divorcee street (although I don't think any of us has finalized the divorce yet.) 

I was thinking this because I look at the other two women and think deep in my head, "Are you really sure?  You need to try harder. This just isn't right, is it?" I realize I have no business to think I know what really goes on in their lives, but still, this is what I think. And I then wonder, "How many people still think that about me? What do my close allies think? I know I was right to leave; do they?"

I was looking outside today, just thinking about nothing, and remembering a calm phone conversation with my mother this week.  For years before I left the wasband, every conversation with my mother quickly became heated, with me explaining how unhappy I was all the time, and that I couldn't absorb any more negative feelings. Toward the very end, I couldn't stay on the phone with her more than a few minutes.  Soon after I left, my mother started telling me how much better I sounded, not so unhappy and explosive.  Then later, she marveled that we would actually have pleasant phone calls.  Now she almost takes it for granted - I am happy with life, or at least content most of the time. I know she never questioned the separation - which was a happy surprise to me at first - because she felt how toxic the marriage was to me.

Eh, probably most people are too busy with their own lives to think about mine. Still, I want to ask those close friends. But what would it serve? - if they say they know it was good I left, I will wonder if they are being sincere, and if they say I was wrong, I will think they are blind and slow-witted. 
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Okay, time to get sukkah stuff.  Yay!

Wasband Dreams

More stressful days, more disturbing dreams.

As I said last time, my kids and I were supposed to appear in court on Wednesday, but the case was "continued to an unspecified date in the future. The judges and courtrooms are in the process of moving their facilities and they cannot hear this case tomorrow. "  This is good and bad, and generally stressful.

So I had a dream last night that I was remarrying the wasband.  And the whole dream, I kept thinking, "How is this happening?  It must be a dream, but it's not a dream.  Can I stop this?  Can this possibly be good?"  The part I remember most was that I had a glass hat that kept slipping off my head, because the wig underneath, with all the hair underneath that, was just too big. And I wondered what I did to keep my hat on the first time, and then I remembered that I didn't wear a hat the first time.

A glass hat - now what could that mean?  It was a beautiful hat though, very chic, but 100% impractical for concealing your hair.

I have had several similar dreams in the past of marrying the wrong person for bizarre reasons, back since I was in middle school.  Is this a conventional dream subject?

I suppose the obvious meaning is that I'm feeling stuck, still married, and still getting so much bad stuff from the wasband, and I can't figure out whether it is best to stay in my present position, or to push to get out of this marriage.  Am I covering my hair, or am I showing my hair; am I imprisoned or am I free? Do I just have the trappings of freedom, made even harder to handle by all the junk underneath?

I'm hoping not to have any small talk this Shabbos.  Really don't want the burden of answering "Yeah, it's been a fine week, how about you?", but not about to either take off the glass hat, or the wig underneath.



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On a totally different subject, I am proud to say that I have made a tiny but beautiful upgrade to my apartment, it makes me so happy.  Last week I packed up the boys in the car, along with a drying rack that I bought for Pesach, but never used. We went to Lowes to return it. Po asks jokingly "Why are you returning this item Ma'am?  Did something happen to it."
"None of your concern," I reply. "Now I want to exchange this for a new toilet seat."

The boys think it is ridiculous that I was so disturbed by the old toilet seat.  But it was faded white, with tiny cracks in the paint, and it was the wrong size so that it encouraged yucky build-up all around.  Bleh! I can't believe I waited this long. 
I recently heard a study, which I can now find, on the disgust factors separated by gender.  I can't find the study I want because there are so many similar ones out there.  Basically, if you hook up electrodes to women, you get the same range of disgust response to dirty toilets as to carnage, where as the response in men to dirty toilets - not so much. 
Po is very interested in the psychological differences between the genders; for him, this is one more piece to his theory "ladies are very different from me."

Do they teach them this at teachers' colleges?

I and my kids need to appear in court on what would be their first day of school for this year. 

This is horrible for so many reasons.  But anyway, I am trying to contact their teachers, to explain the situation, make sure they are prepared to get the boys initiated a day late, and mostly to let them know that the boys are going through a rough time.  It's hard to know how much to tell the teachers, what is most helpful, and to good purpose. Honestly, my main thought is, understandably, to make things better for the boys.  But I also know it may serve to remove a stumbling block from in front of the teachers:

My father passed away when I was in elementary school.  We went to stay with my father's family for a couple weeks, out-of-state, and they arranged for me to go to the local day school.  I can't remember almost anything from my elementary years in general, but I remember that week fairly well.  I actually enjoyed the school very much, made friends much easier than at home, so I suppose I just appeared to be some little girl on an extended vacation.  After a couple days, the recess teacher came up to me to say hello.  "And how did you come to join our school for this week?" she asked all cheerfully...

And it all just fell out in tears, "I'mherebecausemyfatherdiedandhisfuneralwashereonsundayandtheysaidishouldgotoschoolbecauseidon'thave
tositshivaalldayandthatswhyi'mherrrrrrreeeeee."  Hiccup.

I feel so terrible for that teacher.  I have no idea who it was.  I wonder if there is any way to find her an let her know I never held any bad feelings against her, and it really wasn't anything terrible that she said.

I once, unintentionally did something to hurt a little child, and I will feel guilty about it forever.  It is one of my worst memories.  But the child was so young at the time, I bet she doesn't even remember, and I don't even know her name.  But it would be wonderful to be able to settle that matter. So, I want to do what I can to avoid creating such a terrible memory for someone new.

A Last Hurrah

Movie Buddy is leaving on Sunday for the other side of the continent.  I am so happy for him and so sad for me, and we went out yesterday for a (pen)ultimate movie viewing.  I had reserved his company for "Boyhood" at the beginning of the summer.  He took a break from his preparations, and we finally made it to the theater last night.

"Boyhood"...there was so much hype leading up to its release.  I will say that it was a very powerful film, but certainly not because of the story.  The story was okay, but we both agreed that the message was kinda' thin: a boy who has such uncertain childhood in a world of imperfect adults still develops into a good, curious, credulous yet questioning, unbroken adolecent.  Yes we understand the idea, but the movie does little to really probe what it is he still believes in, what directions he questions.

What really hit me, and I mean hit me "bang" in the gut, what the amazing feeling of authenticity. The curiosity of actually watching the characters/actors age was certainly the teaser that brought many people into the theatre, and it was very satisfying.  But BEYOND just having the time progress "truthfully", the time references that weren't neccessarily "references" when they were shot, there was something that felt 100% right about every scene.  I can't put my finger on how it was done, I do not understand the craft of it, but from the first scene, I literally (literally!!!) wanted to say to Movie Buddy "that looks just like that place I remember!"  And I did not grow up anywhere near Texas.  Riding the bikes in the little ravine, the apartment complexes, the empty parking lot, the dorm room... somehow even the beautiful southwest scenery I have NEVER seen: the quarry lake, the mountains and canyons, they looked so right, and almost familiar.

Also the dialog was so authentic and familiar feeling.  Even the high school / college "questioning life" rants and boy/girlfriend banter was wonderfully recognizable and natural for its innate empty wispiness.

And because it was all so authentic, and because I am already living this movie, I collapsed, and let every scene pull me where it intended.


I pleaded with Movie Buddy to give me a few more hours, so he is coming over tonight to watch "Little Miss Sunshine": same movie, but set as a comedy. Like "Penny Lane" vs. "Elenor Rigby".

Please keep a space for me, I'm always thinking of you.  Good luck Movie Buddy, onward and upward!