Autumn (post from October 2013)

The fall has found me with a decent looking, if not pretty nice looking, garden that I don't have any time to maintain and commuting (at least so far) down to Hillsboro TX 4 days a week. It's about 125 mile round trip through the last suburbs of South Dallas through rolling farmland. The most exciting part of the drive is that (so far) I've been borrowing my Grandmother's Impala and it can go pretty fast and slick. I don't throw caution to the wind completely but I enjoy putting the petal to the metal. Also, there is a place I've passed a billion times through my life and have never stopped to figure out what it is. It looks to be a house along the interstate with massive peices of "artwork" out in the yard on display. For ages it has been an Indian Head made with hundreds of peices of small wood to give it dimension. Now they have 3 frogs out. 2 of which look to be in a drunken dance with each other, not even slightly aware of the rest of the world.

Other than that, "they" (being the man, the managers, or whatever you want to call the local Wal-Mart overlords) have put my insurance kiosk in the most obscure and pathetic place in the store. The only silver lining being that I am near outlets and have the technology to thwart the internet from my smartphone to my computer, thereby allowing me the escape of the internet to pass the time.

The world is quite literally passing me by. In Wal-Mart the people pass, most of whom avoid eye contact with me like I will steal their soul. And everything else. While I am in this purgatory waiting to make money. Hoping with my entire being that this time will pay off, sitting all these months working without pay and holding out hope for the future other people's lives around me continue to develop. People fall in love, obtain their careers, get married, have children, grow their families. They invest in their future.

And I invest in my hopes for a future. But it mostly has felt like being stuck in quicksand. There is no solid evidence that this time is being well spent. I use up so much of my energy and life force keeping myself positive and hopeful that it is so exhausting to then have to convince those close to me that this plight is worth it. I justify to you what I can barely justify to myself. It's very hard.

I don't mean to sound so melancholy but it's part of life, and often times it is what drives me to write/type/blog and lament.

One day I want to have stability and a beautiful little face to constantly remind me how precious life is as the little one discovers every new thing day after day. I'm ready for certain things in my life. But I just have to be patient, ever patient. I am reminded of patience everyday as I drive down to this town and back home everyday telling myself it was worth the gas money. It was worth the time. Everything is coming together, you just can't see it yet.

Advice for Bleach Bathing (9 Steps to a Successful Bleach Body!)

 

1. Take a deep breath. It is important you do this before the bleach gets opened. Open your mind, as this is your life now. Start off with thinking of this as a fun and relaxing bubble bath. Your skin and nerves will be soothed! Recommended is a bleach with a scent, I prefer lavender.

2. Make sure there are no important clothing or towels or bath mats you don't mind being exposed to bleach. (You know, because this shit will forever alter its color but it supposedly great medicine for your delicate skin.)

3. Mix the proper ratio of bleach to tub. DO NOT overdo it on the bleach. Also, don't make the water too hot.

 

4. After the bath make sure to rinse as if you are a HAZMAT danger zone. Get all of that stuff off!!!

5. Rinse again. Just do it. Do it with less fervor than above but with a healthy amount of gusto.

6. Do not towel dry. Simply pat your skin. It should remain DAMP.

7. Immediately (meaning less than 30 seconds after patting dry) apply moisturizing cream. NO-- not lotion. Get that out of your mind completely. It's gotta be CREAM and it has to be put on thick while the skin is damp. I recommend CeraVe moisturizing cream. Don't fall victim to marketing promises of special mixtures of oils and scents. That part of your life it over. Keep it simple and dermatologist recommended.

8. After completing this routine a handful or so of times you might notice it's becoming time consuming and wasting a lot of water. Congratulations, you have graduated into spray bottles!!!! You may now wet skin, spray bleach, complete super rinse, etc...

This should save you a lot of time. 

9. Try not to think of yourself as a sink or a bathtub. True, you might feel like you are cleansing yourself from potions you keep under the counter but re frame your thinking. You're a beautiful "bleach body", a special kind of human with a special epidermis.

P.S. IMPORTANT-- Don't use soap. Never use soap. I said, never ever use soap!!! This is a different world. A soapless world. OK on second thought, be a Johnny Rebel, use some soap. Do this that way you will see why you never have to do it again. 

If, for some reason, you can use soap and it not keep you awake at night scratching your soul to the surface of your skin then by all means, use the damn soap. But keep it mind you are a "wannabe" You want to have a special epidermis. But you aren't...."You aren't a "bleach body." If you can use soap AND bleach you don't need the bleach. You don't need it. Go back to your normal life!

(Yes, this is under the direction of a dermatologist)

Paralyzed By The Process

Do you think an author, say a writer, thinks it out and then basically knows more or less where he is going with the story he is writing?

Or do you think he is getting to know the characters and thinking of them as he is writing, not knowing where he is going, and then sees where his loose thoughts take him. It gets cleaned up later to make a story. Because I think thats more like it. But I think also a lot of people out there live as if they know the story or have an idea. Sometimes I say “I can't be accountable for the shit that comes out of my mouth” and it makes the person laugh, sure, but part of that really resonates with me. I never know where I am going. I am completely unable to basically “plan” certain parts of my life that I think not only do other people have more control over themselves, but I feel I am really lacking, like I SHOULD be able to grab hold of something.

Ever since a kid I've felt this way and I go from one hypothesis to the next during my phases of life and discovery. For a long time I attributed it to being an only child and I still basically do, but maybe its more than that. By brain has all of this knowledge and there is this certain responsibility that society has engrained in us that the knowledge is what you need ...to succeed.

But that doesn’t work for me. I KNOW--yet I cant bring myself to take certain steps.

Charlie wants to get from point A to point B. Through years of education, I know a general guideline for that. Charlie needs to do x, then x, then x... he should arrive at B.

So a friend needs advice, and I tell him, “Oh yeah, thats like fucking
Charlie. Basically, you gotta do x, then x, then x.” And I am all self satisfied. Look what a big help I was!

Yet when it comes down to me I don’t do the x's. I know what they are. It's like ...I guess I am just not to the point in my life that point B is so important it warrants the x's. I will fucking change my attitude on B (a form of regression I think) to avoid the x's.

Other times I find myself in very responsible situations and I ask myself “How did I get here??” as if I had nothing to do with it. Somehow through all the shit (other alphabet letters like W or A) that I have been focusing on, I've also managed to somehow add enough of the x's that I've gotten somewhere.

And I look around, like, “Shit! What do I do now?!” I have arrived at this point...and it never feels satisfying. Like it's not this “I-have-arrived” feeling; the “Yes! Score! I have reached by goal, point B!”

Fuck no! It's like, there are always more points looming on the horizon. And I feel like so many of them are decided by other forces than myself.

But I didn’t decide this. I didn’t chose to be this. I just am.

I think therefore I am. . .Where the fuck am I going with this?

I think I had some vague point* (agh, fucking word!) at the beginning of this. Something about how I feel a certain amount of non control for my aimlessness and that in itself is a weakness.

I was brushing my teeth and I directed myself to go into the computer room and type. Something will come out. It's been too long since you’ve expressed yourself, Rayna.

And I think my hypothesis whas that other folks have (a purpose, a point)...well, let me give an example.

An event happens that is worthy within itself, or sets into actions other events that bring up thoughts and somewhere along that journey a person decides that they need to share that. Whether anyone sees it or not. They blog it.

But me, I just...I mostly just, I mostly feel lost almost all of the time.

This has been the major theme of my 20s. Searching for something but feeling so hopelessly lost.

I always said, “I ain’t bringing that shit with me into my 30s. Thats fucking nonsense, that shit has got to stay back there where it sort of belongs.”

So I knew I'd end up here, where i am, with the grandparents in this house. In Irving Texas doing (or attempting to do) some kind of profession.

And for a the first year I was like “I'm HOME” that was huge for me! I felt at home, finally.

But I've been noticing I don’t really feel that way anymore, now that I am “used” to it. Accustomed to it.

I am ready to go but I don’t know where. I needed desperately to GO which I did in the past. I went (place to place across the west).

And I know that no matter the moments I received, experiences that added to who I am, beautiful poignant fucking things that happened, I never really FOUND whatever the fuck it is I felt like I needed to find.

And I guess that is basically L_I_F_E-- coping with these crazy feelings.

Maybe thats why people cling to certain religions. (And my that I mean anything they are basically indoctrinated in, whether it be a lifestyle choice like drinking or church going and the gospel, hallelujah!

This is getting too fucking deep (Like my buddy Rene says); beyond my ability to articulate.

I feel like time is moving so slow this summer. It's obscenely slow and painful like swimming in quicksand. I feel trapped. Among other things, lonely etc. I feel fucking paralyzed. In the past, I would DO SOMETHING, go for a walk, ride a bike, etc. just move my fucking body.

But today I can't move. I just can't move to save my life. It's not even a slovenly, lazy day where I watch TV shows all day and gorge on Nutella crackers. No, screw that, I am literally paralyzed.

I’ve been battling this all week or longer. But it was strong this week and I've earnestly tried distracting myself to shake myself out of it. But this morning I woke up to my alarm and it was raining outside. I felt so peaceful; one the rare times I felt rested. I wander into the kitchen to see Gma and Gpa at the table and Gpa smiles so I smile back and he teases me a sleepy head. But it wasn’t just the normal Gpa teasing.

“Welcome here. This is reality. This is whats real. This is whats going on. Come out of your fog. The other dimension isn’t real.”

….and I was so touched. I was deeply touched by that. Still am, tears form as I type.

I am eating breakfast across from Gpa with the annoying fucking kitchen TV blaring in the background, really so loud it's the foreground too. I hate that fucking TV because I hate it and I hate morning TV. I don't hate mornings, its not that. I just hate morning TV!

So, Gpa talking to whoever, if anyone, is listening as per usual. Talking about his COPD and trying to understand it. Same thing. So much that this week I printed out a long document with graphics complete with intermittent quiz questions about COPD. As I watched him toying with the edges of the papers, I heard myself saying to him “Gpa, what does the D stand for? What does the D stand for?”

-well I now know and thank you so much because its part of 3 things: emphysema, asthma, and chronic bronchitis

“Yes, that right but what does the D of COPD stand for?” He scans the papers, doesn’t know the answer. I point it out. Top sentence. He reads it.

-Oh, disease. “Yeah”---pause--- “disease.”

I proceed to tell him about how you don’t get rid of a disease. A disease is a permanent condition. I told him to look at me in the eyes. I said, “It doesn’t get better Gpa, you might have good days, some better than others. But this gets worse and worse. Until...”

He nods, thinking about what I am saying. But being the cute pie Gpa that he is...He is saying things like “Until I croak, ok I get it, well ....”

and then he is bargaining with himself. He's lived a long time he says, he recognizes now, these past few weeks, that this is the end that it will be this that causes it. He says Sally has COPD, so does some other people he knows or knew. Then he says, “But thats all I know-thats all I know- I had to work, had to make a life. I couldn’t just not work. I tried to do other stuff besides printing (the fumes are what caused all of this) I never did smoke. Wasn’t a smoker. I wasn’t a drinker. I just worked. I tried to pick cotton”

Laughing, Gma chimes in, “That lasted one day!”

Gpa says, “It lasted one hour!” He quickly found out that was not for him.

The conversation goes back to COPD and the ailments and symptoms; the lifestyle... Straying toward talk of medication and what he take that would make it better, make it go away...

I told him “Gpa, look at me. There is nothing else. You are already taking it. We are already doing what we can. This is it.”

COPD is the 3^rd leading cause of death. I mentioned that at some point during the day.

He mentioned how insufferable it would be to die that way, being chocked out of oxygen, not able to breathe. And I acknowledged him, saying “I know I have seen it first hand” and he nodded asking “Oh, you have?” but I didn’t answer. Of course I have, so has he. The night my mom died. Like a fish out of water gasping for air. Do they remember? Maybe. But I will never bring it up again, not the specific graphics. Not the images. Not the image of me closing her eyes. No, I mention only enough and only at times to prove a point.

So Gpa knows. He can continue pretending every few days not to have the first clue what COPD is and whats wrong with him. But he knows. He doesn’t even have dementia is the thing. Thats the thing I am seeing that makes this so hard.

In my understanding, a person with dementia is completely out there at times that they don’t know whats going on. He knows though. What I am seeing is a psychological coping mechanism.

And I guess, maybe thats why I have been paralyzed. But I only just realized that. I didn't start out wanting to write a blog about my Gpa's COPD or even about my paralyzing feelings as of late.

I didn’t know where it would go. I only know it now that I am here. I could have talked about the lesbian at the waxing salon and those funny stories. Or the plants I worked on today in the garden. Or the dog and her cute antics.

Earlier, when I was showering, I felt like I needed a reason to feel like a slug. Like a garbage ridden slug. For a moment, I blamed it on Wes. Because he called me today and we talked for the first time in a long time and many months after I informed him that, in the future, I don’t wish to call myself his “friend”

But its not Wes' fault. He was pleasant and jovial. Sure, my stomach knots up. Sure, I feel the rejection come back. Wes' past rejection mixing with the most recent rejection blending together to create some hybrid feeling of not being good enough.

But really, its no one's fault. Not even my own I guess.

I blame myself a lot.

I blame myself, in part, because of things …. knowing about x, then x, then x. 

Midnight Radio

Taking a moment to check myself, river swirls, summer lovers past and present

So, my grandmother asks me what time I will be getting up in the morning. I tell her I am going to get up at 5:45 am and workout. And her jaw falls so far I could see her tonsils! Gma! What the hell?! I know I have gotten lazy compared to this time last year but damnnnn....

So, then I get a text from Rene about how tomorrow is the one year anniversary of his move to Dallas.

Which got me thinking about last year, for both him and I as one year ago we were in similar situations starting the same position for that bastard company which shall not be named. We went through the same insane training and bullshit.

And at that time I got up and took Journey on a morning jog in the neighborhood, took a shower, and went to work. At 7:30!

I was so positive, I had come back from Greece unhappy that I was back in a way defeated but in another way still feeling all that love that had take over my heart and mind. Residual effects from the whole situation. And a fairy tale it was not. Being in Greece was hard, very very hard! The only light in my life was Miltos and the light he gave me reflected and maybe seemed to shine onto other parts of my life. But really he was the fuel to my fire. And this time last year, I guess, in a way, I hadn't let go of the notion of us being together at some point in the future, around the corner.

And now, all that has worn so thin. In no part to the fault or fumble of my love in Greece. But I am walking in quicksand here. Feeling farther and farther away from the fantasy that I held onto while being in his light.

And I am so lonely. And unhappy. And angry.

I keep blaming it on being broke as a joke...but that isn't it. I've been broke for years!!! I had very small windows of time in my post college life where I have not being completely broke. I smile with pride at those times. It's true I am proud of myself and definietly don't have regrets in the choices I have made. So that's good.

So, getting back to the point, it ain't about being broke. My father looks at me in conversation and I can hear his inner thoughts. He pities me, thinks living here is hell and that I am lying to myself about being able to be happy here.

Jenna invited me to Utopia, TX this past weekend. While there, in between the complete chaos of travel and drunkenness and as always the persistent annoyingness of being around Jenna and Wes as they are infatuated with each other, I had some very surreal grounding moments. Saturday morning seemed to be lazy for the others but I had taken my bike so I rode around town and then to the dam and went swimming in my shorts and tank top. She knows I am at home in the river, any river down there. I don't think many people know that about me unless they have seen it, see what happens to me. It's a religious experience for me. So, I am lying there free and drifting watching the tops of the trees.

And for the first time, I thought, maybe my father is right. Maybe I am unhappy up here.

But my question is, how much of it is geography and how much is the changing circumstances?

How much of it is my new career? How much of it is love lost?

So yeah, I am tired of being tired/sad/helpless/lonely and I am going to get up at dawn and move my body.

And maybe I can start figuring some shit out.

A puzzling contradiction

Hannah is a friend that makes a very quantifiable impact on my life. I have a huge amount of respect and admiration for her. She has without being overtly motherly, given me some important but subtle direction as well. All people are multidimensional and multifaceted. So, she is many things but for the purposes of referencing some of her attributes I think it's fair to give her a few adjectives:
Classy
Sassy
Sweet with a large side of Mean
Funny

I list these first because these are the things which I believe we have most in common.

The other areas of our lives we have very little in common. I guess they are less important in a way, however, because she is one of my best friends (which I believe rotate as needed through the timeline of life) so basically, [disclosure: if you are my friend and reading this just know you are probably also my best friend.]

In any case, I think I've earned the right to call Hannah a bitch. I don't mean the way girls reference that in endearment and giggle like it's some inside joke.

Puh-lease!

I mean Hannah is a Bitch. Telling her this to her face might incur the wrath so I don't go that route. I am however sure that I can say that if Hannah is asked to really think about it, she knows I would describe her this way. What I find amusing and what pleases me about the whole topic is that we could move past that. 

Hannah isn't the type of person to take a situation and turn it into something more than it is. Girl has other things to think about, deal with, and do. Quite frankly, she can be a great friend but if the tides turn she will take it in stride. I feel like she can easily walk away from a lot of relationships (for instance ours). And I get that.

What I DON'T get is her continued resolve to never officially walk away from the relationship of that with her Hubs. Her Hubs is basically the kryptonite to my metaphorical Superman personality. I am against practically everything about him. I mean, he has only a few things going for him. One, he is a man. Two, he provides income. Three, ..shit I got hung up on three.

So, basically, what makes me scratch my head is that Hannah more or less sees him in this very same light.

I am not criticizing her choice to not move on. Trust me. I get that life gets ever so complicated and entangled with time and other factors including, but not limited to, children.

I am only saying, that I don't really get it. It's not representative of who she is. It's just not.

In closing, here is an image from 2007 that, if she knew I was sharing, she would NOT be crazy about. In fact, I can say with certainty that if it was posted on facebook, she would untag herself.

BAM! Kiss!

You kiss your kids, you kiss your spouse. Obviously, in different kinds of ways.

Maybe your spouse kisses you on the cheek when you are cooking supper. It warms your heart. Think about how much the feeling lasts for people who are neglected. The older we age the less that we are touched. Touch somebody.

Kiss your grandparents, not just when you say hello or goodbye. But when they don't expect it. Today, I walked in from the yard to find grandpa had fallen asleep in his chair. AsI walked up he opened his eyes and BAM! I kissed him on the cheek. That'll last him for hours at least!

I walked into the kitchen and Gma was doing her mail and BAM! I kissed her cheek! She *giggled* I made my 80 y/o Gma giggle.

So, stop being so serious all the time.

Pat on the shoulder, touch hands, kiss cheeks!

Just do it!

Warehouse of the Abandoned

My Saturday morning began with my refusal to enter reality, causing me to leave my dream, where I was having a fucking adventure! I am so annoyed by leaving my adventures for something as dull as real life. I usually get over this fairly quickly and am not one of those zombie-like people that take several hours to actually become a functioning human. The morning is the best time to cuddle with my dog, who is now almost 7, and has mellowed significantly. She allows and enjoys dog massage. It's definitely several grades above simple petting. Dog massage is for only a few "special" (read:insane) dog people. Whatever, my dog deserves a good massage.

Entering the kitchen to make coffee I see my Grandma in one of her usual states of mind. It's a unique kind of frenzy basically where by Grandma's brain wheels are spinning so fast I am pretty sure she could produce enough electricity to run the household. When do you think neuroscientists will tap into this kind of source?

Moving on. I helped her fix her calculator, which she had been working on for an hour in vain. Poor thing. I told her if we just look the model up on the internet it will tell us what to do. Without defensiveness, just matter of factly, she reminds me that, during her day people had to figure things out with their mind. Which is true. I give her some serious credentials. Woman can build a house and do a billion other useful tasks with pure willpower. After solving the calculator issue I ate some cereal at the table talking to my Grandma about how she belonged in the pioneer Manifest Destiny days. She would totally roll with the punches. And by punches I guess I mean cholera, mountains, creeks, broken wheels, sick animals, and squirrel hunting. That type of thing. No problem for Grandma.

Then I mentioned something she has been wanting to do- going to the warehouse of the abandoned. Diatribe about old money, spoiled rich, and quality made home items. There. Covered that. So Grandma simply says, "Well. I'm ready." And she was-of course- she ALWAYS is. Wake Gma up at 3am saying "Gma we have to _____" and she'll say, "Give me 5 minutes." And then she'll be standing at the backdoor looking in after you seeing if you are ready to go yet.

So at the warehouse, which so should be renamed something spectacular and significant, I found that although leaving my previous dreams was crappy I could have some new dreams in these aisles of abandoned EVERYTHING.

As if we did not have enough projects...now we have several more.

While leaving, Gma preferred that I employ a different technique to turn the truck around out of the lot. I said "Your granddaughter knows how to drive a truck." Lately, I have been doing that for some reason. Saying things like "Your granddaughter is one resourceful lady!" and "Your granddaughter's mother didn't raise no fool!"and "Your granddaughter is absolutely NOT planting a photenia tree in this yard!" or "Your granddaughter does not understand the point of ironing sheets!"

A couple weeks ago I lost my job. Well, it's not like I lost it so much as I was fired. And I wasn't so much fired as I was pissed off, aggressive, and quit. It's complicated. Let's move on.

The next day I loathed existence. Nothing meant anything and everything was futile. About 5 days later I got over it, deciding to wash my hair again. In any case, I went outside and stared at the ground for a while. Next thing I know I was up in the tree trying to cut down limbs and branches that did nothing wrong except grow in an angle that made me feel like they deserved to be destroyed. At one point I got down to get a saw also and a pair of gloves for my hands because apparently I was fucking serious.
After some time my Grandma was standing under the tree looking up at me.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm cutting on this tree!"
"I am going to the post office. I'll be back in a little while."
"Ok." I readjust and crotch-climb up higher.
Grandma gets in the car, puts it in reverse. I swing my leg over a knob so I can push out awkwardly at an angle to reach farther. Grandma put it in drive, scoots back up to the tree, rolls down her window and says "Do you need the saw?"
"I already got it."
"Ok, bye." She leaves.

This is my Grandma. Ask Seth. He once witnessed my assignment of limb cutting the pecan tree while on top of the garage. I was satisfied but Gma asks about getting just one more branch. She suggested I get the ladder set up in the bed of my pickup, back in, and climb on top with a POLE SAW.
I looked at Seth's mouth hanging open, eyes big. "Sorry Gma, ain't going to happen." She moves on to the next task of busy work muttering something about how she would do it. And she will. You gotta watch her. That same determination that keeps her going strong also keeps me trailing behind her trying to talk her down off the metaphorical ladder.