. . .worse things than staring at the water on a Sunday. . .

What are we on this planet for?  Why am I on this planet?  I’ve been questioning these things, pondering them in my day to day, often while walking and listening to my ipod.  The music in my head is often “Sunday in the Park with George,”  which is a refreshing change from the pop crap that pulses out of cars passing by or upstairs in my neighbors apartment.  There’s something about that song that I will find eternally refreshing- George’s enclosed world of harmony and light that misses the mark of the real and commonplace, especially in Bernadette Peter’s Dot.  She’s so restless and uncomfortable but in love with his vision, his ability to paint.  Sigh.  On some level, I want so be like Seurat- to have my own life’s vision go unclouded. Of course, I don’t want to be thoughtless and careless as he appears to be.

 

So why am I here?  My faith is such that I believe I am here to love God and seek closeness with Him, partly through a spiritual understanding of Him but also in how well I treat others- those finite connections we make in our human relationships.  And while I think my relationships are good, the newest insecurity is that I am missing out on love.  Yes, I have been in love. Painfully and totally with a boy who did not love me enough to get married and have children with me.  The nagging realization that I may have wasted four plus years of my life on someone who wasn’t giving  what I gave is horrible.  But I loved him and I have really pleasant memories, although these memories seem to boil down to good vacations at bed ad breakfasts but not much else. How awful and sad.  I’m starting to forget exactly why I was so in love and yet. . .the feeling remains.  Not that I’m still in love but that I remember how breathless and exciting wanting to be with another human being. 

 

I’d like to go back.   The word wasted is glaring out on the page at me.  Time is not wasted- not really. Those experiences were the experiences I was meant to have.  My mind knows this and I can be sensible enough to think in this way but my heart feels small and resentful at four years gone by. Often, I think I am even over the resentment.   I am torn between wanting to stay angry and wanting to be free and forgive.  

 

. . .i love your eyes George. . .see, here’s where Bernadette’s voice intrudes. It’s sort of lovely to write and have other things going on in the brain.  My brain wants to think of the day I had at the Art Institute of Chicago and how it is JUST as possible to love a painting as much as you love a person.  I tend to fall in love with books and songs and flowers and my puppy’s brown eyes that look up at me as if I am the greatest thing since milk-bones.  Maybe those are the things I am destined to love.  Maybe it’s ok to hope for love with a man but be prepared on some level for its absence, whether temporary or permanent.

 

shoot, this is cute

http://birdloversonly.blogspot.com/2007/09/may-i-have-this-dance.html best when seen with full volume blasting

brevity

This was a difficult week.  Busy at work because of our market (when buyers come to see our new product) but primarily b.c one of my co-workers lost her mom.  It was unexpected, and thus doubly hard.  When you see someone you admire and respect so fragile it is hard.   The priest at the wake spoke about the brevity of our lives, how we must use our days wisely.   I’ve been thinking about those words since-what does it mean to use this brief lifespan well?  Certainly, to use your days well it must mean forming good relationships, doing honest work, contributing positively to the common good.  For me, it also means having faith despite hardship, much like my favorite saint.   http://www.americancatholic.org/features/francis/       I’m working on all of the above.    St. Valentine’s Day was also this week.  I saw a gazillion mylar balloons floating by. http://www.balloonplace.com/catalog/valentine.html   Crikey!  They are so hard to stand next to on the 5 train!   Anyway, St. V had me feeling a bit nostalgic. . .remembrance of things and people who are no longer in my life.  One person in particular.  Is it a sign of maturity that I only wish him well now, that the anger has faded.  I hope it’s a sign or maturity. 

hedgehogs

  Seriously, were you aware of the cuteness?? 

say what??

The Pops and  I left my Mom in the hospital.  When you faint for no reason ,they generally want to check out all your vitals and find out why you fainted. Around 7pm, a knock on the door.  Mom’s home! Weirdness, b.c I just spoke to someone at the hospital who said she was still being monitored. Technically, she didn’t flee the scene. She just got tired of being there and demanded to be discharged. Then Mom took a cab home w/o letting us know she was coming home.  The part that worries me is that the woman doesn’t seem quite ‘with it.’ Isn’t not knowing what day it is grounds to stay at the hospital?   Should be an interesting Sunday in the house with Mom.     In an ordinary family this would not be a huge deal. But my Mom, in addition to the numerous health failings, has schizoaffective disorder.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schizoaffective_disorder  

Of the things to have, mental illness is up there on my gripes with the Lord.  It’s the cruelest category of disease b/c there’s so much uncertainty attached to it.  My Mom has had several breaks from reality in my lifetime but was ‘fine’ for a decade.  Schizoaffective disorder is mood  disorder (those ups and downs) combined with very scary schizophrenia symptoms like hallucinations and hearing voices.  Since 2001, Mom has been to the hospital twice, each time I had to be the one to decide it was time.  Horrible but necessary.  Now, the oddness of her behavior is making me worry that there may be another break with reality.       BTW, It’s a huge deal for me even to WRITE about this.  For years, only a handful of friends have been privy.  But as I get older, am starting to see that the secrecy is shame based and there IS nothing to be ashamed of.  It’s a more serious disease that others but it’s still a disease.    

little lady

My puppy has become my bff.  She is the most sympathetic of little girls.  here’s a supah cute photo of her looking all kinds of humiliated about wearing  zip-up sweater.  Yes, I am one of those crazy chicks who often dresses the puppy.  It’s cold in NY in Winter!

blogging anxiety.

writing a blog is incredibly nerve wracking.  I’ve wanted to have a place for those random thoughts and realizations that happen in life but I also still feel that sometimes people share too much.  Maybe writing as therapy shouldn’t be humiliatingly public.But I’ve changed my mind! Sort of.  I just seek a place to say what I have to say and hope that I don’t cringe about it sometime in the future.   That said, let’s see if anything I have to say here is remotely interesting to anyone but myself.

parental units

To be 32 and still live at home is to constantly question your sanity.   Somedays I am completely grateful to have two parents to come home to who love me and who are big talkers.  Other days, the fact that I live somplace and don’t have keys to get in the apartment is more than irksome.My parents are quirky.  Perhaps that is putting it too kindly.  They are really out there.  I originally moved back home  b/c my Mom’s health (a category unto itself) was failing.  For years she and I lived together in relative harmony.  Then I got the puppy and the ceiling of our place caved in.  Had we been in the living room at the time, we would have been severely injured.  Plaster, wood, and paint chips destroyed quite a few of our possessions but at least we were ok!  Then we moved in with our Dad and . . .the rest is an enchanting history.  In fact, I get to relive my whole childhood since Mom and Dad revisit old arguments on an hourly basis.  It is enough to drive a girl mad. I bet you are wondering why I don’t just get the freak out of Dodge City.  Eeeeek.  See, the Dad and the puppy are now Granpa and Grandchild.  It is a mutual admiration society.  I can honestly say that the Pops has never cared for any living creature, including yours truly, more than he loves Cosy.  It’s actually pretty damn sad and cute.  He lavishes her with affection, treats and even carries her if the sidewalk is too dirty.  Weird, but I would feel IMMEASURABLY guilty taking dog away from Pops and vice versa. Cosy has gotten used to a filet mignon lifestyle I can’t provide.  Plus, there is the threat my Dad throws my way when I suggest I won’t live here forever. The man pauses, looks straight at me with tears in his eyes:  But I’ll die without her. 

Christ on the cross- he WOULD.  He’d do it out of spite.  An 87 year old should not be able to say that with such sincerity.  

 that’s just one of the many reasons why I stay.  

Lenten promises

If you are like me you have been to too many hospitals in your lifetime.  My experiences with hospitals range from the simple to the catastrophic and most are as a result of my Mom’s terrible health.  My Mom suffers from diabetes, hypertension, elevated cholesterol, bouts of dizziness, arthritis and mental illness (i’m not even ready to discuss the latter yet).  In my lifetime, I have visited more doctors and hospitals than I like.  I admire the professionals who work in these settings b/c they are really depressing. Today, while i was laying in my bed with strep throat after having finished a sensational 2.5 hours of watching HBO’s In Treatment ( I should really blog about this show!), I got a call.  Mom had stepped out to go to the dentist for what was supposed o have been a routine visit as she is having a root canal soon.  Apparently, Mom fainted and knocked herself out at the dentist office.  Immediately, I went into panic mode.  WHY did she faint?  I am not exactly one of those people who i calm in a crisis.  Correction: I appear totally calm and in control and inside am a jumble of contradictory and often dark, dark thoughts. I assume the worst.   Especially, since she and I had a HUGE blowout the night before.  I’d gotten in at 9:30pm (gasp!) even though I had said I would be in at 10.  So my being early was somehow inconvenient.  Go figure.  But back to the point- which is that I immediately jumped to the super crazy conclusion that our argument caused her to faint. Got ready and was going to take a cab.  Instead of taking this cab, my Dad offered to drive me.  Wasn’t that sweet and. . .normal of him?  Except that since it was just the two of us dear Cosette had to come too b/c she has never been alone!!  My puppy would lose it if left alone.  After chasing the pups around to get her to leave the apt. we finally made it out in a drizzle.  So it’s panicky  and feverish me, a frantic 87 year old, a dog that loathes rain all in a car to St. Barnabas Hospital. Did I mention that Cosette gets nervous in a car?  She’s clinging to me for dear life, much as a little bebe would.  I am trying to keep it together.  Am failing. When we get to  the hospital, my Father realizes we can’t take Cosette into the hospital so she and I it in the car while he goes in.  To make a long story short, the woman is fine.  She’s being observed.  Pops decided we didnt’ have to wait,  threw money at her to get a cab back home. WTF!!!!   While he was in the e.r. I was in the car freezing and wondering if somehow I made a mistake with my Lenten promise.  Every year, Catholics around the globe offer something up in observation of the season.  Last year I gave up coffee which was an error of EPIC proportions- i was a grumpy zombie for 40 days.  This year I decided to give up COMPLAINING. what a dummy!  who gives up complaining?  On the up side, I do feel slightly virtuous and good.  I do complain about things far more than I ought to.  On the down side, venting is. . .healthy.  Life is often fabulous and darling but just as often life can be a shitbowl and people irritating fish in that bowl. anyway, all is ok for now.  And this blog seems like a really long complaint.

strep throat blues

Am home sick.  Really ill.  I keep getting these recurring strep throat infections.  As the doctors put it, I’m colonized. WTF!  Colonized.  Like I’m a new planet and the germs are having a party in my throat.  Err.  Ewww. Strangely, I tend to get sick when I’m feeling like a wreck.  And right now, have decisions to make about work, my living situation, my Mom, that are giving me the heebie jeebies.  I’m not saying I want to be sick. . .but it is infinitely better than decision making right now.Then there’s the impending Valentine’s Day holiday.   I love V day, whether or not I have anyone to share it with. There’s a certain pink and red gaudiness that I find charming.  Who is buying the Whitman’s samplers?  No, seriously. . .answer me. Who the heck is buying the tacky stuff that is everywhere from mid January to February 15th?  I want to meet that man and shake his hand.  It’s so American! I digress.  Back to the heart of the matter (pun intended!). . . .Valentine’s Day.  Last year was my first single girl V-day in years and I was sick then too! Dammit. That’s a recurring trend.  I wasn’t terribly lonely.  What I did think about all day was how I was free, liberated from a relationship that brought me real joy but was not going anywhere.   More on that MUCH later.    This year, I have worries. Tangible and concrete worries about my future.  And yes, finding someone to love is important but what about just loving me?  Feel ever so dopey writing that.  Self-love.  Not in the autoerotic way but loving myself enough to do what’s best for me, not just others.  I’m freaking tired of being a good girl and the good, noble daughter.   Have  no idea what being tired is going to get me, but it’s a start.