almost-midnight ponderings

After speaking with my new sponsor for 15 minutes and The Green-Eyed Boy having to leave to make curfew -- after we joked about things and had a mini tickle fight and commiserated over hating the drunkards in the 'hood for May Fest and talked very briefly about visiting New York City for my birthday -- I'm left with the same feeling I've had pretty much every day for the past week, which can best be described as a combination of a distinct lack of gratitude coupled with a lack of faith in other people.

My sponsor said tonight, "I can't believe you only have eight months. You aren't needy or insecure at all!" and I just wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, because I'm not sure if she's correct or if this is just another wall I put up to protect myself. She has so many kind things to say about me, but (as with anyone's compliments) I waver between agreeing with her and wondering how I've managed this latest deception.

There's a passage I keep coming back to in the ACOA Daily Affirmations book, from November 27:

I am strong and capable. Any thoughts about weakness are gone today. I realize that in my home I saw many forms of control. I saw that playing "poor me" or "little child" is as powerful a weapon as forceful strength. I saw that the weak have weapons too. And I observed how emotional weapons ruined relationships.

I will not use weakness to side-step responsibility. I will not put another person in charge of my life and blame them for pushing me around. By using weakness as protection, I not only fail to make friends, I end up captive. A relationship based on protection soon withers and dies.

I want to be forthright in my relationships. I no longer have to manipulate to receive love. What I desire is to receive what others have to offer me.

Today I trust that intimacy will flourish when what is given comes truly from the heart.

I think the real thing I'm struggling with lately is that I've never been in a relationship in which these emotional weapons were absent. In the past, I've sought out people who mistreated me (or thought of me as lesser-than), and therefore a good portion of my time and energy was spent trying to convince them I needed protection or (even more demoralizing) that I deserved to be treated with love and respect. And the idea of leaving all of that behind, of sitting back to accept and receive what others have to give -- and making the conscious decision as to whether what they have to give is good enough as is (or not) -- is, quite frankly, terrifying.

When I was eighteen and newly married and worried that my husband was having an affair at work, I wanted him to come home early one day rather than spend time alone with the woman in question. [In my defense -- though I have little -- he had many times mentioned how much he wanted to have sex with this woman, so my insecurities weren't completely fabricated.] I couldn't figure out any way to get him to come home, so I did something completely insane: I called him up and told him I'd been attacked on the way back from the bus station, and to support my story, I beat myself up. Literally. With a rolling pin. And, you know, he still didn't leave work early... and so then I harbored a resentment toward him for not coming home after he heard about my "attack"...

That was almost seventeen years ago, and those type of deceptions and false weaknesses became fewer and fewer as time went on. It's been years since I've outright lied about something happening just so someone else would come to my aid or rescue (or at least prove they cared about me), but it's always been the case that I would find myself in horribly dysfunctional situations and when my partners would leave (literally or figuratively) I'd sit there and cry "poor me!" and wonder why they weren't doing a better job of taking care of me. Well, duh! It was because they were crummy choices for romantic partners and I was seeking out people who allowed me to play out that pattern again and again -- people who were incapable of loving me or (maybe worse) thought I was beneath their love.

The problem (for me, at least) is that I am in a relationship with someone who (I think) isn't a crummy choice... but I'm clueless on how to proceed, how to be grateful, how to accept what is given to me, how to decide whether what is given is enough or I need to ask for more, how to sit back and accept what is "given truly from the heart." My God -- that is scary! Most of the time I feel paralyzed and as though I'm fourteen and have yet to go on my first date.

So what's the solution? Lately, I've been following the direction of other people in the program -- and the things I've read -- who tell me to simply act "as if." I'm following my intuition -- which has become markedly distinct from my fears, which is new -- which tells me that it's spiritual growth and progress and change for me to act without knowing what the outcome will me, to place faith in the goodness of other people, to live a life based on joy and hope rather than fear and dread, to learn to live in the moment and be entirely present and content with life on life's terms.

That being said, being sober is damn hard.

friday roundup

My alarm went off at 6:53am, I climbed out of bed at 8:36am, and was at UIC to pick up my comprehensive exams by 9:42am. On the way there, listening to Wilco's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot while heading down Lake Shore Drive, I decided I was going to be happy today. That being said, it was only a few minutes later when I found myself in a situation bordering on road rage on Lower Wacker, which just goes to show how quickly I can get off track.

***

At 11am I gave my second lead ever. I was less nervous this time around, and I remembered more of what I wanted to say. It seems I touched a lot of people, and a few people said they wished it had been recorded so other women in sobriety could hear it. Also, someone there is having brain surgery in a couple of weeks and she took my number so we could talk about what to expect. Nonetheless, I still think everyone was humoring me and being condescending with their compliments; the idea that I could possibly have anything to say that would help other people isn't really sinking in. I'm grateful I've realized that sometimes just showing up is enough, and believing that other people believe something is often quite enough until I can believe it myself.

***

After the meeting, I went with The Green-Eyed Boy, his sponsor (The Goofy Guy), and The Seaman to the central office downtown, where I bought a couple of books and eyed some sobriety jewelry that I think I'll get eventually. It was a bit disconcerting being with my boyfriend and his sponsor, kind of like meeting someone's parents for the first time. Then again, he heard my lead, and so if anything THAT gave him a better idea of the gal who's hooking up with his sponsee than being in a car with me for an hour.

***

Yesterday was the roughest day I've had in quite a long time -- I was irritable and discontent, upset things weren't going my way, completely ungrateful for the things I do have, unwilling to be compassionate, and seeking to be the center of the universe for everyone in my life. Then I talked with The Sober Dad, and he reminded me of two things: (a) that I can be the center of my own universe, which just has to be enough, because otherwise I'll be a collapsing supernova star every day of the week instead of the bright awesome person I am, completely independent of anyone else, and (b) the post I wrote some time ago, about having spiritual growing pains and listening to my heart.

Over the past few weeks I've begun to lose that sense of inner strength for which I've worked so hard, and I've been really hard on myself lately -- feeling fat and and stupid and insecure and ugly and generally spiritually bereft. Talking with The Cute Carpenter yesterday, he said I needed to figure all this stuff out because I was a different person (and not in a good way) than I had been when he met me six weeks ago... and while I was hesitant to agree with him, I did a fair amount of meditation yesterday and after talking with The Sober Dad, I realized he was right. This played a bit into my decision to be happy today -- I absolutely need to make a daily conscious effort to stay on track, and I cannot take any minute of my sobriety or my serenity for granted. That being said, sometimes it's on a minute-by-minute basis that I can hold on to any of that.

***

The one-year anniversary of the end of my pregnancy is approaching. Sometimes I'm okay with that, but at other moments I'm not. What I really think is that I need to go on one of those healing retreats that The Wheaton Mama told me about, but fear is preventing me from contemplating that for too long. Actually, I don't think it's necessarily fear but pain at the realization that, yet again, this is something I have to work through all by myself. And honestly, I'm tired of having to realize and rehash and remember all the things that I've done and that have happened that I had to weather all my myself -- my grandmother's death, miscarriages/other pregnancy losses, my car accident, the brain tumor and craniotomy... all of those things are painful reminders of the lack of connection I've had in my life for so very long. Of course, I'm working on changing that, and I've been cultivating new healthy relationships (and remain grateful for people like Anima Sola and Slavegirl, who set the stage for everything that's happened over the past year), and I feel hopeful about the future, but it's difficult from time to time to look back at the wreckage of my past without feeling at least a little pain.

***

All in all, it's not a bad Friday. It's not marvelous, but it could be a lot worse. I'm glad I made the decision to be happy today -- because even though I haven't really been all that cheerful 100% of the day so far, what I have done is catch myself every time I start NOT being happy... nope, can't go down that road today, it's my Happy Day... and that seems to snap me out of things. I know I need to work on my gratitude, and my humility, and my hope. If I can just do that -- and I can -- then I'll be okay. Probably.

***

My new sponsor is amazing -- sober for 25 years -- and the thing I like best about her so far is how affectionate she is. Yes, I said affectionate. She's foreign-born, and therefore very touchy-feely, and while I was put off by it at first, it's quite wonderful. I never got a lot of physical affection as a child, and there is a significant part of me that's been seeking out that sort of comfort my whole life. Also, every time she talks to me she tells me what a beautiful precious child of God I am, which (oddly) brings me peace. Of course, it's only a matter of time before she starts completely kicking my ass. Until then, I'll enjoy being coddled.

headache, day five

Its intensity has waxed and waned over the past five days, but my headache is becoming as familiar to me as an annoying old friend. Just when I think it's gone, it crops up again, and I'm beginning to get worried. It's creeping out into the rest of my life. I find myself a bit more irritable, a lot less productive, significantly less willing to live in the moment and be grateful for what I have. The solution? The old standby: fake it 'til I make it. In this spirit, I'm making dinner for my boyfriend, going to the meeting he chairs, and then heading out for an evening doing something that does NOT involve sitting on the couch and feeling sorry for myself. And I might -- just might -- treat myself to the midnight showing of Sex and the City at the Davis, even though The Green-Eyed Boy offered to go with me after the opening hoopla slows down. In the mean time, I have until 5pm to be grumpy, and I'm heading off now to wallow by candlelight in the bathtub with my new ylang ylang bubbles.

headache, day four

I went to the meeting this morning fed up with life and sick of being in the program. Within five minutes of being there, I was asked to give a lead Friday at 11am. Sometimes God moments fill the void. Other times, they annoy the shit out of me.

It may be is time to head to the spa for a detox. Given the next few days, it can't hurt -- I've got comprehensive exams (which I skipped/failed last year due to the pregnancy), a good deal of work to catch up on, commitments at meetings, the boys on Saturday night, doctor's appointments, therapy and summer school starting on Wednesday (with my syllabus and course outline yet to be written). Of course -- as always -- I need to remember none of these things are ones I HAVE to do... they are choices I have made and in alignment with values I hold. That being said, my instinct is to say "screw my exams" and ignore my health, take lots of bubble baths, and curl up on the couch with my boyfriend and watch movies for five days.

As it turns out, I'm a fairly lazy and unmotivated person, and I need to keep myself on track by doing the things that need to be done, or else I might as well throw up my hands and give up entirely. And, really, that's not an option -- I'll take a four-day-long headache and a little bit of angst if it means I'm hobbling a decent life for myself out of the messy materials I've been given.

where the rubber hits the road

There are many things in life I can control, but just as many things over which I have no influence. This morning was rough; I was having a difficult struggling between setting boundaries and keeping things simple. After lunch with The Cute Carpenter, and a small amount of crying (and two meetings!), I found the serenity to speak up for myself in a healthy manner, and the outcome was good. I don't know if it's because I've got an awesome boyfriend or I'm making better choices (or both), but it's spectacular to have a conversation about my needs/concerns and to be met with understanding, compassion, and love instead of feeling as though my desires are burdens. Quite some time ago, I read that relationships are the proving grounds -- so to speak -- of sobriety, and I can absolutely see how that's the case in my life today.

***

I've got my potential sponsors whittled down to two: one who's actively seeking me out and offering guidance, and another who wants me to jump through hoops for her help. I have my intuitions about who will be better, but I'm sleeping on it for one more night just to be certain. I keep thinking of Kathleen Norris -- "prayer is not asking for what you think you want, but to be changed in ways you can't imagine" -- and reminding myself that my prayers have already been answered in spades.

***

Somehow something went wrong between me and The Sober Mama. I saw her on Friday, and she quite literally gave me the cold shoulder. When I emailed asking if she was OK, and if I'd somehow offended her, she told me she was working on things with her sponsor and needed space. I saw her again today and she didn't speak to me at all (though I didn't attempt to approach her). I can't quite figure out what happened... she was fine, emailing me, offering me advice and support, and then... this. I've been searching up and down my side of the street looking for garbage that may have contributed, and I'm coming up empty-handed. In the past, I would have obsessed about this, wondering what I'd done wrong, why she wasn't talking to me, etc. -- but now it's different. The way I figure it, if she has an issue with me, that's her choice to bring it up or not, and I can handle it then. There's absolutely no use wasting my energy wondering what's going on... and it's pretty awesome to realize that. It's interesting how many times lately I've noticed a change in the way I handle things... I suppose that's spiritual growth, right?

honesty

If I could stop time and stay in May forever, that is exactly what I'd do. It isn't as though the month is completely joyless -- it marks the Summer Solstice, the end of the school year, my older son's eleventh birthday, the start of road trips and weekend excursions and picnic lunches on blankets at the beach. But what it also marks is the first anniversary of being abandoned by The Narcissist, and also of making the decision to end a pregnancy with or without him.

If I could instead turn back time, that is exactly what I'd do. It isn't as though the time I spent with The Narcissist was completely joyless -- there were summer music festivals and concerts (both small and large) and parties and more than a few times when I thought I'd met my match. But in retrospect, those things were a series of deceptions (both self-imposed and presented to me with lovely wrappings), and had I listened to any one of my intuitions, there would have been no abandonment, no pregnancy, no hard decisions to make, no relationship to start or fall apart.

I can neither halt time nor rewind the clock, leaving me with no other option than to deal with the present. It isn't as though today is completely joyless -- I spent time with Rebel, ate lunch with The Green-Eyed Boy, will be getting ice cream with The Cute Carpenter in a little while, and will make my second meeting of the day this evening. But there is also an acute sadness, a deep sense of loss, that has taken up space in my soul over the past few days, and while I like to blame it on this time of year, regret over past circumstances, and resentment over things that I cannot change, the truth is that it's just plain-old grief. The good thing: I know how to handle that, and it's not different from staying sober: one day at a time. Namaste.

rebel conversation

After Rebel decides to cross the street by himself, while I struggle to get the bags from the day's shopping expedition out of the car:

M: Next time, wait for me to cross the street.

R: Mom, I'm five years old. I'm really strong. I can move a couch.

M: Has a couch ever tried to run you over?

R: Who would try to run me over? Have you seen how cute I am?

red-faced

I can think of few things that could happen at Chuck E. Cheese that are more embarrassing than having someone ask what I'm reading, when what I'm reading is a book called How to Make Love While Conscious: Sex and Sobriety. If there's any way outside of a bar room at 3am to be branded a sex-crazed woman who can't handle her alcohol, leave it to me to find it in a venue intended for children.

shoulda coulda woulda

I should...

...have gotten up at 7:30am -- when The Green-Eyed Boy served his daily wake-up call -- but I had a killer headache and instead went back to bed until after 10am, only narrowly making it to the house in time for the 11am meeting.

...be working today, but instead I'm taking the day (though not tonight) off to catch up on my Google Reader, relax, nap, finish watching Lonesome Dove, and finally make it to the antique store on Damen Avenue.

...balance my checkbook, pay my electric bill, and figure out how much I owe to get my car and renter's insurance up to date, but instead I'm surfing Craigslist for kitschy things to buy for my new apartment.

...start looking for a new sponsor (since I fired my old one), but I'm having a fine time following the recommendations of a (female) old-timer, who said, "don't tell anyone you're looking... just sit and keep your ears open and you will know when you've found her."

...put more effort into unpacking boxes rather than hiding them in closets, but I'm just a tad bit tired of trying to sort things out and I'm willing to admit and accept (for now) that things only look organized and put-together on the surface.

...write the syllabus and semester lesson plans for the class I start teaching in less than two weeks, but part of me wants to see what the students know already before deciding and telling them what they need to learn.

...quit my teaching job for next year, because I can live quite well on my full-time job, but the part of me that thinks walking away is always a weakness wants to hang on.

...call to get my Internet and cable hooked up, but I've been doing just fine not watching six or seven hours of television every day, so this may be a turn for the better.

...not be thinking so much about chocolate and chocolate vegan cake and chocolate cookies, but I'm only on Day Six of the Chocolate Reduction Plan and, well, it's not so easy to forget about chocolate.

***

In truth and honesty and reality, I could have done any of these things, and I would have done them if they were really all that necessary and important, but today I am able to sort out my shoulds and coulds and woulds in ways that keep me sane. I am at peace today, even if (and despite that) my To Do list takes on an entirely difference character every single day. Anxiety and worry have left the building (for now, at least), and I do not miss them in the least.

an open apology

Despite almost-five days together in New York – three televised Mets’ games (two of which I napped through while laying on your chest), multiple trips for bagels and New York pizza, purchasing I (Heart) New York t-shirts (me) and sandalwood soap (you) in Chinatown after eating at your favorite pulled noodle place, walking across the Brooklyn Bridge, having sex no less than seven (eight?) times, an Ethan Coen play starring F. Murray Abraham, Godard’s Contempt at the Film Forum, a Mike Doughty show down the street from my rented condo, and a rooftop view-tour of your Brooklyn neighborhood – we’d spoken on the phone for less than five minutes, and that was just for logistics, the day I arrived. We would have talked again, too -- you had even asked if we could, soon -- when you would have said you wanted to give it a try and see if it could work... but before that could happen I sent an email saying I'd met someone else.

Later, you said our meeting was improbable, that you thought we could forge an equally improbable relationship of sorts, despite the 792 miles between us, and had you said these things before I flew to my Chicago and left you in your Brooklyn, perhaps I would have been less susceptible to something less abstract, less imaginary than a cute indie music journalist who lived in a city that wasn’t mine.

In the beginning – when we met in Albuquerque – the idea of a long-distance thing with a New York boy was intriguing, romantic, the stuff of wild romance and love affairs and torrid mid-life experiences, the sort of fantastic thing I’d hoped for myself when I was fourteen, or eighteen, or six months before. And perhaps it was something for which I still I hoped when I arrived in the west Village on a Friday morning, or hours later when you showed up on my doorstep with flowers and a kiss, or on Sunday morning when you went out for bagels and coffee and the Times, or my last day, when we walked across the Brooklyn Bridge and I took our picture: me, smiling and happy; you, eyes closed. I was too self-conscious to ask you to take another. When I returned home, I put the photo booth pictures we’d taken in Park Slope on my refrigerator, on top of all the other ones, still holding onto the idea that a New York boy -- you, actually -- could be the answer to any questions I could have asked.

Also later, when I told you about The Green-Eyed Boy in the least revealing terms possible, and I said I needed to see it through, you said "I feel fucking awful" and told me you wanted to know me more, sleep on my sheets, but that maybe you'd been more or less imaginary to me, making it easy for someone here to replace and usurp someone not-here. It's more accurate to say I didn't believe you could ever be mine to be had, which in practice ended up being the same thing. Mixed signals, mixed messages, mixed metaphors... whatever it is that happened -- and I can't untangle it, not yet -- it was a mess, and it hurt me, too. It did.

I can't know -- not now, anyhow -- whether I made the right choice, did the right thing, weighed my options proportionately or correctly. I can't even tell whether I was weighing You against Him or New York against Chicago -- it's not that easy, though I wish it were. I told The Green-Eyed Boy about you, thinking it was the right thing to do, the least I could do, something I could manage to eke out for the man who said he can't be my friend without wanting me. And for reasons I don't want to think about too terribly much, when I was in Texas I spent an hour skimming back issues of Paste looking for your byline, and I could see and feel and taste you in every word you wrote.

Maybe you'll be the one I pushed away, the one I let escape, the one I urged to forget me, decisions unsure and unclear and perhaps ripe for regret, the one question that will never have an answer. For now, though, I've still got to see this one through. And I'm still sorry. I wish you could know that.

sun shines in

I never noticed before, in my old apartment, how dark it was and how closed-in I felt. When I moved there in December 2007, I thought it was sunny enough and certainly brighter than any of the other spaces I'd lived in for some time. But being in the new apartment, I realize now what I've been missing. Rather than overlooking the courtyard with windows on only one side of the apartment, I'm now on the corner of the building -- and on the top floor -- overlooking E Avenue on one side and L Street on the other (I'm not so dumb that I'm publicizing my address online...), with a wonderful view of the treetops and the roofs of the neighborhood. And the sun just pours in, making me very happy, happier than I thought I could be living somewhere.

I've also noticed a real difference in the demeanor of my cat, as well as my relationship with her. She's become more of a companion and less of a pain in my ass, and I think it's for a lot of the same reasons I'm feeling so gosh darn comfortable in this space. I look around my apartment, and for the first time in a very long time -- perhaps for the first time ever -- this isn't just a place in which I sleep and eat and bathe... this is my home, and more than ever it's exactly what I want it to be. I guess you could say that my love affair with life grows deeper every day. Namaste.

a new freedom and a new happiness

I'm not going to pontificate about love and how great it is to (finally) be in a "normal" relationship, but it's hard for me to continue blogging without at least mentioning how blessed I feel to have met The Green-Eyed Boy, and to say that it's been a wonderful past few weeks. Meeting him was totally unexpected -- had he not been off of work and decided to show up at meetings he normally wouldn't have, and had I not changed my meeting schedule, we never would have met. And it's kind of weird, but you know how everyone always says you find what you need when you stop looking, and you get what you've always wanted when you let go of all expectations? Well, damned if it wasn't true.

I think about myself now vs. the me from one year ago, and I want to weep at the difference. I think back at how dysfunction and chaos were par for the course, something I thought I had to accept and tolerate in order to be with someone who said he loved me. I equated "love" with "pain" -- that's what I'd grown up with, and I'd long since come to expect that if someone said "I love you" then it was only a matter of time before the firestorm began. And I could make the choice to blame the people who hurt me, but they are only partially responsible: I was the one who sought out dysfunctional situations. I was the one who allowed them to continue. I was the one who stayed when I should have been long gone. This doesn't mean those who hurt me are not culpable, only that I need to remember that I could have left at any time, and I did not.

Talking with The Green-Eyed Boy tonight, we both marveled at how this relationship is different from ones in our pasts. He said, "I've never been with a 'normal' woman before," which made me laugh, because for someone to think I'm on an even keel and completely awesome and cool means I've made a lot of positive changes in my life. And on my end of things, I've never been with someone quite like him before -- he is so devilishly handsome he takes my breath away every time I see him, but he also makes me laugh heartily, and he is so easy to be around, and he is also strong and masculine and I can feel safe with him in a way I've never fully experienced before. And when he says, "You're my girl," my heart does a little flutter that escapes in the softest of sighs.

Maybe I did pontificate a little bit, but give a girl a break. I'm head over heels, and I deserve a little compassion.

bedtime conversation with renegade

Renegade: I can never have my friends over here.

Me: Why?

R: Well, unless you hide all your stuff.

M: What stuff?

R: The weird artwork and magnets and all your wacky books.

M: Kids are supposed to be embarrassed of their parents.

R: Yeah, but I want to be embarrassed in normal ways.

M: Normal ways?

R: Can't you just, like, get a perm or something?

M: A perm? Do you even know who I am?

R: Yeah, a weirdo. How about some mom jeans?

M: At some point, you're going to realize what a cool mom I am.

R: Maybe, but that's at least three years away. What am I supposed to do in the meantime?

last day in texas

I'm finally at the airport, and within an hour I'll be homeward bound. I've never been so happy to be heading back to Chicago.

I did see my brother for about 15 minutes last night, and of course he said all the things he usually says: "next time..." and "if only..." and a thousand other "what if" platitudes and promises. If there's one thing I've learned over the past year, though, it's that life isn't worth living in the hypotheticals -- it's the small moments, here and now, that matter and if you can't show up in the present, no amount of "next time..." statements will soothe the souls of those who are disappointed.

If the weather holds today, The Green-Eyed Boy and I will be heading to the Chicago Botanic Garden to lounge on a blanket, eat a picnic lunch, and generally catch up after my absence. His birthday is Saturday, but he'll be out of town, so we're planning a couple of day trips this week -- and possibly an overnight trip next week -- to celebrate. Really, though, I'll be happy to see his face at O'Hare and even just an enthusiastic hug will be just fine. I can't wait to make it back home. Namaste.

i hate mondays

I was going to write an account of all the ways in which my brother has disappointed me since I've arrived, but I don't see the point. Suffice it to say that today is more of the same; he'd been saying all along "Monday's our day, sis. Monday is all yours," and of course I saw him for an hour and had to come to the coffeehouse to get work done and he says, "I'm having a cookout with mom tonight" and then it occurs to me that I've wasted a few hundred dollars showing up for someone who doesn't give a real damn whether I stay or go. He said he would be back at 11pm so we can "hang out" -- but my flight is at 6am, I have to wake up at 3:30am (at the latest), and his idea of "staying up all night" is something for which I have little mental stamina, even on my best of days.

So, then, I'm at the coffeehouse, and in a little while I'll be heading out to buy a cowboy hat for Rebel. I'm going to make one last meeting tonight, after I eat dinner with Tim and Aimee, who have been such kind and gracious hosts, considering that I suspect they thought my brother would be the one entertaining me and instead I've spent the majority of my non-working time with them. On the one hand I feel a bit like the lonely spinster sister... but then in talking to The Green-Eyed Boy, he reminded me that I'm an awesome and interesting person and they are probably having a good time getting to know me and learning about my life. I suppose this is true, and I need to get off of my pity potty. But it's really, really hard. As Slavegirl said in a BlackBerry chat today (and I paraphrase), it's rough when my brother is the one person in my family I get along with and this is what happens. I wonder if I'll have the energy to actually see my dad on Tuesday when I get back into town. At this point, I don't know.

Whatever the case, I have an afternoon of sorts planned for myself. I went thrift shopping this morning and scored a wonderful vintage Samsonite suitcase -- I've bought so much stuff that I needed to buy a second bag to bring home -- for $5, plus some Levi's jeans and a cute outfit from the Gap that I'll probably wear on the plane tomorrow so I can look pretty when The Green-Eyed Boy picks me up from the airport. I'm going to swing by another thrift shop before getting the cowboy hat... and then dinner with my hosts... and a meeting... and reading before I go to bed early, praying and meditating and trying to somehow rejuvenate my emotional state. Namaste.

downturn

I've been here since midnight Thursday, and I've seen my brother for a total of three hours, two of which was spent in a sports bar and grill while he was drinking and flitting about between family and friends. He blew me off Friday night. He blew me off last night. And even though I told myself that I didn't have any expectations for him today, I thought that he'd at least see me today, especially since I gave up Mother's Day with my own kids to be here for him.

But, no, I'm at a lake with Tim and Aimee, both of whom are confused and a bit appalled that they've spent about 1000 percent more time with me than my brother: we've gone out to lunch, watched a video together, went to dinner and the movies, and now the lake. And I was supposed to drive to Austin for the day tomorrow with my brother, but instead I'm calling American Airlines tonight to inquire about coming home early, because the way things are going I'll end up twiddling my thumbs here yet again while he's out somewhere or hung over or something.

I'm trying really hard right now not to be resentful at the fact that I've spent -- at this point -- $400 in travel costs (plane ticket + rental car), plus another couple hundred dollars on food and gas and his graduation gift. I knew he was like this when he visits me, but I never thought he'd be like this when I spent my own time and money -- and sacrificed seeing my kids -- to visit him, especially since I hear all the time how much he appreciates my support and my being here.

Or maybe this is a lesson, one that teaches me what I was like before I got sober, back when I made promises I fully intended to keep but then never did, when people knew better than to count on me but they did anyhow, because they hoped things would be different just this one next time.

When I told my brother I might be flying out early, he was disappointed, as though tomorrow would be an atonement for his ignoring me since I've arrived. But maybe it's also a lesson for him, or maybe this is my mild version of an intervention, in which I have to draw the line somewhere and have to send a message that sometimes you just don't get the time to make up for what you didn't do, which is why you're supposed to do the right things when they are presented to you.

Honestly, I'm confused as to how I feel about this whole thing, but I'm trying to listen to my intuitions and what that means tonight is calling the airline. One of the roles I always had in my family was being the stable and responsible one, the person who could stand steadfast and grin and bear it amid disappointment and sadness. I think my brother expects me to be that person still, or perhaps again, but I'm not anymore. It's hard for me to put all of this in the perspective of my recovery, and to parse it all out in terms of what I need to do to best preserve my sanity and sobriety, but the way it is now just feels wrong. And maybe that's the only reason I need to go home early.

mother's day

It's Mother's Day, and I'm a little less than a thousand miles from either of my children, which I suppose is fitting, on some level, a sort of psychic punishment for the past few years. But not really; I chatted with Rebel on the phone day, and he reminded me of his wish list of souvenirs: "real" maracas, a cowboy hat, and a stuffed animal armadillo. Several friends have called and texted me to say Happy Mother's Day, too, and that makes it a little less lonesome. My brother is supposed to come by Tim's house tonight so we can all watch a movie and order take-out, but I'm not expecting much. Today in a meeting I heard that our serenity is inversely proportional to our holding on to expectations, and I can honestly say this has been 100% true in my life. Rather than be disappointed, I'm planning that he won't show up, and we'll have a grand time with or without him.

I'm thinking of flying home early, on Monday instead of Tuesday, depending on the cost... though there is part of me that thinks doing so would be me escaping, not showing up, being a coward, not wanting to walk through fear and instead high-tailing it back to the land of comfort, distance, and disconnection. So maybe I'll stay and call it a spiritual learning experience.

Speaking of which, it occurred to me that I might want to start going to church. Not the Catholic church of my youth -- uh, no thanks -- but perhaps a Unitarian church or a Buddhist temple. I've been doing a lot of spiritual seeking as of late, and reading a lot of spiritual writing, and I feel pulled in that direction. I don't know that I've had a full-out born-again experience like Anne Lamott, but something has shifted in me -- and I am still an atheist, in the sense that I do not believe in a God the Creator, but I am also discovering something in and around me that I cannot explain in any other way than to say it is divine and it is grace and it is love and it is everywhere, and I want to learn how to live a life filled with and surrounded by that.

And, oh, I miss The Green-Eyed Boy.

one down...

So I talked to my dad a little while ago, and I had a chance to make what I suppose amounts to some sort of amends over our falling-out in 2001. He's going to be in Chicago until Wednesday morning, and so I offered to bring the boys by my grandmother's house for a little while on Tuesday. He's never met Rebel, and Renegade was only four the last time they saw each other. It's going to be weird, but certainly no weirder than going up to him, telling him I was sorry, and saying I loved him and understood he'd only ever done the best he could.

My mother is a different story. I haven't yet come to terms with her in the same way, and don't know if or when I will. And my sister? Ugh. Not going there. For today, my dad is a big enough accomplishment, especially since I had to pray a zillion times and take a nap even to get up the courage to show up at the graduation-party-in-a-bar this afternoon. Tim and his wife and I will be leaving soon to see Iron Man, and I'm going to call it a relatively early evening tonight, calling The Green-Eyed Boy for a bedtime chat and then meditating more, so I can take care of myself in the ways I know how -- which, as it turns out, are pretty darn significant, given that I've been able to get through this day (so far) without completely losing all serenity and sanity. Namaste.

and here it is

I'm having a tough time walking through the fear right now, sitting in the UNT Coliseum and waiting for commencement to begin. This is the reason I came, but the desire to flee is strong. This coliseum seats 9,000 people and the odds of being cornered by my parents or sister while I'm sitting here minding my own business are quite slim, but my hands are shaking so much I can barely type on my BlackBerry and I keep thinking of the Zen book I'm reading and how sometimes all you have to do is remember to breathe. So here I sit, praying and breathing, breathing and praying, asking for the courage not to slink out of here, either literally or figuratively. Breathing and praying: at least I have that to stop the shaking. Namaste.

same old song and dance

I'm not even in town for 24 hours and already my brother has blown me off because a hotel bar called his name before he remembered I was waiting, along with his friends, for him to swing by. This shouldn't surprise me; as I mentioned to Tim a few minutes ago, whenever my brother and I are in the same city, he's only present about 10 percent of the time -- 70 percent of the time he is drunk (or in the process of getting drunk), and 20 percent of the time he is chasing after some girl, who is always "maybe The One" (meaning she's attractive and falls for his smooth lines). In the past this would have angered me, or disappointed me, or perhaps even made me think he doesn't love or care about me as much as he should. I'm his big sister and I came all this way to support him and he repays me by blowing me off?

This time around, though, what I say to Tim is, "he has a good heart," because he does. I've taken -- at times -- to imagining people as they must have been at age six or seven, the time when they were old enough to know they needed love and young enough to feel disappointed (and wounded) when they didn't get it. It forces me to feel deep compassion for people when I'd rather hold on to bitterness and superiority, both of which help my sobriety about as much as a shot of tequila.

With my brother, though, it's not just imagining him as a small child; I was there, and I lived through that pain with him, and in many instances I remember things he has repressed. For example, I witnessed my father drop-kicking him across the room when he was seven and I was nine, but my brother only knows it happened because I've told him. It seems to me an odd thing to forget, your father treating you like a football, but we all have our safety mechanisms and that's one of his.

And I get that my brother-as-a-boy is the root of who he is now, the seeds of why he drinks and disappoints and disappears. I know probably more than he wants to believe I do about the motivations for his behavior, but I also know something he does not: I don't really care anymore.

Well, actually, I do care. After all, he's my brother, and I see the same spiritual sickness in him that I suffer from myself. But what I don't care about is the supposed impact it's having on me -- yeah, he's blowing me off; yeah, he's disappointing me; yeah, I came all this way and all I've done all day is hang out in a coffeeshop and read magazines and take a nap (and go to a meeting) because he's been completely absent. But he knows every one of these things -- it is not my place to remind him or lay a guilt trip on him or otherwise badger him. What is my role? To keep my own side of the street clean, as they say. To do the right things for my own sanity and sobriety. To show up for him, but to do so with clear boundaries that ensure I keep dignity and self-respect.

Right now I'm very sad for my brother. He needs help, and it's the sort of help that only comes when he decides he's had enough. I'm supposed to go out to a bar with him after his graduation tomorrow, and my family will be there, but I've mostly decided I won't go, since he's said he'll be drinking up a storm. I don't doubt that I'd be able to handle it -- I am a strong person -- but just because I know I can walk across hot coals doesn't mean I should jump at every opportunity to do so. It doesn't work that way.

Honestly, I don't know what the morning will bring, other than additional opportunities to do the right things. I'm walking through fear, and all I can do is keep on going. Namaste.

friday roundup

I'm going out to lunch today with my brother, and my music-genius host and his wife. I asked, last night, if there were vegetarian restaurants in town (I usually research this before arriving) and my brother said, "There are vegans in Denton" quite nonchalantly and for some reason it was the funniest thing I'd heard all evening. It occurs to me that I find my brother less annoying now, all his Southern charms and slow-paced thinking that drove me crazy just nine months ago. I wish he and I could be better friends. I also wish he could be sober. Only one of those things has anything remotely to do with anything in my control.

***

Since arriving, I've read this week's Time Out Chicago -- somehow skipping to the sex column before wading patiently through music and movie reviews for shows and films I won't be in town to see -- and I was a bit regretful I'd decided to leave my favorite vibrator on my nightstand. So I've been reading Anne Lamott's Grace (Eventually) and trying not to think about matters of the flesh, as it were.

***

Talking to The Green-Eyed Boy when I woke up this morning he said, "Even if your family were normal, you'd still be nervous," but I wasn't buying it. And I've been thinking that I don't feel anxiety or fear or worry or anything necessarily bad, but instead as though my spirituality has a catch in its throat, or a blockage, or just something preventing it from operating properly. I'll get to a meeting today, though, and perhaps that will be the salve I need.

***

Speaking of family: they are going to Six Flags today, and I am not. They are going to dinner tonight, and I'm taking myself to a meeting and movie. Tomorrow is another dinner, and I told my brother I would only go it his friends are there. I will be brave and walk into uncomfortable situations, but suicide missions stopped being my thing some time ago.

***

I miss The Green-Eyed Boy more than I thought I would. Then again, we've been inseparable for some time now, and I've grown quite used to his presence, but also his smell and the way he feels. He drove me to the airport yesterday (he is using my car while I'm gone) and instead of just dropping me off -- what anyone and everyone else in my life would do -- he walked with me as far as he could, right up to the security checkpoint, and even then waited to see me through the other side. It feels wonderful to be the recipient of all that care, even more so now that I finally feel I deserve it.

***

And speaking of my beau, we're going on a road trip when I come back, in celebration of his 28th birthday, which will pass when he's out of town on a retreat. It will be short -- only a day and a half or so -- but I'm looking forward to it, and not just because I'll get to fall asleep in his arms for longer than an afternoon nap on my couch. I feel like a broken record, saying how wonderful this sudden happening is, but it's also true. I'm happier than I've been in a long time, and much of it has to do with meeting The Green-Eyed Boy and realizing there was someone fantastic out there who is sober and works a good program and is seriously gorgeous and who treats me the way I deserve to be treated. And he's smart and honest and kind and he makes me laugh.

***

Now, I'm still in bed in the guest room of this musician friend of my brother. This home is spectacular, with its built-in bookcases and hundreds of.records and a tiny music studio carved out for my host's songwriting. We stayed up until almost 3am, chatting about little things, my brother playind darts, my host being mellow and exuding a scent I associate with indie musicians: a mixture of sandalwood and clean soap and possibly marijuana and just plain sweet enthusiasm, which has to have a smell of its own, right? It still feels like a foreign place, though, which is why I'm blogging in bed with Anne Lamott open on the nightstand and my left foot sticking out from under the covers. I don't much feel like getting up, like putting myself out there and being a regular nondysfunctional human being right now. So I'm going to read some more Lamott. I'm going to pray. I'm going to meditate and feel the strength in my soul and my limbs and my heart. I'm going to pray some more. And then I'm going to take a shower and see where life takes me today.

day one

Being in Denton is a little like being in a foreign country, even though I grew up only a few hours away in the same state. Texas changes from mile to mile, though, and this is a space I've never navigated, a fact about which I feel slightly guilty, given that my brother has lived here for thirteen years.

I don't quite know how to navigate being around my brother as an adult. When he mentions he's thirty-two, I wonder where the time has gone. When I moved to Chicago he was fourteen, shorter than I, voice still squeaky, yet to find the suave Casanova persona he's by now perfected. The default mode of interacting with him makes me feel less like an older sister turned peer and much, much more like a reincarnation of my mother. I don't intend for this to happen, but it does anyhow. I don't want to invoke my mother, particularly since I've striven so hard to be different than she was, but I find her legacy seeping out in small ways: my tone of voice, the wording of my questions, the adult-ish attitude I take when my brother confesses to his sexual exploits and drinking mishaps.

The truth: I'm uncomfortable here, more so than I've found myself since my grandfather's funeral last Fall. I don't know who I am or how to be -- other than that I know I'm not the same person I was when I was last thrown into the merciless pit of my family. I've never visited my brother in *his* element, and this is throwing me off a bit, something that didn't occur to me and therefore I could not have predicted.

Of course I'm having second thoughts about being here, but I can't back out now. I miss my boyfriend, I miss my bed, I miss my car, and I miss being sure of all the things I've learned about myself. But Tuesday morning will come soon enough, and I'll be back home, and I'll be grateful I was able to show up for my brother despite how uncomfortable and strange it was for me. Namaste.

ahhhh

I've decided to take the day off of work -- or at least until late tonight when I'm rested a bit. I'm snuggled up in my new papasan chair in one of two reading nooks I've carved out in my new place, both of which overlook the neighborhood and afford me a pleasant view of treetops and birds' nests and blue skies. I'm reading Carol Shields' The Stone Diaries and resting my feet and relishing the cool breeze that has come after this morning's storms. Namaste.

:(

I hurt someone today who I really cared about, and that makes me very sad. I don't know what to do other than say I'm sorry, and I did, but that doesn't really make things better, does it?

adjustment

You know how when people get out of prison and they don't know how to function in the real world and they crave being institutionalized? I'm not going to say that I know what that feels like, but after spending the past three years of my life sequestered to the couch, sleeping in an 8x10 office, and living in studio apartments no larger than 350 square feet, I'm having a difficult time feeling comfortable in my new apartment. Last night, I slept in the living room.

random friday roundup

I've decided Fridays are time for random reflections. Consider it part of my Zen plan for the Summer of 2008, which is totally unplanned and random but nonetheless introspective and necessary for my continued spiritual growth, which is alternately skyrocketing and stagnating.

***

The Green-Eyed Boy gave an awesome lead last night that stirred up a lot of stuff I haven't thought about in a while, which set me into a contemplative mood. He said, "You know you can tell me anything, right?" and I did know -- and do know -- but I don't want to tell him anything. I don't want to continue to be that person with all the sad stories of people who have disappointed me. I want to be the girl who skips down the sidewalk and glows when she walks into the room because all of her sins have been absolved and all her darkness has become light. Maybe it's enough for now that I can be that person 78% of the time, and the rest is growing pains. Maybe.

***

Exploring some of the lingering pain over the pregnancy from last summer, my therapist says, "You can ask for an apology. You can say what you need. Just don't expect to get what you're looking for." And I don't, which is why I don't ask, and also why I won't. The dark cloud appears at unexpected times, though -- last night, when I was passing a package of saltine crackers along to a tiny little girl and her hands were just so small, soft pretty petals on a flower I'll never find again.

***

I spent the better part of two hours last night reading dating websites, trying to figure out if a boy "likes me likes me" or just "likes me" -- and I'm guessing he went home, texted me goodnight, then went to sleep and didn't give it a second thought. This is further evidence that guys have it a lot easier. Or at least they can sleep on uncertainty, doubt, and not knowing whether spending 6-10 hours a day together every day for a week means you're dating someone or are just really good friends with a lot of time on their hands.

***

Texas is looming. I'm talking a lot about it, but I don't know how I feel.

***

I skipped my last day of graduate school because I felt squirrelly -- three meetings yesterday -- and ended up at the Cubs game. It was colder than I would have preferred, but we had fairly good seats (I think? what do I know? it was my first time there!), and more than anything it was pretty darn spectacular to be in an unfamiliar place in a familiar city. "I have spent too much time in Chicago without doing Chicago things," I told The Green-Eyed Boy. "Stick with me, kid," he said. "You're going to have the summer of your life." [See above.]

***

I've been reading this book about Zen that The Philosopher loaned me when I asked, "What can I read that's spiritual but nontheistic?" It talks about simple things: eating, sleeping, breathing. It occurs to me that no one has ever taught me how to be a human being participating in the world at large. My favorite lesson, so far: "if you are hungry, eat; if you are tired, sleep; if you are awakey, be awake." It's the sort of book I'll have to read a hundred times to internalize, and even then there will always be more. Sort of like life.

***

Moving begins today, and I am not sad but I'm not entirely happy. I don't much like change. I'm second-guessing myself. I'm worried about how it will all get done. I fret that I don't have enough stuff to fill up the new place. I'm concerned about my feet and whether they'll hold up. I don't like asking for help, and so even though there is plenty of help forthcoming, it feels as though I'm forcing myself into a pair of ill-fitting shoes. The Cute Carpenter is coming over to measure for bookcases he is building me as a housewarming present, and my gratitude mixes with uncertainty and all I can do is say "Thank you," which I suppose is what normal people do everywhere around the world when someone is kind.

***

It's the last day of class, and a student brought donuts, and when he walked in -- five minutes late, with the box and a cup of coffee -- I remembered (too late) that I said I would do the same. I'm so tired of teaching. I don't think I can do this past the summer class, and if I didn't need the money, I'd quit that, too.

***

Despite the dour mood, I am okay. I just feel very much in limbo, in a no-man's land, in a space where nothing is certain and anything can happen. I crave predictability, and the fact that I do so is a sign that everything has changed. When I get to the other side, I will be safe again. For now it's enough to know that the other side exists.

yay for green-eyed boys

The Green-Eyed Boy called me up this morning and asked if I wanted to see the Cubs this afternoon, so of course I said, "Hell, yeah!" We went to an 11am meeting together, grabbed some lunch, went to the game, came back to my place to chill for a while, then went to the 6:30pm, and then the 8pm (where he gave the lead), and then off to Giordano's with other sober folks for a late dinner. I feel as though my life is finally becoming at least a little bit familiar again. Finally.