Posts (page 2)

am:

the bed is rumpled
around us; i do not want
to get up and go.

noonish:

class went well; then fell
apart, but the room was bright--
they took care of things fine.

evening:

wet greendark out there;
cats and i are dry inside
he'll be back home soon.

Feeling better, which is nice.

I have done the hard work, for years, to come to terms with having a father who sucks. For a long time, my work centered on de-trauma-ing from the years of his rages, his cruelties, his unpredictability, the overall clusterfuckstorm of his presence in my childhood. Eventually, I started working on the sadness and loss of feeling fatherless, not having a grown-man mentor, someone to ask questions, get help solving problems from, make proud, have fun with---whatever: all the stuff dads seem to do/be for people. Finally, I began to see that I was pretty fine anyway, that I'd gotten most of his better qualities and few of his worst, that I'd made relationships with a number of really excellent men, that in those relationships, I'd developed a solid role model for the way men could be, and that I could finally use that model to choose a partner who really rocks. And so forth and so on.

I've gone long stretches of time since I was 11 out of contact with my dad. I stopped visiting him when I was 12, cut off contact from 14-17, and then again, from 18-26 or so. Later, after I'd faced him and put some relationship back together, I had enough of his crap again, and cut him out for another few years. In the past 5 or so, though, I've been doing this really good job of maintaining a connection, in which I show up with a reasonably open mind, stick around if he's being good, and politely take my leave if he's not. It works pretty well and I'm proud of the way I walk this path, generally. I feel pretty sure that it will matter to me that I did this when he's gone, and I'm glad I'll be able to have spent whatever positive time together we have gotten.

But, christ, it is just so crazy-making sometimes to have a relationship with a man who is incapable or unwilling (whichever it is) to ever act like a parent. He just doesn't have the parent gene or chromosome or whatever it is. He is motivated always first and foremost and second and last, by his own self-interest and comfort, and he still lapses into big, bizarre episodes of aggression, and he still really is just an asshole by nature pretty much most of the time. No manners, to say the least.

I relate to him largely by way of detachment. I show up with zero expectations, I try really hard not to hook for good or ill. I've really grown as a result. It's a remarkable opportunity for spiritual practice.

But sometimes it just hurts. It seems impossible to truly forget that he's technically my dad, to completely let go of any expectations for father-ness, to not be hurt and sad when he's mean and shitty. To not be his daughter, basically, but to instead be a person who continues to be connected to him. And if I really weren't his daughter, I would never, ever, ever show up to be treated like this. Ever. It has been a long time since I have willingly participated in any relationship where I'm demeaned or abused or just treated with less than basic respect.

Today's one of those days when it feels like I'm living a family koan and it just hurts and makes me feel sad and I super want to hit him with a truck or at least not fucking talk to him again for a few years.

Sorry to not make a whole ton of sense, I think. Thanks fer reading. Hope all's well with all.

My dad is just such a total fucking asshole. And if anything's gonna make me feel like I've been timewarped into some whiny teenager, it's writing that sentence. Christ.

I am opposed to the flu, regardless of kind. SLP's graduation party went off with a bang this weekend, even though his mother, sister, and father were all hit with the flu in the three days before, he got it the night before, and I got it the night after. God willing, we didn't give it to any guests. I aired out the house with a great vengeance all weekend and cleaned all surfaces, and I haven't heard any reports or reproaches yet, so I'm still hopeful.

I made it into work on Tuesday morning for my professional writing class's presentations, but then hit it back home to bed immediately. Have been sleeping or reading since then---makes it 3 days in bed in all, something I haven't done in so long I can't remember when I did last. This morning, I feel reasonably human, but have only been  up for just under an hour. Gotta go to work today, though, no compromises, as it's officially the last day of class and I have to pick up final portfolios and watch the last batch of presentations.

Think good thoughts.

Ah, Thursdays...

Accomplished:

1. Taught the last 'real' session of the professional writing class that's been driving me nuts. The really awful kid didn't show up, which was just lovely, and things went generally well. All we have left is presentations next week. :)
2. My first-year writing course at The Community College also went very well.
3. Graded one full batch of Final Portfolios--all stunning, for the most part. Got lots of nice comments back from students about the class being awesome, about me being a good teacher. Super cool.
4. Final grades posted for that section--2 C-'s, a handful of Bs, and the rest, all well-deserved As. :) :) :)
5. Updated records for the rest of my classes.
6. Spent a lovely evening with the in-laws, who are down for SLP's graduation from college this weekend!!

Well, my deep-fried twinkie TV didn't help as much as I'd like. grrrrr...

I'm just locked in a mental wrestling match with the people in my professional writing class. They're simply maddenning. You could, and I almost have, tapdance naked with flowers growing out of your ass, and these people would simply sit there and look at you, expressionless. Today was just ridiculous---it makes me so steamed, I'm not even going to dip a toe into describing it here. Otherwise, I think this post could easily turn into a rabbit-hole of bitching. But it was. Ridiculous. Rimotherfuckingdiculous.

Makes me nuts---they don't ask questions, they won't ask questions, they barely answer them, they almost never laugh. I'm going a little extreme in my description out of emotionality---we have had some good days. But, still. Cripes. It's like being stuck waiting tables in the non-smoking section on a real drag of a night for an entire semester.

And it burns me up no end that I know that the main thing I'm tied up in is struggling hard with feeling like I haven't done as good a job as I could have as a teacher. I hate, hate, hate letting students down; hate it. And I haven't done so here, which makes me extra NUTS. I definitely haven't done the best job of teaching this course, at all, but it's my first time out with it. I have worked hard at planning and assignment design, assessment and feedback, and developing classroom community and practices for doing the work. I have actually brought a pretty genuinely welcoming heart to every fucking class section, even though I've been pretty pissed off at other times. Given all the variables, I'd give myself a B-/B for the term for this one.

A B-/B is an absolutely fine grade for a first-time class, for God's sake. And yet, I am just all snared up in evil because they just aren't stepping up to their end of the relationship. Which makes nothing but sense, because if I have ever had a serious problem with my relationshipping, it's been with taking too much responsibility for other people not stepping up to their end of a relationship.

I mean the answer to my problem is to just stop being so sure I know anything about what these people are thinking or feeling. They do not talk to me, for God's sake; how could I possibly have any idea??? If I accept that I don't know what's going on behind their expressions (or lack thereof), then I have to stop being so ego-driven and taking it all so fucking personally. I have to accept that their discomfort or whatever could be about a zillion other things that are not me. As the old saying goes, the world does not revolve around me.

Ok, I write that, and I start to feel a little ease, a little spaciousness opening up.

And it's not that dramatic, either, is it? No. In my experience, really genuinely dramatic stuff doesn't happen in my life. A person's life rarely depends on the outcome of my actions---nothing in my world is that big a deal. Right. I remember this. I know this often, lately. I'm a fan of knowing this.

And yet more spaciousness opens up. And I realize that out of a class of 12, I only have 3 people who are actually actively resistant/aggressive. I have 1 that's really just lovely and brave, 5 that are good, hardworking, sweet people who are just very, very shy, 1 that is sooooo dear, in the few moments that he connects and lights up, and 2 who kind of just hang out. Also, all of them, even the really obnoxious little shit, have grown as writers this term, at least in some measure, and some, really, quite a bit.

And we only meet 3 more times. And 2 of those are presentation days. And then it's over, and I get to go on and do a better job next time.

And now I really start to feel better. Nicer. Less like a total asshole teacher. Which is nice.

I'm just going to go in on Thursday, bring them what they need to do, and be as nice to them as I can. I won't try to save the class, or them, or anything. I'll just show up and do my part and have as light a touch as possible. I'm just gonna get out of the way...

Deep Fried Twinkie Day couldn't have come at a better time this week. My students in my professional writing class were more difficult to love than they have been alllllllllll term, which is saying a lot. I almost made my Deep-Fried Twinkie experience allowing myself to hate them for a couple hours, but I've decided against it. Down that path lies a nastily slippery slope, after all, and the semester ain't over yet.

Instead, I'm going to waste some time watching wonderful internet TV, and when I am in a good enough mood again, I shall go back and grade.

Happy Deep Fried Twinkie Day to all!

Mood swings are not as fun as they used to be. Hrmph.

It's a beeeyewtiful day, I'm about to meet my mom for a little shopping, and then go work at My Bar, which I dearly love to do, but guess what? I'm extraordinarily grumpy.

Frick, frick, frick, fuck. SLP is graduating from college next weekend, which is a huge joy, for real. I'm endlessly proud of him. He took a long time to nearly finish when he was younger, but then left for a good job in industry before he finished his credits. The whole thing really rocked his confidence, especially because the good job turned out to kind of suck and not be what-he-wanted-to-be-when-he-grew-up. When I met him, he was still in that phase where his family and family friends all nudged him to go back consistently and he didn't really have any plans to do so. Just mainly felt bad about himself.

Then, a year and a half ago, I think, or maybe two, he just came home and said he'd registered for classes. :) He's been going strong and steady ever since, while working full-time, and just growing and turning onto his very, very fine brain in the most delightful ways. It has been an honor to be around while he's done this. And now, I've invited around 60 people to our house to celebrate on Sunday next, including his parents and sister, who are arriving on Wednesday.

And herein lies the crux of my grumpiness. I've just been so low-level depressed and lazy this year, working hard and teaching well, but apart from that, I've been doing a lot of watching TV on the internet and not much else. So I have to clean the house top to bottom this weekend, go buy a bunch of food and drinks we can't afford (somehow we owe the tax man $1200), and not be a shitty wife who hasn't gotten anything together to celebrate her man apart from making a really sweet Evite.

From this sense of failure, of course, my attention turns with great force to all my other worries and inadequacies. We're broke, broke, broker than a joke, and all I have for work this spring/summer right now is one class at The Community College and two door shifts a week at My Bar. I still haven't gotten my ass down to the social security office to finally make my name-change official (we'll be celebrating our 3rd anniversary in August, and until SLP got his hyphenation official a couple months ago, we'd both only changed our names on our drivers' licenses), nor have I called the damned financial aid folks about the one student loan that doesn't seem to have been properly consolidated, so I'm probably damaging our credit every single day. And so on...

Grrrrrr.... I hate being depressed. It's just so irritating. I'm tired all the time, and eating like a waitress (one crappy meal a day) and all that. And of course, I'm giving myself such a ton of shit for being subpar. Grrrr....

So I guess I'm just gonna have to greet my sad, tired, self-beating self with kindness and tenderness and grapple with the definite truth that nothing is as bad as I think it is, and take myself off the hook. That's very likely to get me in a better space, and even if it doesn't get me in a great space, it'll definitely suck less than being all evil-minded like I am right now.

Grrrr....

I'm having a glorious time wasting a Tuesday afternoon, watching TV on the internet to celebrate the end of classes at one of my teaching gigs. Specifically, I'm watching Castle, and Nathan Fillion just described having sex with his ex-wife as "a deep-fried Twinkie, something that's really, really good, but so bad for you, you should only have it once or twice a year."

What a perfectly lovely metaphor. The writers got it right---roof shaking sex, with a nutjob ex-lover is, in fact, just like a deep-fried Twinkie. I looooove deep-fried Twinkies. (The metaphorical ones, that is---I've never been so blessed as to actually eat a real one. Yet.) My sweet tooth for deep-fried Twinkies has gotten me into a hill of trouble over the years, but they've also been a hill of fun. Ah, memories.......

Right, where was I? Oh, yes, deep-fried Twinkies.

Of course, anymore, being married to a really good guy, and being slightly more grownup than I used to be (or just more tired), I've kind of gotten my D-F Twinkie problem under control. Instead of recklessly going to bed with wonderful people with whom I should just nonetheless never, ever, ever have sex, or quitting jobs to move across the country because I miss the desert, these days I do stuff like take a day off when I can't possibly, sit around, watch TV, and merrily waste time.

I suppose it sounds a little sad, when I put it like that, but I assure you, I'm very, very happy with it. Disappointing though it might be to my younger, faster-healing self, I'll take the blessing of a rich, normal life over the rollercoaster thrills of full D-F Twinkie addiction any day.

Castle is a perfect little D-F Twinkie for the tired set. It's not because the show's so awesome. It isn't. After all, technically, Nathan Fillion did not just describe having sex with his ex-wife in any way. As far as I know, he doesn't even have an ex-wife. I think his character's name is Rick Castle, but that's the point. I've been watching this show since it debuted, and I'm still not sure what the lead character's name even is. It doesn't matter in the slightest, though, in terms of whether I like the show---I look forward to it every week.

There's no way Castle could've held my attention this long, at all, if it weren't for Nathan Fillion. He brings Castle the gravitas and deeprooted morality of Malcolm Reynolds (Firefly), the goodness and tenderness of Dr. Pomatter (Waitress), and his own emotional intelligence, razor sharp comic wit, and general smokin' hottness. A deep-fried Twinkie, indeed---Castle is Nathan Fillion soft-softcore porn.

Mmmmm...

I hereby call dibs that Tuesday shall hereinafter be called Deep-Fried Twinkie Day. As I've noted, I cannot roll this holiday like I once could, as I'm sure, neither can any of the people who might read this post. That's cool---we really only need a nibble to get us by. So to celebrate Deep-Fried Twinkie Day, I will spend at least 30 minutes, at most 1 hour, every Tuesday, doing some delicious thing that I probably shouldn't. And I will try to get my ass up here to blog about it, too. I have even added it to my Google Calendar, so I'll get an email reminder every week.

You should, too. It's the perfect holiday. You don't have to dress up, and there's no prep or clean-up. Even better, it just barely fits into even the most insane work week.

So I wish you all a very happy Deep-Fried Twinkie Day, and many happy returns...

Namaste