Vicarious Rising

Let it Rain

My therapist and I are in the process of breaking up. It's a very strange thing to do with deliberation and discussion. I imagine this is the way we are supposed to grow up and leave home. But I think it seldom happens in this way. It is an unusual experience, and rather uncomfortable. I feel a lot of discordant emotions, pleasure and guilt, excitement and fear. But I think in the end sum, it feels right. It feels time.

Nearly.

Decorating my home has been a joy interspersed with headaches along the way. Most of the headaches seem to be shipping related, and unfortunately cannot be pegged on just one shipping company. This has me rather disgruntled, particularly since I am rather in love with online shopping. It give me the opportunity to patronize independent artisans and smaller boutique shops and discover new things the world over. But the merchandise needs to arrive and arrive in one piece. I never had much of a problem (except for the mail lady who smoked incessantly so everything smelled of cigarettes and she also would never bring packages to the door even when we were home: she always left the "sorry we missed you" slip in the mailbox right before I'd watch her drive off in her USPS truck.) until recently. I don't know what the deal is, but it isn't like everybody is spending tons of money shopping. You'd think the delivery folk wouldn't have much else to do but get their jobs done right.

One lovely item that just arrived is this Zen Rain Drop glass mobile I purchased from Leah Pellegrini's Glass Creations on Etsy. My office faces south and gets quite a lot of sunlight. I think this will look beautiful hanging in the windows over my desk.

Leah included a little business card-sized note on her inspiration of the mobile's design, and I thought I would share it because it reflects some of what I have been going through the past several months.:

In this image of lotus leaves in the early morning, we can see in the rippling of the water that one drop has just fallen. It is a precious moment, and one that is full of poignency. In surrendering to gravity and slipping off the leaf, the drop loses its previous identity and joins the vastness of the water below. We can imagine that it must have trembled before it fell, just on the edge between the known and the unknowable.

~Osho Zen Tarot

Leah says to "remember to let go and your life will thank you". I like the imagery of the lone, trembling drop of water setting itself free. But I don't like to think of it as wiping out its entire identity. Rather, that it is joining the part of itself it had been separated from, that it is being made whole. I kind of have to wonder if the vastness below is any more knowledgeable than the lone drop above. Or does it too change beyond the impact of superficial ripples when hit by the droplet? Maybe it doesn't matter. And I'm not so sure about surrendering to gravity. I'm not in any hurry to get wrinkles. But the rest sounds good.

There I go, ruining a perfectly good metaphor with literal interpretation. I'm having a hard time taking myself too seriously these days. I think that's progress.

Because I am So Superspecial -- All About Me

The other day I declared myself positively boring on this very blog, so maybe I can debunk my own claim by filling out this self-absorbed meme. The amazing Lea Jacobson of Geisha, Interrupted tagged me. For those of you who haven't been to her blog, you should visit her droll diary of experiences as an expat in Japan. Also, Lea's memoir, Bar Flower, will be published in a few weeks. Click here to order it from Amazon.com. I pre-ordered mine ages ago.

Lord knows why Lea'd want to know anything about my upstate New York mom-of-a- teen-boy life. But, hey, I'll take any compliment I can get because I am that deprived and pitiful. Now that I have sufficiently lowered expectations, here are the sordid details of my secret life as a horny housewife:

What I was doing 10 years ago

Living off crazy South Street in Philadelphia and attending the Wharton school for my MBA. My son was 3-years-old and I was one of only three mothers in the grad program. This was out of a total of 750 enrolled. We three were the most exhausted of any of the students, and I am not saying this for dramatic effect. All the men with kids had wives who stayed at home with the kiddos during the program. My husband and one of the other mother's husband was also in the MBA program. The other woman commuted daily from Princeton, NJ so her daughter could stay in school there and her husband could keep his NYC job. Some days we three ladies would just bleerily eye each other and mumble, "no one else understands."

I hated, hated, hated business school. My drinking became an increasing problem. Everyone kept telling me I would never regret getting an Ivy League MBA, that it was a terrific opportunity and my ticket to the big time.

I should have listened to my inner voice that wanted out. Ten years later, all I have is the student loan payments (although those are nearly done, but Ivy League tuition? Pricey. Especially when you follow it up with quitting your first job out of school within 3 months and not ever stepping foot in the corporate world again.), an impressive diploma and dubious bragging rights that I drag out every so often to remind myself that everyone else does not know better than me what is best for me, no matter how pretty the credentials look on paper in the eyes of people who don't see through mine.

I did love Philadelphia, however. I miss the food there. Not the smell of South Street on Sunday morning, though. And I missed the Easter Zombie Pub crawl this year. Bummer.

Later in the year, went for a semester abroad in Milan, Italy. Was the only thing that made going to grad school remotely worthwhile.

5 years ago

Living in the middle of New Jersey (shoot me) and selling US made handbags to vendors in Japan, Taiwan and Korea on eBay. Was a surprisingly entertaining venture, although I spent all my earnings. Had stopped drinking for a year, but not in a program. Buried up to my eyeballs in pretending normalcy. Would pick up again in about a year.

1 year ago

Probably about what I am doing now, hanging out in West Palm Beach, Florida and blogging. My son keeps asking me to play games with him and I keep refusing despite the massive guilt trips. Yep. Same scene. Not a bad scene.

Yesterday

One change in this year's agenda was that I got to see my husband's grandmother from Iowa, who is visiting. That was a treat. She's a phenomenal person. She still handwrites letters, writing things as simple as: "It's 5 a.m. and there's still frost on the ground. The brown squirrel has been searching for nuts, but has given up for the morning. It might snow tomorrow. Made a batch of snickerdoodles and thought I'd send some to you. Made a pie too, from some cherries Wendi and I bought at the Barnes store, but pie wouldn't ship well, now would it?" I adore her.

5 snacks I enjoy

1) Popcorn (not microwave popcorn)
2) Wint-o-Green Lifesavers
3) Rolds-Gold Pretzels
4) Swedish Fish
5) Cheese and fruit - all kinds, even if I can't pronounce it - either the fruit or the cheese. I'll take jams, jellies, compotes, crackers and fancy breads too

5 books I like

1) My big, old dictionary that my husband rescued from being recycled or trashed (sacrilege!)
2) The Stand, Stephen King
3) Drawing from the Right Side of the Brain by Betty Edwards
4) Any fairytale or mythology book from any country, especially by Andrew Lang, Ruth Manning Sanders, the Brothers Grimm and subsequent updates by Neil Gaiman, or any books with gorgeous illustrations, plus Roald Dahl
5) J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter books (this feels like a cop out, but I did love them. there are many, many other books I have loved. I have a rather large library)

What I'd do with 100 million dollars

1) Pay off all my debt.
2) Finish doing all the stuff to my house and yard that I want to get done.
3) Get a new car. Probably a Mini Cooper. My 1999 Toyota 4-Runner has over 100,000 miles and is great here in snow country, but the CD player died about a month ago. That won't do.
4) Set up some sort of investment to live comfortably on and possibly generate some extra money to continually....
5) Give the rest to various charities and environmental concerns, local farmers, small business loans to developing nations, etc.

.....because $100 million won't be enough, but maybe in perpetuity I can do some good. But a girl's gotta live.

5 places I'd love to run away to

1) My Dream House (of course!)
2) Emilia-Romagna, Italy
3) Provence, France
4) Fiji - why not? Actually, I'd probably rather go some place in Asia or maybe back to Turkey. But not permanently.
5) Someplace beautiful I've never seen, but I'll know it when I see it. It's there. I know it. I need to travel more.

5 bad habits and pet peeves I have

1) Pet peeve: bullies
2) Pet peeve: people who write the word "then" when they should be using "than"
3) Pet peeve and bad habit: people who interrupt/interrupting people.
3.5)Pet peeve: being poked to get my attention
4) Bad habit: staying up too late and sleeping too late
5) Bad habit: picking at scabs

5 things I like doing

1) Writing, reading, learning
2) Drawing and painting
3) Cooking and gardening
4) Torturing my son
5) Just being

5 things I would never wear

1) Lilly Pulitzer clothes
2) Fur
3) Birkenstocks or Tevas
4) A blouse with a big bow at the neck
5) A t-shirt with hateful images or sayings

5 TV shows I like

1) Buffy the Vampire Slayer
2) Burn Notice
3) House
4) Angel
5) Dexter

5 movies I like

1) Moulin Rouge
2) Gladiator
3) Heathers
4) Jaws
5) Casablanca (anything with Bogie)

5 famous people I'd like to meet

1) Freddie Mercury
2) Joss Whedon
3) Angelina Jolie
4) Queen Elizabeth I
5) Jesus (and not because I am a believer, but, man, am I ever curious)

5 People I'd like to see fill this out

1) Confessions of a Serenephobic
2) Mantramine
3) Pat of Child Lost
4) Slutty McWhore
5) Syd of I'm Just F.I.N.E.

I Swear It Wasn't Because of a Baule Fetish

I've never been one for small talk. When I was a youngun, my best manner of survival was being as quiet and unseen as possible. So, while my interior world was usually quite busy, it was rare for it to crack my exterior.

When I drank, of course, there was leakage. I became more likely to share what was happening in my head. I don't know if this was to the horror or delight of my companions or anyone within 20 feet of my viscinity, but in general I don't think it was a bad thing. I was a congenial drunk, cheerful, very smiley and a bit of a smart ass. I think. At least that's how I remember it.

My therapy session have been more and more of a strain for me because I don't really have anything to bring up for discussion. In my mind, therapy is for, well, problems. Since I don't feel any particular angsty things I need to talk about, I am left wanting to ask my doc about his personal life. Which of course isn't appropriate. Well, I do ask in the most polite of manners and he'll small talk and it's all so... dry and dull.

Today he brought up that maybe we could talk about why it is so painful for me to just talk about how I am if nothing is happening. Now, you tell me, but this seems sort of stupid to me.

Yet at the same time, I get this weird niggling feeling, like I get when I read posts like the one Slutty McWhore wrote the other day about an intense meeting with a stranger. I get this feeling that I have all these plate tectonics moving around in the lava under my skin, ready to erupt, but it just isn't coming out at the surface. And for some reason, that mask of steel I've got on my outside still isn't budging. But I feel fine. I really do. But I can't say I feel connected to anyone else.

Does any of this make sense?

I think that I am still in a place where I am not able to relate to other people well at all. The only way that I ever feel truly connected to others is when I write. And I don't just mean blogging, I mean when I write fiction, I feel closer to human beings, when I am relating to made up characters. I wonder if there is something inherently mental about that. Because I also know whenever I try to make a character similar to me, she is the singularly most boring character on the planet. And she has absolutely nothing to say.

Much like me in my therapy sessions.

It's almost like there is a part of me that thinks the world is interesting, what I observe in the world is interesting, but I, alone, am not enough to hold interest.

Swell.

I started this post because I was on the hunt for a chair for my new office. I'd bought one, but it is too short for my desk. I'd done a search on eBay for "cane chairs" because I was liking some French chairs that featured caning in the backs. Inexplicably, the search turned up this Fine African Art Senufo Zoomorphic Stool pictured (you can click on the link to see the listing on Ebay). Some of the description mentions some yadda yadda about baule fetishes and somesuch, but I don't see the word cane or chair. I sort of like the critter, but I don't think it's a suitable desk chair. A little out of my budget too, at $2,350.

I decided to post because absurdities make my day. I don't know why something like this, finding a piece of African Art while I was looking for a French chair, tickles my fancy so much, but it is part of what I love about life. And one of the things I genuinely like about myself. Maybe just the brief thought of me sitting on that bugger, too low to see the computer screen, typing away whilst trying to look serious gives me the giggles. I'm never too old to giggle.

That's my small talk for today.

Shout Out to the Maniacally Gifted

Call me frenetic, scattered or just plain slothful, but I haven't had much time to spend on my blogging activities what with the limbo living situation going on. The contractor dudes keep saying "two weeks" until closing and I could have sworn that was about eight weeks ago, but progress continues on my dream house. I won't complain. Much.

One of these days I'll get some photos up here of it. Not that any of y'all care that much, but maybe you do and it is a work of art, if I do say so myself. We eschewed any decorator and I did all the hunting and selecting of just about every fixture, moulding and fiber with final approvals by my husband. And dammit if I am not busting with pride.

So, today I wanted to post a little link to an artist on Etsy who I ran into while looking for throw rugs. OK, it's a necklace and has nothing to do with home decorating, but her store name Etcetrix caught my eye, as did the name of her jewelry piece "Dexter charm necklace."

Being a fan of the Showtime program "Dexter," I clicked on the image to find this darkly wonderful design that is an ode to all that is that loveable murderer. I'm tempted to buy it, but I am afraid Christmas and my son's birthday has left my budget solely limited to new home purchases.

I hope the house will be completed soon and I will be able to settle into some sort of normalcy. Ha! Like I know what normalcy is. But I do miss being able to get on the computer for reasons other than hunting down lamps. As much as I enjoy preparing my nest, I miss my online friends and their words of that make me think and laugh. The lot of you are among the specially talented and dear to my heart. That sounded better in my head and I hope I didn't offend. You know who you are.

Cloudy Thinking

I've always been a daydreamer. When I was in elementary school, it was a way to get through classes that were moving way too slowly for my liking. It got me through long car rides and extended stays in my bedroom when I was hiding from my mother and had reread my favorite books more times than I cared to count.

When I was drinking, daydreaming was a full blown activity. I became totally immersed in my dreams, schemes, plans, all the things and possibilities. It definitely made chores like doing the laundry and cleaning house much more interesting. Unfortunately, it was difficult to conquer the world when trapped in my head.

Daydreams are still crucial to me. They are tied to my senses of hope and possibility. They are key to my creativity. I have to find the proper balance between the dreaming and the action. To not get stuck in the fantasy.

When I was doing a little perusing of catalogs yesterday, I found this painting of a woman reclined on a sofa that I think looks a little like me. I bought a lovely leather chaise lounge for my office in the new house, and I think a good framed reproduction of this work would be perfect hanging above it. The painting is by Escha Van Den Bogerd. It is called Daydreamer.

Disgruntled Patron of the Arts or Malingering Lollygagger

I'm struggling for a title for today's blog. The problem is (amongst a myriad of many), I want to write and nothing is coming. I've got an overall peevish feeling, although I can't put my finger on why.

One sign that all is not quite well is that I want to shop as a distraction. There's an artist, Edouard Martinet, whose sculptures I stumbled upon in November who takes commonplace items and fits them together into a menagerie of creatures. If you look closely (please do click on them for larger views) at these assembled structures, they will blow your mind - or they did mine. Allegedly no welding is involved in the creation of these transformed every day gadgets, whozits and flotsam. I can see a sink drain, a fingernail clipper and a small fry pan, just for starters in these pics.

I had visited his website edouardmartinet.com last year, but the past few days it's been coming up a big blank on my computer. Probably a good thing since I have a major urge to buy or commission one of these masterpieces that I have an inkling that are a wee bit out of my price range.

What I really ought to be doing with my time, instead of hunting in Craig's lists for Martinet junque insects, is figuring out why the sudden burning obsession to spend money on something fantastical.

Argh. Recovery work. A growth opportunity. Yuck.

The fact that my son is turning 13 in less than a week couldn't have anything to do with it. I'm way too young to be the mommy of a teenager.

People Are No Damn Good - Redux

My therapist is the person who told me about this cartoon by New Yorker cartoonist William Steig. It's captioned "People are no damn good." I think it was first published in the 1940s. It rather fits my demeanor this week. I do feel a lot like I want to hide out in a box of sorts. Not that me keeping to myself is an unusual  behavior, but me having antipathy about people as a whole is not my norm. That kind of grumpiness is relegated to my husband more often, with me playing Ms. Brightside.

I did a little research on William Steig, and what's interesting is that the fellow holds the philosophy that "people are basically good and beautiful, and that neurosis is the biggest obstacle to peace and happiness." Steig wrote and illustrated many lighthearted childrens books in addition to his work for the New Yorker. You may know him better as the guy who created Shrek. I remember him from "Sylvester and the Magic Pebble" book when I was a kid. His illustrations are beautiful. Steig wrote positively about humanity. I think I should go back and read some of his books and enjoy the pictures. I'm not too old for childlike essence.

I found this other cartoon on BoingBoing that was from the 1970s they speculated was a riff on Steig's original work. I thought it was kind of funny.

I'm fairly certain I will default back to my usual goodwill towards men, but right now I feel like I've been beat up with a baseball bat. I'm not entirely sure why. Crushed. Untrusting.

I'll ride it out. I'm just not used to feeling so awful. Maybe I should celebrate that I am feeling. Hooray MeloDrama Queen.

In the meantime, I'd love to find a coffee mug with this moody rascal on it for my therapist. That would make my day. I could use a smile.

Elegant Collapse

Today flew by in a blur, mostly in a good way. I got to see some people I don't get to often enough, but the time was altogether too brief. A baby shower is not entirely conducive to catching up, but it was still pleasant. The food was Tuscan. It was held at the restaurant Centolire in the Upper East Side, not far from Central Park, which happens to be the mom-to-be's favorite place to eat. The mom-to-be and the mom-to-be's mother (as well as several of the other guests) happen to be a couple of my favorite people in the world, so I was very happy to be there. It made me think a little of that whole Midtown AA fiasco - I cannot imagine anyone trying to tell me I couldn't spend time with these amazing people who love me so much just because they are not in AA. I'll tell you something: no way in hell I would ever abandon these people.

On Friday I was riding around my town and saw this old building that had  fallen in on itself. It had clearly been left there for quite some time. I had to get out of the car and take a photograph. I don't know why things like this attract me so much, but I just love the character. Not just the old structure, which obviously has interest due to its history. But the degradation of this building, the things left inside, the way it seemed to have slowly sunk into itself. The wood looked like it had been wet and almost melted down along with the remnants of the winter snow. And then the owners just left it to rot. An eyesore for all to see, not caring who saw the wreckage on their lawn from the street.

Or maybe the owner's are in denial and don't realize how terrible this dilapidated heap appears. Maybe they wave off the neighbors' disdain. Maybe they turn away when they walk out of doors. Maybe they sleep the day away and only emerge from the house at night, unable to see the shed's ruination.

I don't know what the owner's story is, but I always get filled with a sense of curiosity and wonder when I view things like this. I wonder what the original purpose of the building was, what it was later housing, why it was later left to disrepair and neglect, what was left inside and forgotten, those things deemed so unimportant they could be left buried in the rubble and exposed to the elements.

And then I think the building, as it stands now, looks a bit like an ark. I love how the front still stands, albeit unsteady and at an angle, its facade much more intact than the guts. And I think of what could be salvaged. I wonder if any of the wood can be made into anything useful. If some resourceful artist could make a fabulous sculpture. My sponsor would probably have a field day with the things there. And I wonder too, how could the space, once cleared of the mess, be utilitized to build anew. I see the fresh green grass and trees beyond. And I don't quite understand what happened here.

I think I know exactly how that building feels.

Color of Grass on This Side

I had some very real thoughts of how nice the warm buzz of a couple glasses of wine would be tonight while sitting watching TV in the quiet of my home while snuggled under some blankets. Yes, Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired has caught up with me, and the thoughts are slipping into my conscious with unwelcome ease.

It isn't as if I didn't know the day would come when my defenses would be slightly less than sturdy and the thought of imbibing would sound somewhat enticing. But I am annoyed. I'm not in any danger at this point, but I do need to step things up a bit to be sure that I don't slide down. I'm glad to have the wherewithall to see little flags popping up, but damnit, I'm freaking tired, I gotta work harder on this too?

Ok. Will do. It's my best option and I know it.

I'm going to play with crayons tonight and try to develop a new phoenix avatar for myself. I don't care for the one I borrowed. It's fine, but too swooshy for me. Maybe I can channel what ails me into a picture instead of letting my problems make me a sight to see.

Anyway, House isn't on the telly tonight, and I hate American Idol. There's nothing here anyway, and it's too cold outside. I wouldn't really know where to buy here in this new town anyway. Not even sure we have a wine opener here and... huh... it's kind of nice making lame excuses for the right decision.

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Alrighty... above left is my first attempt at drawing seriously since college without drinking.  The phoenix is waaaay too busy, it looks more like vines than flames, and she's kind of a passive looking sucker. But it isn't so bad that I wasn't willing to post it. I wasn't going to tell anyone how terrified I was to try, but, there you have it.

Do Not Adjust Your Dial

It occurred to me as I flew home yesterday that my tongue-in-cheek humor does not always translate well in my blog, especially since I do not have control over the state of mind of the people reading each entry (damn that powerlessness). For instance, I am not nearly as curmudgeonly about AA doctrine as I gripe about, and I am really dedicated to the program and working on my character flaws. I've always been quite open to examining the uglier aspects of myself, perhaps even to a fault. I am willing to consider and try new ideas, even ones that I initially deem as stupid, if it might get me out of some of the bad places I have been. I pride myself on not making the same mistake twice. To be able to keep up that record, one has to try a lot of different forms of attack until a problem is solved.

I reserve the right to question things because I didn't do that when I was little, and now I am wary of whether or not other people really do have my best interests at heart. But I am willing to try to listen to others, to believe in trust.

I really needed a meeting yesterday, and the powers that be did not allow that to happen. If I believed in "everything happens for a reason" and all that jazz, I would wonder about my HP conspiring to keep me in a state of mental upheaval. This is only the second time I have not made it to an AA meeting in something like 486 days, and I was up before daylight to get to this one. And I had a back up meeting too. That meeting had the building under construction with no note telling where the meeting was being held. It's not important. I wasted the better part of two hours yesterday driving around trying to find a meeting before I had to catch a plane. HP was not helping me, so it must have been me sabotaging myself or something or... ok, this too shall pass. Let's not make mountains out of... yah yah yah... whatever.

I made it home fine. I went to a meeting today. The world did not end.

I keep thinking back to this summer when I first moved. I didn't have a sponsor, my therapist went on vacation. I was a little over six months sober and my emotions were beginning to creep in on me like a maelstrom. Some things were going on in my family that were jamming my buttons big time, and not only was I not equipped to deal with them, my drink was gone, my sponsor was gone and my shrink was gone. And I was in a temporary living situation.

I wish someone had locked me in a padded room during that time. For the most part, I was primarily moody and slept a lot. I did have moments of wanting to drink, but nothing severe. I did manage to find myself a sponsor towards the end of the summer and I went to plenty of meetings. I took long walks.

I also made a couple personal confessions to a friend that were incredibly stupid, of the variety that we drunks are generally advised not to do. If I had a sponsor, she probably would have thrown me into that padded room. Alas, I was a dumbass and a little too much on my own at that point. I did the wrong thing, and I am still dealing with the repurcussions of that. And, shit, does that ever suck. I guess no one ever promised that putting down the drink was going to mean I never acted like an idiot again.

At any rate, the best thing I can do is keep my nose to the grindstone and keep working at what I've been doing. Try to keep becoming a better person, to try to not repeat the errors I've made in the past or to not compound them by not accepting that I screwed up.

Trudging the road. Man, I feel like I am crawling on my belly today.

Artwork by Kendra Binney. I just bought a repro of this one, "Someone to Throw Stones At" on Etsy.