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Facing My Fears About The Future

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Here I go again, whine, whine, whine…just kidding.  Tonight is the result of getting what I asked for. I’m alone. These days if you are in sales more than likely you do a little traveling, or a lot of traveling. Dan has been on the road for roughly twenty years. I know some people enjoy travel, and I think he did at first, but after the hundredth hotel room, hotel restaurant dinner, and all the long lonely phone calls with your significant other, it starts to get a little old. I hate when he is away. I hate going to bed without him. I actually spend most of those nights on the couch. Of course these days are better than days of old. (Boy I’m really dating myself here) When Dan started traveling the kids were pretty young and our only means of communication were beepers and pay phones. Thank God some things have changed. There were days when I didn’t leave the house because I was waiting to hear from him. Cell phones certainly make life immensely better.

On the home front things are still not done. It seems like every time I think we are ready to list I find something else that needs to be done. I know I’ve probably done ten times more than need be, but I really care about my home. As I’ve grown older and realized what’s really important in this life I’ve learned to let go of a few things (I just can’t seem to remember what they are in the moment). I’m ashamed to admit that I had more than one occasion where I was upset with Dan or the kids for bringing someone home unexpectedly. I am again my Mother’s daughter. My house must be impeccable for guests. In all fairness to me I believe what I said to them was true, and that is that Jessica and Brian’s jobs were to be good students, Dan was out working, this house was my job. I always said that if someone came here and the house wasn’t clean they wouldn’t leave and say that Brian was a slob, or Jessica was messy, or that Dan’s house was filthy, I felt it was always a reflection on me. I was sure that Brian’s fourteen year old friends were telling their mothers that his mom was a terrible housekeeper. There were of course times when my irritation was more than justifiable. Like the St. Patrick’s Day when I was on the couch in my messy living room with a respiratory infection.  Dan arrived with a limo full of beer salesmen who all needed to use my bathroom. Sick with no makeup and an untidy house and he is bringing in not one, but three or four strangers, really???? It was definitely not a lucky day for my mostly Irish husband that day. I have come to realize that things don’t have to be perfect, but I think that right now I am having a little separation anxiety. I think I have become a little obsessed with making sure the next family that lives inside these walls loves this place as much as we do. It’s time to set another deadline for myself because I fear at this point this house may turn into my next 365 day project. I also think that I might just be dragging my feet a little so I don’t have to leave. The house is clean, it is beautiful, it is time for me to let go. The truth is that I’m a little scared of the future right now. California was a hard move, leaving behind not only friends and family, but my life, the life I knew. What made it easier was having my children. I think I needed them more than they needed me. Now Jessica is in New York, and I will be doing the one thing I said I could never do, I’m moving away from one of my children. Brian will still be living and working in the Temecula area. He will be only fifty or so miles from where we hope to settle, but it will break my heart none-the-less. It’s taken eleven years, but this is my home. If I feel lonely I can call a friend to meet for coffee, or I can run to the cheese store in Old Town Temecula. I’ve befriended the owner and we have on more than one occasion sat in the back of her shop and had some cheese and a glass of wine. There are also the ladies at my favorite antique mall who are familiar with my roaming the aisles. Even things as mundane as grocery shopping where the cashiers are familiar faces. I am starting over once again, and admittedly nervous.  No lifelines this time, just me, myself, and I, trying to find new friends, and new places to go. Maybe time for a little reinvention as well. I don’t mean as in changing who I am, but more about who I was meant to be. New move, new focus on art. I guess I do have one security blanket after all.

Regaining Control

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I’m usually pretty good at coming up with a title for a post. They come to me quickly, and I usually never second guess my choice. Today is a little different. I wasn’t sure whether to title this one as I did, “Regaining Control”, or my other thought which was  “Misconceptions.” What I need to get off my chest has a little to do with both. As I’ve pointed out before, this blog began as a way to force myself to work on my art. The unfortunate situation that we found ourselves in changed that. I still plan to return to my work, but there isn’t much time for creativity these days unless it is in the form of packing boxes. This blog instead has become a catharsis for my emotional well-being in a time of struggle. Pent up emotions do no one any good. I am a very “in your face” kind of person. I don’t believe in hiding the truth, I feel better when I am honest with people. That doesn’t mean that I go around insulting people by telling them something negative about themselves, some things are best left unsaid, but when I am upset with someone I don’t let it fester. When you don’t release your emotions I think little things tend to build into great big things, and then all kinds of unnecessary drama can ensue. I don’t know most of the people who read what I write, and that works for me. It just feels good to let it out, and if by chance someone else relates and it helps them in some way, that is amazing. I also don’t write looking for pity, which believe it or not I kind of think some people who I do know believe that I am. I’m a writer as well as an artist, so I am doing what a writer does, I write. I started keeping a journal at twelve, of course back then we didn’t have fancy names like “journal”, it was a diary. You know the kind where you talk about which boy is cute and how you hate your parents that day? I actually kept that diary for almost seven years. I’ve written a lot over the years. I’ve never attempted to have anything published, that lovely “you are good enough” voice that resides in my brain held me back. Short stories, poetry, and a few children’s books are all in a box. Someday I may let them out, but for now I write here. So with that rather long introduction I will begin.

I’ve had several people tell me to focus on the good in my life. Things such as, “Count your blessings.”,  “Look at all the love and kindness you’ve received.”,  “Stop focusing on the negative.” …and so on. The implication of course being that I spend my life in a complete state of “woe is me.” That couldn’t be farther from the truth. I guess I’ll address misconceptions first. I am grateful, I do count my blessings, I don’t always focus on the negative, and so on… This blog became a way to vent emotion. My lovely husband was struggling in his own way with his identity as the man of the house, the bread-winner, the guy who took care of everything. Did he need to be burdened with my worry wart ways? The answer is of course not. Venting here allowed me to blow off some worry as well as steam. Not that Dan didn’t always know what I was feeling, but this took the edge off. When I said that I felt my prayers weren’t being answered it didn’t mean that I suddenly stopped being Catholic. Trust me when I say I sometimes envy the faith that some people have. Mine is just a little shaky at the moment. I also believe something my sister said about God giving us free will. God does help them who help themselves, it’s just tough to get it going when no one will give you a chance, because guess what? The multitudes of people who turned Dan down for a job have free will too, the free will to not give him the job. I also in my beliefs think that God is a little busy right now with Gaza, the Ebola virus, the current crisis in Iraq, and the millions of poor starving babies in the world to be worried about whether or not I get to keep my 3000 square foot home. I wouldn’t expect that kind of attention. This is where the regaining control part comes in. I’m a self admitted control freak, and my life was way out of my control, that means I turn into a “basket-case”.  This was never about losing my big house, it was about worrying that I would have no house at all. This was about watching what the situation did to the person that I love, admire, and respect most in the world, Dan. It was about being scared. Loss of control is a big issue for me. It’s why I’m claustrophobic, I need the keys. The house will be on the market within a week. I’m exhausted, as is Dan, but (dare I say) we are also beginning to feel a little excited about the future. We went out last weekend to investigate potential places to move to, and quite frankly we fell in love. I won’t go into detail as of yet, but I am feeling hopeful, and just a little bit more in control. Now that there is a plan of sorts, it means that all is almost well in my world. We are helping ourselves and letting God take care of those who can’t and need Him way more than us.

Finally on this lovely Sunday morning a few words of wisdom from me.March 13 2010 079

 

Just Like Mom

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We are close to listing, I believe by Wednesday of this week. By then my right knee should move from softball size to small watermelon. I spent yesterday in the garden, as I had the day before. I painted the patio, and then that led to thinking that the frames around the window looked dirty, so I pulled out a small ladder and repainted those. I believe I have become just a little crazed. Today in 97 degree heat I will be repainting the door in from the garden. It’s the domino effect. Every time I clean one thing it makes the thing next to it look a little duller. I really need to stop. The place looks beautiful. I will be taking pictures soon, and will share some of our handiwork.

A few weeks before my Mother died she began cleaning out drawers. She made a comment to my sister about not wanting people to think she was “dirty”.  She wasn’t expecting company, there was no one set to arrive at her home to inspect her cleanliness, it was as if she had a premonition that those drawers would be opened again, but the next time it wouldn’t be by her. It still brings tears to my eyes when I think about moments like that. How alone she felt at times. The last night she spent in her house was alone, up all night suffering a heart attack. She was afraid, she always put my Dad first so she didn’t wake him, instead she sat by herself that entire night. It breaks my heart. What’s worse is that she spent the night in the comfort of her only friend, her cigarettes. So often I wish I could go back and tell her to call me, or to call one of my sisters. There isn’t one of us that wouldn’t have rushed to her side.

All of this came to my mind this morning as I continued the relentless preparation of my house to make it ready for sale. I am my Mother’s daughter. I have been looking at homes for sale closer to Dan’s job, and quite frankly I am appalled at some of what I am seeing. I would be embarrassed to reveal the kind of filth that is photographed and publicly displayed for the world to see. OK, so I’m being a little harsh, but really? I have cleaned every inch of this home, it is immaculate, every nook and cranny I can think of is getting a through go over. I wouldn’t dream of asking someone to move in and clean up after me. Years ago in Chicago we were looking for a house to buy. We went to see a typical Chicago Bungalow owned by someone named Otto. The house needed work, which is a challenge I enjoy, but what I didn’t enjoy was the amount of dirt I saw on every window ledge, the unappealing odor, and the general mess of the entire house. When I see that (or in this case smell that) I wonder what could possibly be underneath it all. Yuck! Sends a shiver down my spine. When we left Otto asked if we were interested, and when we said no he asked why. We lied, said the house was too small, but the reality is that I wanted to tell him to clean his house. A little elbow grease never hurt anyone.  I love my home, I’m proud of my home, and if I didn’t clean it my Mom would be ashamed. That in itself is enough of a motivating factor.

 

Lost Connections

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As we prepare for our move I find myself reflecting on friends lost over the years. Particularly the move here to California. Several friends promised we wouldn’t lose touch, but as time passed communication became sparse. Regular phone calls became monthly calls, emails went unanswered, even when I joined Facebook (late in the game I admit) I reached out to some who “friend ed” me back, but when I tried to move beyond that I didn’t get any response. I made a one time “Best Friend” my daughter’s godmother, sure that we would always be in each others lives. I’m not even sure where she lives now. She stopped communicating with me. I entrusted her with what I had hoped to be an important role in my daughter’s life. All I can do is wonder why. There was even a woman, a relatively new friend, who befriended me because my old neighbor, her friend, had moved away and not kept in touch with either of us as promised. We bonded over the loss of our friend and began what I thought was a terrific friendship. Not long after that I discovered that we would be moving here. We were both saddened by this road block in the way of the promise of a great relationship that lay ahead. We swore we wouldn’t be like “her” and keep in touch. I moved, we called, we exchanged letters, and then suddenly she was gone. No note, no goodbye. The same thing happened with a friend from high school. She reached out via the internet. I discovered that she was an artist, something I had never known about her, and was thrilled at the connection. We jumped into this new adult friendship head first. Lots of emails, exchanges of ideas, and even gifts. When I was back in Chicago I made a point of seeing her. It was wonderful, we had dinner and talked and talked about our families, our lives, and for me the most important thing of all, we talked about art. I have two wonderfully creative friends here, very artistic and talented, but neither does the kind of work I do. This woman does. I was excited at the prospect of bouncing ideas off of each other, and then…POOF! Gone. No answer to my emails. It left me feeling as though I’d done something wrong. Last year the wife of a former colleague of Dan’s and I met at a dreaded business dinner. I didn’t want to go, but by the end of the evening I felt like I had a wonderful new friend. She has dropped me like a hot potato. Your guess, I have no idea. There are so many more stories like those in my life. Not that I am completely innocent. I too have drifted out of a life or two. I guess I can’t take it personal. More importantly I hope that the people I’ve left behind don’t question themselves about it. I only know that some of my missing people had an impact on my life and I will never get to tell them that. As a shy little girl with not a friend in the world, friendship means a great deal to me. I’m not one of those people with a huge social circle. I’m more of a half-dozen or less kind of girl, but each and every one of my friends brings something different into my life. When someone vanishes it leaves a little hole in my heart for a bit, and of course me being neurotic me, I agonize over what I could possibly have done wrong. I know, wasted energy, but just try telling that to my heart and slightly skewed brain.

So my dear friends who may be reading this, you count. You make up parts of my life. You bring personality, laughter, shoulders to cry on, and you make me feel good about myself. Why? Because I think we are all special in our own way, I admire qualities in all of you, and the fact that you want to be my friend makes me feel special. That, and even though you know what a messy, half-crazed, glass not half empty but broken on the floor worry wart I am you seem to like me anyway.

Off to new horizons, but this time inside the state line, so no excuses my friends, lets work on this. I’m starting over, but there are some of you that I just can’t imagine my life without.

Good News At Last

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Well it finally happened, Dan got the news we’ve been waiting for, a job. Sixteen months of worry and stress. Unfortunately it is bittersweet. We will still have to lose our home. The job is much too
far away, the money isn’t quite what we had hoped, but it is more than so many people make, so for that I am grateful. I am also grateful for the support of so many, some of whom I know well, and some who reached out to a stranger in pain. Thank you, all of you.

We will continue to work on the house…thisclosetobeingdone…still tired, still discovering pain in muscles that we didn’t know we possessed, but for now at least an answer to one of the many questions about where we go from here. Another casualty is my dream of the bookstore/cafe, at least in Temecula. The money we had to put towards that has been used to survive this trying time. Dan has the job, but I am again not sure of where I end up. I hope to move to a place where I can renew my vow to continue with my art. As for now most of the paints are packed, and while I did leave a few supplies out hoping for a chance to work while we sold the house, I’m not sure if I will have the time. Once we are finished (by tomorrow I hope!), I will have to keep things in order as we sell the house, and then of course finding a place to live, and unpacking the multitudes of boxes. Last year when I began this blog it was in hopes of rediscovering the artist I was meant to be. Life has a way of laughing in your face when you try to make plans. So here we are, me and my artistic aspirations, on the back-burner once again. Not giving in, not giving up, determined to have a moment that is mine alone sometime in the future.

Life Takes It’s Toll

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Yet another bad day, many tears were shed, but in the end I decided I needed to cheer myself up a bit by writing something different for a change.

I think we all know by now that I have issues. Yes, I know there are some people who know me and think I’m perfect just as I am (Dan), and there are those who wish I would just stop whining, but the last year and a half have taken their toll. This past year has aged me. The countless sleepless and restless nights have given my eyes a look that Morticia Adams would envy. As I told Dan the other day, “If the circles under my eyes get any bigger they will be touching the top of my lip.” My hair still looks decent thanks to the great kindness of the lovely woman who cuts/colors/styles my hair. She just recently did all three free of charge, and has helped keep my roots in check this past year, again without charge. A kindness I will never forget and greatly appreciate. I look tired, I look sad, I believe the lines on the side of my mouth are close to forming a permanent sad clown frown, and if you understood my deep fear of clowns you would know just how disturbing that can be. I look in the mirror and think that I might just be perfect for next season’s Walking Dead, no makeup required. I’ve gained a few pounds, lost a few pounds, and then gained them back again. My waistline is protesting and has decided to go on what I believe will be a permanent strike. I haven’t been exercising, but with all the lifting and packing I’m sure I’m getting enough of a workout, not that I look like it. I also, as the pasty white woman that I am, bruise easily. I tend to use my thighs and upper arms to balance boxes on. I look as though someone has grabbed me by the arms and given me a good shaking. That might actually be a good thing, sort of a “snap out of it” shake to help me get past my mood. I won’t even discuss my feet, or the gnarled appendages that pass for fingers on the ends of my cracked dry hands. In general I am a mess. Meanwhile Dan looks fabulous, and somehow has hair that appears to have a wind machine built in. He needs no back-lighting as the beautiful silver of his hair has a glow all its own. He has been walking daily, looks tan and fit, and could be easily be cast as the son of the “most interesting man in the world.” Sometimes life just isn’t fair.

You may wonder what prompted all of this. It was Alicia Silverstone. She is in a new issue of one of my magazines. She looks amazing, she is of course much younger than I, and a vegan, to which I say, “Good for you Alicia. I like my steak medium rare.” But there is more. She is in soft focus, and she is back-lit. I remember seeing Julia Roberts many years ago (on Oprah I think), she said every woman needs a fan for that windblown hair look. (Or something very, very close to that) I think what I need is a tan to hide my bruises, a little back-lighting, a soft focus lens, and a fan to blow my not so luxurious locks about…and then I need to remember to not lose sight of some of the things I like about myself. One of which is my sense of humor, and my ability to Photo-shop myself into Alicia Silverstone wonderfulness.

The “Right” Kind

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I’m back. For a moment at least. Banged up, exhausted, and in a not so great state of mind, but there is something else. Something that got under my skin today, something that bugged me so much that I stopped focusing on my situation. I tend to obsess…a lot. I told Dan I felt a “rant” coming on….well, here goes…I was outside trimming trees, and bushes, and improving the “curb appeal” of my home. Dirty, tired, and with hands that are covered in bandages from blisters that developed, and then tore open in the same day. Not in an either bad or good frame of mind, but lost in thought, and to a certain extent content in the moment. I love the garden. I love the physical aspect of gardening. I get a great deal of satisfaction from seeing my efforts bloom, to feel the earth in my hands. A neighbor approached. She is new to the street, she has been here for only a few months. We had taken the time to introduce ourselves to both this woman and her husband, but other than that nothing more than a quick hello, and friendly wave. She announced that she was nosy. She had been observing us in the last few weeks as we moved boxes to a nearby storage locker, noticed us cleaning up the garden, and the arrival of a dumpster on Monday. “I assume you are moving. I had to know. We will miss you.” To begin with, miss me? You don’t know me. Second, I’m not nosy. I really don’t care what my neighbors are up to. I told her that yes, we were indeed moving. At this point I will admit I am already annoyed. I don’t like being disturbed, and particularly when someone wants to gain information that is none of their business. Except this woman apparently has a vested interest in the sale of my home. She informed me that she knew people who might want to buy my home. Great, right? No, because that was followed by comments concerning the “right” kind of people. Because we need to be careful who we allow to buy our home. I’ve run into this type before. I may have even mentioned it here. The colorless people such as myself who believe that since we share the same pasty complexion, we must also share the same ignorant, racist, discriminatory sensibilities. Not the case. I happen to believe that we are all the same, well maybe not, because some of us are so ignorant as to believe that the color of skin makes us different. We aren’t. Just in case I was mistaken I decided to visit the woman who lives next door to her. We have been friendly on and off for several years, gone to lunch, been at each others homes for parties, etc., she is Persian. She was born in Iran, but raised in the East here in the U.S., she is Muslim, but she is so much more than what she may look like, or how she chooses to worship. She is a funny, interesting woman, a good wife and mother, with two very beautiful daughters. She also does a killer job of decorating her house for Christmas. I went over to tell her in person that I am moving, and promised to keep in touch. We talked about the new neighbor. I told my friend I was curious if they had met. They had. My friend had brought doughnuts to welcome the new people, because that is the kind of lovely woman she is. Since then the husband has spoken to her, but not the wife. I guess my friend isn’t the “right” kind. It’s sad to me. If the new neighbor would take the time to get to know the woman next door she might discover that us moms are pretty much alike, that this woman is a friend that can be counted on, that she is generous and thoughtful, that because of the world we live in sometimes people aren’t nice to her, and she turns her other cheek. Sounds like something someone else I’ve heard of would do. He wasn’t pasty white either. I guess I’d better not sell him my house.

A Quick Update

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When I was a little girl my favorite show was Bewitched, you know she of the wiggling nose? Samantha only had to twitch that little nose and everything was magically in its place. I need that nose. I need that ability. We are still buried here at Chez Zuckerman. Our dreams of having our house up by August 1st are laughable. There is so much more to do that I am overwhelmed, overworked, over-tired, basically I’m over it. We are currently in the kitchen, packing and cleaning, and did I mention repainting the HGTV recommended neutral palette? The painting is done, but now we have to finish putting the room back together, less cluttered (HGTV), less personal (HGTV), essentially bare, boring, and not us. We have put a few pieces back on the walls, and of course books, books, and more books, but even those are whittled down quite a bit. We are racing the clock, and I fear we are losing. I woke at 4:30 this morning with a list racing through my brain. I jumped up, came down, and didn’t sit back down until nearly 7:30 this evening. (If memory serves me there was some implication that I don’t like work) I’m beat, Dan’s beat, our not so young muscles and joints are protesting, but we can’t stop. We can almost see the finish line. It makes me sad in a way. As tired as I am, once this is done the house goes up. We heard today that houses in this area are going fast, again good and bad. I don’t really want to leave, but we need to.  I’d just like a few more evenings in my beautiful garden before I have to say goodbye. Still no idea where we will end up. Just an update tonight. My fingers hurt as much as the rest of me. Enjoy your Sunday everyone, we’ll be here cleaning and packing. Here’s a shot of my beloved garden.

 

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And something on the vine…I will miss it so

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My Rant: More to come

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I’m back. So soon? Yes, I realized over the last few days that expressing myself on these pages is cathartic for me. I am feeling frustrated and weighted down by our current situation, writing helps me work through my feelings. I’ve always enjoyed writing, in fact I kept a diary for nearly seven years when I was younger. I’ve spent years starting and not finishing short stories, and have multitudes of paper scraps with single lines written on them. A thought or idea pops into my head and I grab whatever happens to be handy to capture the idea before I forget. Sometimes these elusive thoughts have come and gone before I have a chance to do anything with them. Many of them have languished for years in a file folder in my studio, and some have gone on to be parts of poems. I digress…

The point of tonight was to finish what I started last night. When I reread what I wrote I forgot to point out one thing about myself, and that is that I love to work. I derive a great deal of self-satisfaction from physical labor, and the accomplishment of a task. I hadn’t intended to add to last night, but this morning something happened that fueled my displeasure with those that would imply that I might think a job is beneath me. We have hardwood floors throughout our home. Unfortunately two of them sustained damage by bed frames that bore holes and scratches in them. We called in a floor professional who took a look, realized it wasn’t a huge job, and told Dan he could save us money by passing the job onto his “guy”. The implication that somehow the price would be less by cutting out the middleman. Then we got the call with the price…$625.  Six Hundred Twenty Five Dollars! To replace what came down to replacing about eight pieces of hardwood, which by the way we would be supplying. He claimed that the flooring in the guest room would take a day. Dan told him we couldn’t afford it, he said he would see what he could do and call us back. That was yesterday. This morning when Dan went for a walk, I did what I do, I did it myself. Me, still in my nightgown, sitting on the floor of the guest room (I can work as long as I’m sitting), with a hammer, two chisels, and a small screwdriver. Forty five minutes later Dan came home to find the “all day job” more than half done. I got up and brought him in to see what I had done. His response? “That’s my girl”. I am not one of those women who gets an idea, and then proceeds to make her husband do all the work. I think it’s my Parent’s influence. They were both hard workers, and always did their best.  If it’s my idea, I try my hardest to accomplish it. If I need help I will (sometimes) ask. I believe that it is one of the best parts of who I am, it never occurs to me that I can’t accomplish what I want. There is one exception, that unfortunately is my art. If I could master that confidence and apply it to my art, there would be no stopping me.

Another photo tonight. I promise not to make this a habit (not sure you want to see all my appendages), but sometimes when I get an idea in my head and just go at it there are consequences. Consequences like this…

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This is what happens when you don’t wear a glove and smack your hand with a hammer. Did it stop me? No it didn’t, in fact I did it three times, and this is only my left hand, I am sparing you the photo of the blister that covers the entire tip of my right index finger, or the tear in my right knuckle, or the cut left by the sliver of wood that went in my right hand. All day? Six Hundred Twenty Five Dollars, yeah right, I don’t think so, not when there’s a hard-working woman in the house.

One more thought as I look at my no longer colorless hand. People of the world, particularly in Gaza, give peace a chance. I say that my parents influenced my work ethic, but they also taught me that we are all the same. Respect each other, and honor the individual right to worship God, any God, your God, their God, in whatever way they see fit. Love each other, and stop killing in God’s name. As my very wise eighty-one year old father says, “Here’s how I look at religion. It’s like soccer, as long as you’re in the game it doesn’t matter what color jersey you are wearing.” Like I said, a very wise man.

Not So Cleverly Disguised

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Have you ever had someone tell you a story about someone else, when you KNOW that they are in fact talking about you? Trying to say something to you about you, but quite frankly not having the nerve to say it to your face? I’ve had it happen several times in the last few weeks. I’m feeling a little, shall I say, pissy today? Unless you have been through what we are going through, you have absolutely no idea what this feels like. No more than I, the pasty white person that I am, has any inkling what it feels like to be a person of color. (Any color, since I have none) I can sympathize, empathize, and offer support, but I haven’t walked in their shoes, therefore I should keep my colorless opinion to myself. I hope those in my life who have been generous in their support of us don’t think this is aimed at them, it isn’t. What has been getting to me is the judgmental way that remarks are being made to me, or as mentioned above, the fairytale fable of someone whose situation is just oh so close to mine, who made a bad decision, or is expressing virtues of which I am apparently lacking. Really? I may be losing a lot here, but it certainly isn’t my brain.

More than one person in the last several weeks has been aghast at my decision to turn down a job I applied for and got at a local grocery store. I honestly don’t know what I was thinking. As I have mentioned here on these pages before, I have had six knee surgeries. My first at the age of fifteen, and then five more inside four years here in Temecula. Five on one knee. I tore my ACL, had it repaired, it didn’t work, had it repaired again, and guess what? It didn’t work. Two more surgeries for torn tissue, and then because I thought my left knee was feeling neglected I tore tissue there as well, one more surgery. Let’s throw in the atrophy of my Achilles tendon of the left ankle and..WHAT WAS I THINKING??? This isn’t about not wanting to work, or not wanting to “suck it up”, this is about pain. Pain that wakes me nightly. Pain that had me in tears earlier today because I’ve been on my feet too much packing boxes. Let me show you something…

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Nice…right? (I have knee envy, and by the way, thank you stranger with beautiful knees that I found on Google images)

Check these babies out…

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I’ll bet you are jealous. I think the right knee is the real beauty. Don’t even know where my knee cap disappeared to. (I apologize if you happen to be eating)

My pissy point is this, unless you walk in my shoes, or in my case on these knees, don’t judge me, it pisses me off. Yes, we need money. But if you read this blog you also know that I possess talents far beyond what standing on my feet all day can earn. Be mad at me for that. Be mad at me for not using my God-given talents. I’ve spent the last few days packing away my supplies and my work. I’m mad enough at myself for everyone. I mad that I haven’t had the self-confidence to make a living with what I can do. It’s time to try, no knees required.