SOTU - It's Vodka Time!

It's not that I have nothing to say. As I've mentioned recently, I've just become even more private than I usually am when it comes to... most matters. It's cold tonight, and even though I should totally be doing some yoga to work on my totally effed up back, instead I am snuggled up on the couch with a nice toasty heating pad on my back, and well, it's cold down on the floor, and if I could live my life like a lizard or a cat in the sun I would, and so I am firmly entrenched here on the couch.

The State of the Union address is tonight. An opportunity to listen to Mr. 28% spin and back peddle and showboat and stammer and pathetically try to convince the other 72% that he's actually done an OK job over the last... gasp! seven years. As much as it pains me to even look at his face never mind listen to his fake-ass twang - I will listen, if only with one ear. Wait - I'm actually nearly deaf in one ear. I'll use that one.

About the yoga - and the back pain - well, today I was talking to my chiropractor over the phone, and as often happens when I talk to him about the struggles I've been having over the past year and a half with back pain - I felt myself choking up. He started talking about the way chronic pain can start to fuck with the pain and emotion centers in the brain - in other words, about the fact that chronic pain can wreak havoc with your emotions. Hmm... yup. So I'm getting a referral to an orthopedic, in the hopes that I'll finally get around to an MRI. I feel like it's the only way I'm going to feel confident about proceeding with a course of treatment. All I really want to do is yoga and the like to treat it, to be honest, but I've been afraid to fully engage in such activities out of fear that I'll make the problem worse. Last night the only relief I got was from falling asleep on a tennis ball wedged along the edge of my sacrum, seriously.

Why the hell am I watching the SOTU? I don't really have the energy to read in between the lines. He was just blathering about the importance of free trade agreements while trumpeting the value of products that are Made in the USA. Now he's talking about clean energy. God this speech must be exhausting for this guy. He probably has a VIP suite waiting for him post-speech, replete with hookers and his name spelled out in coke on their asses. Oh, he doesn't?

On a certain level, I really and truly pity him. I'm waiting for him to use the word "frenemies".

On that note, I need a drink. The pic is of me, with a pretty martini last summer. My friend from the west coast, who snapped it, sent it to me today. Now you know what I look like. Sorta.

I'm Trying

Well, it's a bit late in the day for me to start a post, but I'm feeling slightly guilty for not posting on here as regularly as I'd like. I have a lot of good things going on, and because I'm slightly superstitious, I tend to not want to write about them. Suffice to say I'm in a good place right now, and feeling open and more relaxed about a bunch of stuff that had been getting to me. I feel like new pathways have presented themselves to me that are subtle and special and it feels pretty weird sometimes but at the same time extraordinarily real, grounded. It's nice.

Speaking of being guilty, two words: American Idol. Ok, here's the deal: much like any version of "A Christmas Carol" (I believe I may be qualified to trademark "Christmas Carol Therapy" for coping with a bad break-up), American Idol is weirdly calming. It started 2 nights ago, and though I admit I was watching it only peripherally, it was on my boob-tube for 2 hours each night. (Trust me, it was VERY peripheral at times!) It's quite predictable in its unpredictability, and that may have something to do with the calming effect. You may now feel free to mock me at your leisure, that would be payback for when I used to disparage my own friends for investing their time and interest in such a ridiculous thing.

Holy shit I'm fading fast here... slumping like a Hobbit after a good meal. No plans as yet for tomorrow night, so maybe I'll manage another post...

Searching

So there was nothing earth-shattering revealed during my hypnosis session, however there were at least a few things that were pretty interesting. It wasn't so much the specifics of any particular memories I ended up going towards - all of which were previously known, conscious memories - but the tone, the feeling behind them. The overwhelming sense was that of being unprotected.

The inhabited space of home and backyard felt big, and unpredictable. Too many boys. There were too many boys around. I felt small. I spent a lot of time simply watching the world of adults and older siblings spin around me. My mother is a kind and good woman, but her arms were not my automatic refuge. Neither were my father's, but the memories I have of feeling refuge with him are clearer, and more specific.

Sitting with him at church, his arm around me so I could rest my head there. Warmth and security, smelling of Bay Rum after-shave and Tiger Balm. Naps on the living room floor, his arm my pillow. As a very young girl, in my favorite pajamas, sitting on his knee in the summertime darkness, he still smoked cigars then. Neighbors that I don't remember were there, but it was me in my favorite pajamas, savoring the summertime night air, cigar smells and beer smells and distant thunder, and the attention of my father.

I realize now that I responded more to my father as a nurturing presence because his affection was expressed in concrete, tangible ways, ways that I could feel and touch. I needed this. My mother, an anorexic in college, remained uncomfortable in her body, even after birthing nine children and losing one. The physical was not her realm, though I believe she made her connection to it through childbirth, through the uncontrollable surging of her belly and all of the pain that came at the end. God's Will.

It's quite obvious why my parents worked, and continue to work still, 52 years into it. They balance each other. My father with his deep, physical connection to food, a star athlete as a youth, a Marine who was also a baker while in service; later while raising a family, dabbling in Tai Chi and woodcarving and birdkeeping among so many other hobbies. He possesses a temper that is utterly frightening - to a child, petrifying - in large part because of its rarity. His voice booming, penetrating, "I'm going to take off my strap!" But rarely following through with the threat.

My mother, rising before dawn to pray for at least half an hour before making the trek up the hill to open the church, acting as a quasi-nun now that the convent is out of commission. She unlocks the back door and turns on the lights switch by switch, before welcoming the tiny handful of churchgoers who arrive daily by 6:00 a.m. My mother's true desire is to do God's Will, with consciousness. She is adored by the patients at the convalescent home where she brings Holy Communion, and has been referred to by neighbors, in all earnestness, as an angel.

Earth and Heaven. Body and Spirit. Physical and Mental.

Their influence has made me who I am. Easily the most hedonistic of their entire brood, influenced and enthralled by the sensual and even the sullied and yet... well, I remember once my mother issuing one of her bi-annual pleas to me, that she hopes one day I return to the church, along with my younger brother. She admitted then that she felt he and I were both "very spiritual", to which I responded something to the effect that "You know we're both good people. And that's all that matters." She had to assent.

And so... where am I going with all of this? A place I never expected to go. I feel like I'm finally, slowly, beginning to understand what I need and why. That attempts were made to meet my needs but the attempts were made by humans, not gods. That my frailty, and their frailty are not necessarily faults, but crooked paths to salvation, to true humanity, and true humility.

Are we really in the end motherless children? I know I must find my own safety, wrap my own arms about myself, find my own beauty and innocence. My own freedom and joy.

I want to pass the past on the left right or center, and yield to the present, allow my heart to be touched, entered, inhabited, but still remain undiminished and whole. I can envision it. And that makes it possible.

Damages

In about 36 hours I'll be put under hypnosis. My hope and desire is to do some time traveling, some deep diving. Got some shit to figure out.

About a week ago I had a nightmare. Exactly a week ago, actually. The same person, pulling the same shit. The same anger. Vitriolic. The same feeling. Completely helpless and alone. I woke up and immediately burst into tears. I met with my counselor 2 days later and burst into tears as I told it. I related the dream to my wonderful, amazing, rock-solid man, and completely and utterly lost it as I re-entered the dream and its full force hit me. He moved towards me instead of away, intensely towards me. This touched my core, and stilled me.

I feel afraid but also anticipatory. I need to know.

Yup, I've read plenty about false "recovered memories" and I have no illusions or disillusions about what may or may not occur under hypnosis. I do know the practitioner comes highly recommended by someone whose judgment I trust implicitly. I have no idea what to expect. But I can say with certainty that trauma exists somewhere in my body and/or psyche, how and by whose hand or actions or words it occurred I cannot be certain. I am, however, certain that it left a wound that needs healing, and closure. Badly.

It's the dreams more than anything that point me towards this certain feeling, the persistent theme, character - yes, one character, the emotions. The rage. It rises up easily and automatically in dreams.

Oh yes, heavy shit!

In other news...

My New Year's Eve was sweet. Had a party for the first time since 2001! Great food, drinks, and people. It was a cool mix of family and friends. Small gathering (small place.) New Years Day was spent hanging out with my man and his daughter before he went to work. He gave me a bottle of Frostbite white hot sauce (that sounds a bit dirty) which I proceeded to drop and smash open in the driveway while we took too long smooching goodbye.

Um. If you ever drop a bottle of this product. Well, first, SHIT. Fuck, Damn, Hell. Goddammit. What a waste. Second - don a pair of rubber gloves. Do not, repeat DO NOT cavalierly pick up the shards of glass and casually carry them to the trash without protection. Because hours later, despite scrubbing your hands with everything from olive oil and salt to puregrain to WD-40 - you might, um, make your girlfriend slightly uncomfortable in a place she should never be uncomfortable.

It passed relatively quickly, the discomfort, but the slow realization that THAT was what I was feeling was a little frightening. But I plan to replace the bottle! Because some of the mixed drinks made with that shit sound awesome! Just, for the love of all that's good and holy, keep it contained in glass!

Today I worked overtime and still didn't meet my deadlines for certain paperwork. Oh well! I know that I bust my ass, so my feeling is that if I didn't finish, it's because I'm doing too much. I'm serious. I do not have downtime at my job, ever. I'll finish up Sunday. Besides, I learned a computer trick to make it look like I finished on time, were anyone to bother checking.

The day - the week - the 3 glasses of hard cider - are catching up to me. Happy Friday to anyone reading!