Tough Morning.

I keep thinking about this quote:

"What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life? The world would split open." - Muriel Rukeyser

And so...one more day...I keep going...

***

Woke up. Felt swollen and bruised. Tender. Puffy. Vulnerable.

Sun beating down. Nary a cloud in the sky. Already I could tell it was going to be a hot one. We bought some daycare coverage today, so my plan was to take off to Santa Monica and do my usual practice once the car got back from drop off.

(Yeah, I know, we're like the only people we know here with one car, but with 2 barely freelancing adults and one child, 2 car payments just aren't our reality.)

It's 9:30a…9:45…10:00…10:15…no car. Where the hell IS he? If this were camp, I would have been running by 9:15 or 9:20. Should I be worried the car broke down again? No answer on his cell phone. He probably didn't bring it with him. Or, he left it in the car and he's not in the car.

I can tell the sun's starting to blaze and I need to just go or I won't be able to go at all. It'll get too hot this far inland. F%&K! This is not what I wanted.

I abandon my packed bag, my wallet, my journal, my towel, grab my water bottle and just go. I'm already dressed for it. I got my feet, don't I? The hell if it isn't Santa Monica and the ocean breezes and the nicely sanded shady path and those stairs. I'll just have to manage around here. I know it's not the same. Lots of disappointment. Now comes the anger. Then comes the tidal wave of emotions.

Vulnerable. Sliced open. Bruised. Taken advantage of. Waiting. Disappointment. Anger. Sadness. Hurt. Determination. I'll show them. Who am I proving something to? Why am I so hard on myself? WTF am I doing this for? What is my point? Who really cares anyway? When will I ever get paid for what I do? What is my worth anyway? What am I doing? Am I being led down the garden path on this one? Who am I following? Where am I going?

I think of the baby and the bathwater analogy. It resonates for me on so many levels. I'm ready to throw it all out. But I can't. What is salvageable?

I think of the upcoming trip. Why do we have to have family? I don't want to go. What would happen if I just didn't go?

I can be all love and bliss on a mountaintop. I can be love to my new family. (Ok, I'll admit that sometimes I don't do so well there either.) But the old one? All the passive-aggressive non-communication makes my stomach turn. And the tone. And who should I see, who shouldn't I see? I just don't have the energy, or inclination to deal with it anymore. Do I HAVE to go? Am I being disrespectful if I don't? Am I obligated? Can I turn my perspective about this around? Like, real fast? Why did I think this might be a good idea? What was I thinking?!

I know, let's all stuff ourselves with eating and drinking. Eating and drinking is my family's safety zone. Cocktails anyone? Dance around the truth? One day to splat out a lifetime of non-communication?! Tomorrow he will take it all back. What was I thinking? Humor them? Can I rise above? Ha, ha, ha. Here, have a cocktail. Chase it down with a snit.

Perhaps my brother was right to just disappear for all these years. Unreachable. Next.

A friend recently said, despite all the trauma in her life, she never really fantasized about suicide. She just didn't go there with her pain. I told her she was lucky. I did. I thought about it. I would never act on it, but the thoughts…they have come, I have heard them whisper in my ear, telling me it is a solution to not ever feeling good enough.

Today was such a morning. As I huffed up our hill, the tears began to stream down my face. I cry-jogged for probably a mile, then stopped at a lame set of stairs, 60 stairs per set. I had to do 20 sets to begin to simulate The Stairs in Santa Monica. Even then they weren't as steep or as long a run, so instead it became interval training. Short sets. Lots of them. Huff 2x2 up them, run, run, run down, huff 2x2 up them, run, run, run, down. Repeat ad nauseum.

I feel like I'm sitting on the edge of a fence. On the one side I've got the covers pulled up to my nose, desperately trying to cozy up and release myself into slumber, take it EASY, fall into the soft feathers and REST safe. On the other side I've got the drill sergeant kicking my ass, pushing me off the edge, forcing me to buck up and MARCH. Kick ASS! Move it.

I am torn.

I am woman hear me roar. Affecting change. Pushing the paradigm shift.

I am also a pussy, soft and nurturing. Trying to make everything ok for everybody.

I am the light. I am darkness too. The whole enchilada.

I am ripped right down the middle, my flesh pulled away from my bones. Amorphous and flabby from the children I tried to bear. Damaged and detached from the muscle that used to be so firm and taught.

A great friend said last night that this work is like cutting yourself open, your organs splayed out for the world to see, with hands reaching in at you, grabbing at your heart, your stomach, your esophagus, your pancreas, moving things around, reaching, touching, grasping.

God. So spot on!

Hey, what do you want? I already gave up my placenta, folks. It's helping grow stem cells that Bush will soon kill. Am I toughening my skin? Do I need more bootcamp? Have I not been pushed around enough? What do I want from all this?

The vista over here is ragged, uneven. Unknown. I am bushwhacking through life again. Not sure where I'm heading.

I am affecting change with my passion, with my storytelling, with my frank honesty. I am telling my life in the hopes that others can hear and perhaps learn from it too. I do see that as the emails of thanks trickle into my inbox. But perhaps a roadmap would help. Perhaps I still need validation…like a small child. Hate to admit it. I AM a small child. My daughter has more backbone than me sometimes.

"NO! I don't WANT to! You can't play with me! I don't like that!" she says. Good for her.

I'm like, "am I ok? Did I say the right thing? Do you still love me?" Me? I'm a sucker and a pussy. Charming.

The dry sun is beating down. It is near high noon. There is almost no breeze. My face I can tell is red. My fingers are puffed out and swollen. My eyes sting with the mixture of tears and sweat and sunscreen. I wish I had put on 50 SPF instead of the 30 I am currently wearing. I see only one other jogger the whole time I am out there. We're f--in' crazy in this heat. The smell of cow manure (lawn fertilizer) is ripe and pungent, forcing its way into my nostrils as I work the stairs. I can't tell if it is coming from up the hill or down. I scan the lawns on both sides. Can't see it but it is ripe shite. I breathe it in and keep going.

The only breeze I feel is an occasional merciful caress against my skin. It's a mere whisper. It is almost non-existent except for the breeze I make as I push my body through the hot air. As I walk back in the direction of our house, I search for moments of shade. A fence casting a slight shadow…or a tree throwing dappled shade against the sidewalk….an occasional bush…every third house or so…a moment of cool to temper my heat.

It comes to me:
This is a break…remember to say thanks.

Hehe, thanks.

I keep hoping for an easy patch…I just don't think the universe is willing to give me that right now. So onward I march. Until I can figure out what's next.

***

Cocktails anyone?



(These are my words. They may be right. They may be wrong. So be it.)