More Dreams...

I'm never unprepared to go out in the field. By the time we have to go and get on the bus, I've got everything I need in my pack to keep me as comfortable as possible. Well, in this dream, I had to go out into the field and I couldn't find a damned thing. Each of the colleagues that stopped to "check" that I had certain items, just blew me off when I complained that I couldn't find anything. I became so frustrated that I began to cry (big wuss!) but then, my brother arrived. He saw me crying and asked me what was the matter. I told him through tears, expecting him to say something helpful like "well, you should've have been more organized" or something to that effect. Instead, he took-off his own pack and began to help me. Then, I hugged him and told him I loved him, and through tears, he told me he loved me too.

The only time in my life my brother has ever allowed this type of interaction, was when his daughter died. I wonder, am I subconsciously "making friends" with my brother? Or is this a precognition of another horrible period in our lives? I guess only time will tell.

Ain't She Just Being Human?

So, apparently Miss USA is in danger of having her crown snatched away because of behaviour that gives the chubby white guys/gals on the panel the heeby-jeebies. Of course, those same chubby white guys (and maybe gals) probably wouldn't be too too upset with her behaviour if they ran into her at one of the bars she "behaves badly in." No, I'm sure they wouldn't have a problem with her bad behaviour in that venue, of course, as long as she's behaving badly with them. For the time being though, as the coveted crown holder, all types of non-straight-out- of-the-cloister behaviour ist shtrictly ferboten!! Crown holders must behave as if they've never had sex, never taken more than a social drink and above all, never behaved like one of the Miss USA panel members at one of the post-contest parties. Why? I dunno. I think the chubby white guys thought it up.

This drives me slightly nutty. First, there was Vanessa Williams, a Miss America that resigned her title amidst scandal. Now Miss USA. Apart from the obvious question of who really gives a shit, does this not speak volumes about contests that many (myself included) feel should have been made defunct oh, say, 40 years ago? Okay, okay. To be fair to the Reagan/Bush backlash against women era, let's say 20 years ago? Let's face it. Perfection does NOT exist. At least I hope it doesn't exist in this particular form anyway. A form concocted by elites, for elites. A perfectly shaped woman, with perfect teeth, perfect deportment, perfect speaking skills, some well-refined talent (I use this term loosely because baton-twirling? Really.), does NOT exist. Period. The only thing that MAY exist is the facade of a perfect woman. That is all. Oh, I mean, das ist alles.

Besides I want to know where the crown is for smartest chick in school, or maybe, for the girl who isn't the prettiest (by societal standards) but who has a way about her that everyone finds disarming. How about the girl who tutors her classmates in math with no thought to what is in it for her. How about a crown for the girl who denies herself university to help her parents in their business? Or how about the young woman that works two jobs to look after her little sister because some "tough love" parents chucked her out? These women exist. I know because I've met them scores of times. One woman I know, grew-up as an inner city kid. She shlepps burgers at the local truck stop to support her two kids since "dad" took-off. No. There's no child support. Authorities are still looking for the prick. Man, is she a beautiful human being though. She always wanted to learn to play the piano but guess what? Her parents didn't have the money, when she was a kid and as an adult well, supporting yourself and your children kind of took priority, know what I mean. These women don't make it to the Miss USA pageant though, nor to the Miss Canada pageant, nor any other pageant. Even if they had wanted to, they were never afforded a lifestyle that would accommodate the training, beautifying and polishing it takes to even come near the Miss Penopscot contest, let alone Miss USA. That is an otherworldly dream reserved for children of elites who can afford teachers, orthondontists, plastic surgery, and most importantly, the money for a majorette's uniform.

So, what is the Miss USA contest then? Can someone argue for me that it is NOT a socially defunct display of elitists, schooled in all of the superficial trappings of our western society? Well, they could try but I don't think they'd win me over. Suffice it to say, you'd have a hard time getting me past the porcelain veneers, balloon boobs, and the fact that Donald Trump (don't believe me? see link below) is to decide whether or not Miss Conner, the current Miss USA crown holder, should be dethroned. Good. Grief. Donald Trump. I mean, isn't that enough said? I'm hoping that maybe the women of today, even the Miss USAs and Miss Americas, are realizing that expecting "perfection" of themselves is just too darned antiquated an idea to carry forward into the future. An idea forced upon us by myriad powers beyond our immediate control. An idea that should've been squashed before it was ever even uttered.

For the sake of women everywhere, let's forego this plastic parade. In fact, let's bring the damnable thing to a complete end! Destroy the crown wrought for an inhuman ideal, and let's let all women finally be celebrated for being human. In the end, isn't that the toughest goal each of us could ever hope to reach?

http://www.missusa.com/press/pdf/STATEMENT_RE_TARA_CONNER.pdf

Christmas and Me - A Love Hate Relationship

It's ten days until Christmas and I have yet to really begin my shopping. Good grief. I love Christmas but every year it just seems to get more and more stressful. Why? I dunno. You'd think it'd be easier with each passing year. You get a routine down pat and it becomes a simple matter of executing that routine each year, right? Seeing as my life is anything but routine and hasn't been for many, many years, I guess this would explains things. Ah well. We can't all be the Cleavers, I guess.

It's just that I never know anymore what to get my friends and family. This equates to endless hours trudging around stores, trying to come-up with something that would actually please the intended recipient. Bottle of perfume? No. I'd get her something that smells great on me, then smells like cat pee when it's on her. Maybe a gift certificate? Nah. Too impersonal. I know! A really nice cardigan! What size is she again? Well, she's about my size, maybe a little bigger. But what colour? Hey! How about a spa certificate! Well, where in the hell is there a spa around here... and so it goes. I remember years ago somehow knowing exactly what to get for each family member or friend. I often wonder just when and how I lost that particular ability. Then, in one mad frenzied day of bustling Christmas shopping, I would get every last item on my mental list. If there were any exceptions, I always left myself one more day to find them elsewhere.

I think I made Christmas so exciting because every year it became a contest. A race against time to see if I could get it all done in one day. The rushing around was part of the Christmas thrill. It got your holiday adrenaline going. After years upon years of having my adrenal glands leached by real stress, rushing around just doesn't seem so thrilling anymore. I'm kind of liking sedate lately. Unfortunately, having never honed a low-stress Christmas routine whilst I was young, I never had the routine in place when I reached that stage in my life where panic isn't fun anymore. A stage where high-stress and adrenaline rushes result in bouts of crying and early beddy-byes.

But ...

I wouldn't trade Christmas for the world. Not yet anyway. Guess I'm not as jaded as I would like to think. I can't wait to get together with everyone (my boyfriend's sister and housemate are the most wonderful people you could ever hope to meet! - not to mention, some pretty damned fine cooks too!) I still get a rush when I plug the houselights in for the first time; when I first see the tree all trimmed in finery; when the flaming Christmas pud is walked into the dining room. I still cry as Alistair Sim's Scrooge begs his nephew's wife's forgiveness for "having no eyes to see with, nor ears to hear, all these years." I still giggle like a kid at Clarence the Angel and wait with baited breath to see A Charlie Brown Christmas and the Grinch. My heart still races, a little, when I wake-up Christmas morning and realize what day it is.

Sigh. I guess there's no hope for me. It seems Christmas and I are to continue this love-hate relationship. I'm certainly not going to give it up and I don't think my family and friends would let me anyway. Suffice it to say, I'll just keep trudging along through each Christmas, struggling to find a low-stress routine. Between bouts of crying and tiredness, I'll enjoy some nog and a cuddle by the tree with my guy. I'll enjoy Charlie Brown and Snoopy, Clarence and Ebeneezer and I will stuff myself like a suckling pig at Christmas dinner. Then, of course, I'll cry some more, when it's all done and I see the state of the kitchen. Ah well. What's a non-Cleaver 42 year old with no Christmas routine to do?

Like a Spoonful of Sugar...

Everyone needs to laugh but for me, it's like manna from heaven! I mean, I can remember side-splitting hysterics from a young age. Years later, I'm lucky. I still laugh a lot. I haven't had one of those side-splitting, face-aching laughs in a while but I still laugh a lot.

I can't imagine a day without laughter in it. Even when I was managing my parents' business and caring for a terminally ill father (then mother!), I still was able to laugh at some point in the day. Of course, I had terrible fits of temper too but peppered with a good laugh here and there, it was all somehow bearable.

I guess that's why I always acted like a clown as a kid. To give that feeling to someone else was like getting a gift back. It always made me feel so good inside to make someone else laugh. Laughs are like sugar in a bitter cup of coffee. They make the brew of life more pleasant to drink.

Some would say that if the brew of life is bitter to me then, I'm not living right. You know what? They're wrong. I'm living the best that I can. If I'm supposed to be living it differently, I imagine a power greater than me will somehow let me know. Until then, I'm just truckin' like everybody else... and laughing, of course!

Dreams....

I was in my old house. One that I lived in for about 9 years but that I just moved out of roughly 7 months ago. Cripes. I could still tell you where we kept everything; what was in each drawer in the kitchen, etc.

So, I walk in the front door only to find that I've left a lot of my stuff there. I see a lot of my Mum's clothes are there. My new pal Daphne is there with me, for some reason, and I ask her if there was any smell of cat pee left in the house (I very stupidly did not have my male cat neutered when he was young and paid for it severely. He wasn't an outdoor cat so, his reproductive potential wasn't an issue.... until the smell came.) Anyhow, she answered that no, there was only a slight hint of it now. I kept thinking I had to get that stuff out of there but didn't know how I was going to manage it because I hadn't brought my boyfriend's pick-up truck.

Though I guess it could be viewed that this is a negative dream, I'm thinking that it was rather a positive one. Firstly, this is the first dream I've had about that place where I really have already moved-out. In every other dream I've had about that place since moving, I still live there in some capacity or another. Also, I felt some closure because I ALWAYS felt really bad about the cat pee thing! (I learned guilt well and at a young age.) As I said, I see this as a positive turn because it would seem to me that my mind has now accepted that I no longer live there; that the home I reside in now with my boyfriend is not temporary or transitory. The acceptance now is deep enough to reside in my subconscious. I may not have remembered to take all of my stuff with me so, there may be some issues left to resolve but I myself, recocgnize that I no longer live there. Like I said, I think that's a positive step.

The only thing that concerns me is the fact that my mum's stuff was there. I remember wondering how on earth I could have left my mum's stuff there! I remember looking at some of the clothes and thinking well, what am I going to do with that? Maybe I should leave it here. But then there were videos and photos of my family that I found tucked-away in a closet and again I thought, how could I have left these here?

Who knows. Maybe now as I recognize that I've physically left that place, maybe I can begin to extract the mental and emotional remnants too.

Thusly It Begins

The day is new,
the feeling
an old one.
My faithful companion
through many a year.
But here is where
I will begin
again.
My first step
again
to myself.
I hunger for the journey.
I want for the release
of finally finding
and escaping
me.
I promise you nothing
but still
I ask you
Will you walk with me?