I don't know.

I'm emotionally exhausted.

And mentally alert.

I love that I can share my healing process, my struggles, my secrets with Jukebox. And I hate that any one person knows every thing about me.




Have you ever ...

... hyperventilated so hard that you bruise your rib cage/muscles?

I'm on day 3 of healing and the pain is finally gone.


=^..^=
****************************************


The purple dress saga continues. Turns out film sometimes simply cannot cover the broad spectrum of light and colors we see (read: brilliant deep purple), therefore the bridesmaids dresses will come out dark blue.


****************************************


I had a friend over the other night. She, out of me, her and Jukebox is THE ONLY PERSON IN MY HOUSE WHO WEARS LIPGLOSS. There was a blob spilled on my bathroom rug. By the time I spotted it and tried to clean up after it the damage had been done. Since it doesn't fucking DRY it has been tracked all over my house, specifically my white bedroom carpet.

My house is always a shambles BUT I DO NOT SPORT LARGE MAKEUP OR NAIL POLISH stains on my carpet. Carpet I paid for and had installed and must keep in nice condition because this isn't a fucking apartment complex that will take care of itself when "I move out."

Naturally you think I should be forgiving and normally I would agree. But she has consistently ruined my carpet and furniture over the years, including drinks, red wine and food. She IS someone who sports nail polish stains and other shit on her apartment carpet and thinks "oh well."

She doesn't need to know I'm pissed. But I happened to be pissed and will have to get over it every day I walk through my hallway and see the LARGE RED-PINK BLOB stain directly in the middle of the carpet staring up at me like I just dropped my period all over it.

****************************************


Why do I bother putting movie titles up at Dont Does Movies? Why do I bother keeping my movie theater ticket stubs? Why do I care what fricken movie I saw 10 years ago?

Yes, I did recently reference my collection when an old high school buddy mentioned a movie we went to that I had no recollection of. There was the ticket stub, 1995.





Time to heal, for real.

I just started reading a book called, "The Sexual Healing Journey" by Wendy Maltz.

I highly recommend it for ANY ONE WHO HAS ENDURED ANY KIND OF SEXUAL ABUSE OF ANY NATURE.

How she writes is highly validating. I always suffered from a feeling that what happened to me "wasn't bad enough" and have been reluctant to talk about it because I assumed others would have a "who cares" attitude.

Unfortunately what happened to me growing up affected my patterns of thinking and behavior and I continued getting hurt all through my dating teens and twenties.

And there it is, right there, on page 67:
"For instance, many survivors experience a period of high sexual activity in their dating years, then encounter problems with sexual interest and functioning only after they have become involved in a committed, long-term relationship."

I need to quit apologizing for my inadequacies to Jukebox, quit making jokes so everyone else think he's getting some action and start focusing on myself for real.

My therapist has said it too, but it is SO FUCKING HARD to think about healing and learning how to be healthy and trusting in sex and do it for yourself, not for your partner!

It'll take as long as it takes.

It seems that none of my friends understands what I'm personally going through, to the extent that I'm experiencing it... but that shouldn't keep me from going forward. I bought this book months ago, and wish I had started reading it then, too.

But it is here today, and I must not have been ready to tackle it until today.



dingen

How on Earth could a woman walk into the "Dress Barn" and feel like she's something more than cow pies?

Anyway, I wandered in there after running an errand to look for my mom. She was in the dressing room so I started to look around, maybe find something she'd like for the wedding she was going to. Many things caught my eye, but my mom is pretty much the same style, year round. Cami + Button down short sleeve shirt that she wears open.

I spotted a pretty black and white floral print and went to check on her, asking her what size she was. She came out a moment later holding the exact same shirt I had picked out for her.

Hilarious.

**********************************

My mom cannot do more than one thing at a time. And she's always on her cell phone. While driving. I'm just praying I don't die every time I get into a car with her.

********************************

Today she hung up her cell phone (while driving slightly more recklessly than normal) and said of her 45 year old (I'm guessing) step-daughter, "she's so rude."

My mom is the rudest lady in town. I shit you not.

********************************

Since I'm sporting an extra Chevy Aveo for my middle section I had to suck it up and spend some real cash on clothes I can wear while shooting weddings. So my belly is contained and I'm not wheezing because the waistband is too tight. I refuse to get elastic waistband dress pants because they create unflattering rolls and then I would literally be just like my mom.

Anyway, my mom bought me an extra tank (you know the stretchy kind with shelf bras and some go nice and low down the waist?) while I was stressing about dropping $50 on clothes today.

Score.

*********************************

Jukebox brought home a giant rear projection flat screen TV today. It was free. It's broken but he's going to spend $60 on some chip and solder it in and tada I will no longer have a simple living room with a simple TV in it.

For as broke as I am this is a wild conundrum for me.

**********************************

I gave up a wedding that is coming up in 2 weeks. I keep reminding myself this was brave of me. To hand over $1000 to another photographer to get this bride off my hands.

It's a big deal, but worth it in the long run.

Plus I did it very nicely and everyone is happy, I'm just out the money.

**********************************

I met Dane Cook and shook his hand. I'm still a little high from it.

*********************************

I haven't made jewelry in a couple months but I put together this really pretty 2 strand necklace last night with large chunky glossy ivory colored shell/rocks, brown glass beads in between them and on a long gold chain.

I hate it but I know it's fabulous. The last time I felt this way a woman bought the necklace from my craft show with shrieks she was so excited over it. So my mom is convinced I made it for someone out there who really wants it.

We'll see. First I have to name it.




study schmudy

I always think it's because I'm an artist, but I often don't do things until the mood strikes me (or worse case scenario: right before they're due).

So today I'm just trying to study Philosophy (you know.. a quick read. 8^D shaw!) because it's due tonight. But it's too much and I just feel like designing a new logo or updating some of my sites.

Last night I wanted to read and study but Jukebox stopped by unexpectedly and of course he gets attention over school.

Plus... he might take a job out of state (like, maybe even the coast!) and I should get in every minute I can before he leaves. (there are no jobs in his line of work here in MN, they're all states away)

Anyway, clearly this is why I decided to blog a bit today to avoid studying.

Ta.




stolen

Hmmm. Turns out I now offer a product worth stealing!

The idea anyway.

Thrifty moms out there literally talked about my product, how to make it and ta-da, stolen.

It wasn't that much of a secret, really. I'm sure someone they knew bought one from me or got one as a gift from another customer of mine. And that person saw how simple the ingredients were.

Anyway, one thoughtful stealer still complimented my original product and linked back to my website product page.

I guess I'd rather not know......




split ends

When I was young I was sitting at the hair salon waiting to get whatever sabotage was on the agenda that day done to my hair.

A woman with short boyish hair came in, plopped into her chair and started playing with her short straight tufts and asked for a trim, "because I have some split ends."

I recoiled.

I had never heard of split ends before. You know when you see those cartoons when you're little, showing you how sharp the sword is, they pluck a hair and drop it on the blade and it gets cut in two...? That's what imagery I had in my head. That hair is so thin, so tiny, that it can not get any smaller.

I thought she had some disgusting disease and I was flabbergasted that she would even dare speak it in public.

You see, even earlier in my years I had been treated that poorly at a salon. My mom always took me to training schools and would drop me off. She'd come back for me later. I always felt alone and a little intimidated. They discovered an unsightly mole on my scalp and freaked the fuck out.

She dropped her comb and was shaking and asked her instructor, "Am I going to get it?!" It's a mole, but they thought it was some disease. I was asked to leave.

Anyway, back to split ends. I was mortified and couldn't ask anyone about it.

Later on I understood what they were and was quite fascinated by them. In 8th grade a girl I knew showed me that she would take the two little ends and pull them until the hair fell apart.

In my lonesome and depressive summer vacation that year, no friends to call and too young for anything else like a job, I sat home pulling apart my split ends. I read books, biked, got in water fights with my brothers and pulled split ends. You can imagine how destroyed my hair was.

It was longish and I went in for a perm for my 9th grade school portrait. The hairdresser insisted I get it cut. I said no. My mom wasn't there and the woman couldn't make me cut my hair. Once it was permed I knew it wouldn't matter. She argued with me.

She washed my hair. The water burned my skin. She plopped me back into the salon seat and took a comb to my hair. From the roots down she dragged the little fine-toothed comb. RIP. RIP. RIP. It hit snarly knots at the bottom. My head jerked around. It hurt like hell.

I never had this problem at home because I knew how to comb my damn hair.

She scolded me, angrily showing me my image in the mirror. Hissing, "This. is. what. happens. when. you. dont. cut. off. your. dead. ends."

I held her gaze with my stony face and refused to get it cut. Also, my mom didn't want to pay for a cut, she was only paying for my perm.

When my mom picked me up, sitting outside scowling, to her the world hadn't changed. But I told her I hated the woman inside and never wanted to go back. I never got another perm or salon haircut after that.

So I have long hair and I have split ends. I was just thinking of that while I looked at my ends sitting here at my computer and desk deciding what to do next. Cut hair? (I cut my own) Read school text? Watch a movie? Go to bed? Eat?




a terrible mother-daughter commercial script

I called my mom today since I was feeling lost, friendless and sad. Thought she could go on a bike ride with me. She reminded me of the wind.

Quick glance outside, yep, trees doubling over. Like I felt last night after eating her potato salad...

I wandered over to her house since she heard me crying on the phone and said I can come hang out with her while she plants flowers. Well, she said I could help plant flowers but I knew I wouldn't help.

On the way I got my textbook from the post office (class starts Monday - online... but I haven't gotten anything from teacher yet and the online class isn't active...). I also swung through an Estate sale. I overheard some conversation and felt better about the few things I was buying when I heard that the owner hadn't died (I would assume he is maybe heading for a nursing home...). Anyway, it was quiet in the basement (since I was ignoring one buyer's non stop talking) and I was feeling reflective.

On the way to my mom's house "Stairway to Heaven" came on and it felt like a good tribute to T-Bear. I drove around the neighborhood just listening to the song.

After a bit mom and I wound up on her front porch, sitting in the shade. She starts with, "Do you know much about PMS, I mean, have you really learned about it?"

"Yep." I immediately knew where she was going with this.

"Well, I was about your age when I would go through really bad mood swings. I finally realized it would start 14 days... well - yeah - I'm sure - yeah - it was 14 days after my period started."

"Yep."

"Then I would have two weeks where I felt sane. It would start when my period started..."

"[sigh]"

"Well, I mean, have you thought about it or talked to a doctor about it. Maybe you're going through what I was going through."

"I know all about it. I know I have a couple really bad days just before my period. I'm well aware."

"I would just feel completely crazy. Yelling and screaming at you kids. I finally had to ask you kids to just tell me when I was being crazy because I couldn't see it."

"Yeah mom, but I think you had other things going on."

"Whew, those were a couple terrible years."

"I'm sure mom. But it lasted a lot longer than a couple years. I was just a kid then. You were screaming when I moved out and you were still screaming after I moved out."

"Yeah. I didn't know which end was up." Sidenote: my dad had cheated on her by this point and moved out.

"I think you had things going on like untreated depression -"

"Well you hated me. I didn't know what to do."

Jesus. The damage had been done woman. "You know what mom? Out of everything, all those years, I don't remember one hug. Not one hug from you."

"Yeah, I didn't hug you kids."

"So I think there wasn't much you could have done by then." My mind jumped to all kinds of scenarios where she took some fucking responsibility for the hell we were living in.

I let out a sigh. I couldn't look at her. I picked through the peanuts I was snacking on, hating that I eat for comfort just like she does. Blech.

"We were just kids. We didn't know which end was up. We didn't know what to do, how to grow up. We didn't know how to figure out the world on our own."

I don't know if she responded exactly. I held the rest in. She doesn't even know I'm in therapy.

"Anyway, I know what you're trying to get at. It's not PMS. I've been missing my friend T-Bear this week and I feel bad that I didn't go visit him. I'm just sad."

"Oh."

And that was that. I asked her some inane question to change the subject and so goes our relationship.




