The title of this post is a bit of a misnomer. Usually on the day of my birthday I am having a difficult time emotionally, but this year the tough stuff has already (mostly) passed.
I don't dislike my birthday because I am getting old (cause I'm not) but because I have always believed that a birthday should be something special, but life hasn't always supported that belief. That includes a bunch of old crap about my parents and a couple of nasty incidents in childhood that occurred if not on the day, then relatively close to it.
This year I felt the familiar down-turn of mood almost two weeks out and have since worked through, or lived through, the bulk of the icky feelings.
This morning I had an early breakfast with my hubby and as I write my dog is cuddled up next to me on the couch ready to dole out as much unconditional love as I need (and then some). I look forward to a special lunch with my sister-in-law and a trip to the City to celebrate the SheWrites.com one year anniversary. A larger extended family potluck is being planned by my daughter for this weekend or next. I have already received a ton of birthday wishes via Facebook.
So far, a good day. Not a blue one.
Happy Birthday to Me!
Lake Mendocino
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
To Sing or Not to Sing?
I've scheduled my first singing lesson for this afternoon. Last year for my birthday my husband gave me one hour of singing lessons. My birthday is tomorrow, so you can see it took me some time to get up the nerve to make the call to set up the initial time. The plan is to stretch out one hour to 2 half-hour lessons this week and next. If all goes well, I will add in more over the course of the summer.
The desire for the lessons stems from my work around the book I am writing about being sexually abused as a kid. As a little, little girl, I loved to sing. I often sang to myself made up songs. I imagined interviews many years in the future when I would tell the story to some interested reporter how I used to sing to my own reflection in the window of Gram's white car. I would explain how I had always loved to sing and what an important part of my life music had always been. When I was actively taking guitar lessons I wrote and sang a number of my own songs.
So, life didn't happen exactly the way I had envisioned. I don't sing in public, certainly not solo. I love to sing along with the radio, but you won't hear me warbling in the shower. I lost my voice when I lost my music, back when I was taking guitar lessons from a pedophile.
These lessons are another in a long line of attempts to regain what I lost all those years ago.
So what makes me think I can sing to begin with? Not much, actually. I know from work in high school productions that I can be a competent back-up singer, but probably not a soloist. But what if I can sing well? Strong, out loud, carry a tune and find a vibrato? I can, or could at one time, at least carry a tune. I'd like to recapture that part of myself at the very least. Anything more would be simply wonderful.
The desire for the lessons stems from my work around the book I am writing about being sexually abused as a kid. As a little, little girl, I loved to sing. I often sang to myself made up songs. I imagined interviews many years in the future when I would tell the story to some interested reporter how I used to sing to my own reflection in the window of Gram's white car. I would explain how I had always loved to sing and what an important part of my life music had always been. When I was actively taking guitar lessons I wrote and sang a number of my own songs.
So, life didn't happen exactly the way I had envisioned. I don't sing in public, certainly not solo. I love to sing along with the radio, but you won't hear me warbling in the shower. I lost my voice when I lost my music, back when I was taking guitar lessons from a pedophile.
These lessons are another in a long line of attempts to regain what I lost all those years ago.
So what makes me think I can sing to begin with? Not much, actually. I know from work in high school productions that I can be a competent back-up singer, but probably not a soloist. But what if I can sing well? Strong, out loud, carry a tune and find a vibrato? I can, or could at one time, at least carry a tune. I'd like to recapture that part of myself at the very least. Anything more would be simply wonderful.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Irony or Coincidence?
Tuesday night I was teaching my summer freshman composition course. We were discussing Virginia Woolf's "Death of The Moth" essay, reading aloud and discussing the passage about the moth flying to and fro across the window pane as if he were trying to get out to the world and the activity, energy and life represented in the open fields.
We heard a noise at one of our very large classroom windows (we are on the second floor of the building). What looked like a giant bug with a wide rectangular face, it's open mouth brimming with tiny sharp teeth, was flitting to and fro across the window as if it were trying to get into our world and the activity and life we represented. Unlike the moth, our over-sized bug was attached to a very long neck and a wet substance was spewing from the center of its mouth.
It was a scrub brush attached to a very long pole and a hose. In reality we knew this immediately, but the timing was pretty interesting. It stayed on that window until we were nearly done discussing the essay, and spent less time on the second window. By the time we were ready to move on, so had the scrub brush.
Irony or coincidence? You decide.
We heard a noise at one of our very large classroom windows (we are on the second floor of the building). What looked like a giant bug with a wide rectangular face, it's open mouth brimming with tiny sharp teeth, was flitting to and fro across the window as if it were trying to get into our world and the activity and life we represented. Unlike the moth, our over-sized bug was attached to a very long neck and a wet substance was spewing from the center of its mouth.
It was a scrub brush attached to a very long pole and a hose. In reality we knew this immediately, but the timing was pretty interesting. It stayed on that window until we were nearly done discussing the essay, and spent less time on the second window. By the time we were ready to move on, so had the scrub brush.
Irony or coincidence? You decide.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
What Dreams May Come
I have had several, shall we say, interesting dreams this last few mornings.
In order of appearance:
1) My daughter and her boyfriend had a baby. They only took care of the baby part-time, so I kept having to step in and care for the infant. I also had to fight them over their inconsistent parenting behavior.
2) I was 2-months pregnant with a baby of my own.
3) I was in China and diagnosed with Cancer. I had only a few weeks to live. Two chemotherapy treatments were to be taken before I boarded the plane home, the third once I was back on US soil.
4) A nuclear bomb went off. Several of us who survived were attempting to figure out what resources were left.
Apparently, according to online dream dictionaries, I am dealing subconsciously with some anxiety and changes.
Ya think!!
In order of appearance:
1) My daughter and her boyfriend had a baby. They only took care of the baby part-time, so I kept having to step in and care for the infant. I also had to fight them over their inconsistent parenting behavior.
2) I was 2-months pregnant with a baby of my own.
3) I was in China and diagnosed with Cancer. I had only a few weeks to live. Two chemotherapy treatments were to be taken before I boarded the plane home, the third once I was back on US soil.
4) A nuclear bomb went off. Several of us who survived were attempting to figure out what resources were left.
Apparently, according to online dream dictionaries, I am dealing subconsciously with some anxiety and changes.
Ya think!!
Sunday, June 6, 2010
I hate to complan, but...
I'm having a rough weekend.
Reasons:
Burnout--I just finished the Spring semester and am slowly working on the plans for Summer school. Then I will have to work on Fall. I am currently scheduled to teach 3 classes at two different schools this fall (one is new for me) and may be adding a 4th on in as well. I'm not complaining necessarily, but am not feeling the excitement I prefer to feel. I'd like more down-time, but don't have the luxury.
Pain--My back went out on me. What does that mean, you ask? It means that my lower back hurts a great deal, especially when I am upright and walking. This is annoying and depressing on several levels. It means I can't paint my ceilings (yes a real project I was really looking forward to) that will precede repainting my dining room and entryway with a color I don't despise. It means I can't go shopping, run errands, clean or walk my dogs. My back actually feels swollen in places. I'll be calling the chiropractor tomorrow. In the meantime I am trying to stretch and build muscles for support.
Worry--My grandson's heart is working very, very hard to keep him going. A bit too hard, it seems. Instead of waiting until he is 3 or 6 months old to do surgery, they may have to do it fairly soon. Let me be clear, I have complete faith that this young man will pull through just fine. I do. He is strong. But I as I write this he may still be in the ER with his parents and neither of them is responding to my text messages. Their not responding doesn't necessarily mean bad news, more likely it means no news. The cliche says that no news is good news. But waiting is really a bitch.
Missed Trip--Because of my back I couldn't make the trip to Las Vegas where my adopted sister is about to have her first baby.
Other stuff--that I'd rather not share on the Internet is also percolating away under the surface and likely adding to my IBS and back pain. Nothing life-threatening or horribly bad, just internal work.
The up-side: I am writing by updating this blog. Not the most fun, entertaining or exciting post I've ever written, but at least I am writing. And the drugs are helping with the back pain.
Mmmmm drugs.
:-)
Reasons:
Burnout--I just finished the Spring semester and am slowly working on the plans for Summer school. Then I will have to work on Fall. I am currently scheduled to teach 3 classes at two different schools this fall (one is new for me) and may be adding a 4th on in as well. I'm not complaining necessarily, but am not feeling the excitement I prefer to feel. I'd like more down-time, but don't have the luxury.
Pain--My back went out on me. What does that mean, you ask? It means that my lower back hurts a great deal, especially when I am upright and walking. This is annoying and depressing on several levels. It means I can't paint my ceilings (yes a real project I was really looking forward to) that will precede repainting my dining room and entryway with a color I don't despise. It means I can't go shopping, run errands, clean or walk my dogs. My back actually feels swollen in places. I'll be calling the chiropractor tomorrow. In the meantime I am trying to stretch and build muscles for support.
Worry--My grandson's heart is working very, very hard to keep him going. A bit too hard, it seems. Instead of waiting until he is 3 or 6 months old to do surgery, they may have to do it fairly soon. Let me be clear, I have complete faith that this young man will pull through just fine. I do. He is strong. But I as I write this he may still be in the ER with his parents and neither of them is responding to my text messages. Their not responding doesn't necessarily mean bad news, more likely it means no news. The cliche says that no news is good news. But waiting is really a bitch.
Missed Trip--Because of my back I couldn't make the trip to Las Vegas where my adopted sister is about to have her first baby.
Other stuff--that I'd rather not share on the Internet is also percolating away under the surface and likely adding to my IBS and back pain. Nothing life-threatening or horribly bad, just internal work.
The up-side: I am writing by updating this blog. Not the most fun, entertaining or exciting post I've ever written, but at least I am writing. And the drugs are helping with the back pain.
Mmmmm drugs.
:-)
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Those Old Visceral Reactions
I have recently swallowed too many of my own (not terribly good or fun) feelings, and found that I had reawakened my good old buddy, IBS.
I really prefer referring to him by his initials, because initials sound more relevant and important. When I say Irritable Bowel Syndrome it sounds like a cop-out, like nothing terribly serious let alone painful. I mean, come on, irritation is just that, irritating. Not painful or hurtful or really very serious. When my mood is irritable I rarely do any real physical harm to anyone. But when my you-know-what is irritable, some heavy duty pain is the result.
When I was 11-years-old (before the local docs had discovered the term Irritable Bowel Syndrome) some fairly acute abdominal pain led me to the hospital and surgery. When I say acute, I'm talking writhing around on a the bed, floor and backseart of my grandmother's car moaning and crying, clutching the area just below center of my body with all my might, hoping that the outside pressure would relieve some of what was going on inside.
When the surgeon didn't find what he had expected, he yanked out my perfectly healthy appendix so as not to have wasted a trip. Over the years, each time I returned to a doctor with similar complaints, they ran tests and determined that there was nothing physically wrong.
Of course there was something physically wrong, it just wasn't caused by something physical. It was caused my something emotional: When I was eleven I was swallowing words and worries that surrounded the sexual abuse I experienced. As a teen, well, as a teen there is plenty of angst anyway, and I always managed to get myself into difficult emotional situations. As an adult it was several years before I understood the connection between emotional pain and physical pain.
Thankfully in recent years I have understood (and accepted) what causes the pain, that severe feelings can be directly tied into severe physical pain. After all, before medical science put an nondescript medical term to it, there were plenty of terms to describe when emotions have a physical effect.
Think about it, someone is a pain in the neck. She makes me sick to my stomach. He is a pain in the ass. There is bad blood between us. I've had a change of heart. The cat has his tongue. I'm waiting with bated breath. I'm in a blue funk. Blue funk?
Okay, so I'd rather be in a blue funk than feel the IBS symptoms. So I'm back on the emotional wagon. I'm working on vocalizing my feelings instead of keeping them inside.
For those of you who know me fairly well, it may be hard for you to believe that I EVER keep feelings to myself. I assure you that I do, and you might want to feel a little bit grateful about that. ;-)
I really prefer referring to him by his initials, because initials sound more relevant and important. When I say Irritable Bowel Syndrome it sounds like a cop-out, like nothing terribly serious let alone painful. I mean, come on, irritation is just that, irritating. Not painful or hurtful or really very serious. When my mood is irritable I rarely do any real physical harm to anyone. But when my you-know-what is irritable, some heavy duty pain is the result.
When I was 11-years-old (before the local docs had discovered the term Irritable Bowel Syndrome) some fairly acute abdominal pain led me to the hospital and surgery. When I say acute, I'm talking writhing around on a the bed, floor and backseart of my grandmother's car moaning and crying, clutching the area just below center of my body with all my might, hoping that the outside pressure would relieve some of what was going on inside.
When the surgeon didn't find what he had expected, he yanked out my perfectly healthy appendix so as not to have wasted a trip. Over the years, each time I returned to a doctor with similar complaints, they ran tests and determined that there was nothing physically wrong.
Of course there was something physically wrong, it just wasn't caused by something physical. It was caused my something emotional: When I was eleven I was swallowing words and worries that surrounded the sexual abuse I experienced. As a teen, well, as a teen there is plenty of angst anyway, and I always managed to get myself into difficult emotional situations. As an adult it was several years before I understood the connection between emotional pain and physical pain.
Thankfully in recent years I have understood (and accepted) what causes the pain, that severe feelings can be directly tied into severe physical pain. After all, before medical science put an nondescript medical term to it, there were plenty of terms to describe when emotions have a physical effect.
Think about it, someone is a pain in the neck. She makes me sick to my stomach. He is a pain in the ass. There is bad blood between us. I've had a change of heart. The cat has his tongue. I'm waiting with bated breath. I'm in a blue funk. Blue funk?
Okay, so I'd rather be in a blue funk than feel the IBS symptoms. So I'm back on the emotional wagon. I'm working on vocalizing my feelings instead of keeping them inside.
For those of you who know me fairly well, it may be hard for you to believe that I EVER keep feelings to myself. I assure you that I do, and you might want to feel a little bit grateful about that. ;-)
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