Saturday, March 24, 2012

Venting. Don't worry!

My mom is the only person who reads my blog, and this post will just make her worry.  But, don't worry, mother.  I am getting it on paper and telling the entire world, which is a positive step.
Had a massage for the first time in about 7 years (Jeff's then baby is now 7).  1)  I think he is an incarnation of Buddha.  Jeff Johnson, awesome RMT.  The most patient and peaceful person on the earth I have met.  2)  Every time I think about that massage, I cry.  And not because it was one of those sports massages that hurt.  It was pretty fucking amazingly cathartic.  It seems my body has been holding on to all this crap that has made my fucking hand go numb.  OK, the crap is sadness AND anger.  I don't like to be angry, and I don't like to admit I am angry, but I am angry.  Anger can be positive when it leads to necessary change.  Not that the situation I am in is as important or necessary as the American Civil Rights movement of the 1960's, but I always think of that time period as a positive use of anger.  If all the black people and some of the white people in the US had not been angry about disgusting and abhorrent injustices, nothing would have changed.  I am only the target of apathy that has for the past 4 years turned into antipathy.  Unfortunately, at a time I needed the very most love and patience.  Brad was exceptional during the childbirth of both kids.  I think I have been thinking surely if I met antipathy with humor, patience, optimism, that it would change on its own.  It and people do not change on their own unless it/they have to.  I digress.
Jeff was very sweet and allowed me to sob, and said I could take as long as I needed to, but I think I could have stayed there at least another hour in full-out sobbing, and I felt bad about taking up his time sobbing.  He gave me some directions about breathing that were extremely powerful.  When I sat up, after he left the room, I opened my eyes and saw this giant lion head sculpture he has on the wall.  That was weird is all I could think of.  I asked him how he did that, and he said I did it.  Hm.  That was very generous.  He said he imagined I had a tiger inside me waiting to come out.  I think I do.  A pretty fucking pissed off tiger.  One that has been put to sleep for a long time, but has decided to come out sideways, making my body extremely uncomfortable.
People should be nice to each other.  People should be nice to me.  People should be nice.  That is reasonable, right?  I have to ask this.  I am a nice person.  I constantly try to be better.  Be more patient, be more accepting, be more peaceful, calm, loving.  I think I've made progress.  I think I am a good mom.  I constantly try to care for the children as much as I can so that Brad can do what he wants to do.  Hank and Charlie are the best things that ever happened to me or Brad by 10,000 infinity.  I have no idea what it is that Brad thinks I should be doing differently.  I agree, it sucks for dads that moms get to breastfeed and that small children primary need their mom around, and do better in life if their mom is physically and emotionally available in early childhood.  When dad becomes the most important person in their lives, I know I will find it challenging.  I don't think I will blame Brad or take out my sadness and loss on him.  I don't know.  Maybe I will.  I have asked Brad what he would like for me to do instead of what I am doing, and I get a look that says I should know, but he is angry I don't know, and no words.  I think have been a good wife.  I think I have been a lousy wife at times.  I don't know how long I should be held in contempt for my mistakes.  How long is a reasonable amount of time?
I don't believe that two people who dug themselves into an enormous hole with tiny and broken spoons can dig themselves out without using someone else's heavy machinery.  A backhoe with an excavator and possibly a front-end wheel loader.  Definitely a crane and possibly a steel slab hauler.  I am afraid of starting up the heavy machinery because it is going to get LOUD.  I am afraid of how loud I will get and how loud he will get.  I suppose it's somewhat easier to deal with looks that say "go to hell,"  without hearing someone actually tell you to go there.   I DO NOT want to enter the martyr competition. I've played that game before, not since I have known Brad.  It is very unpleasant to play and also unpleasant to win.  Usually, people don't admit they are playing against you.  And if it seems like you are winning, they are always up for more self-torture.  So, no one wins, and everyone is miserable.  No, thanks.  I have plenty of misery (in my 99% awesome life) without manufacturing it for myself and competing for who can be the most miserable.  I think I may have learned that before I turned 30.  Along with just because a guy has sex with you or wants to have sex with you, it does not mean you are going to be boyfriend/girlfriend, or even ever speak again after making out, exchanging longing looks, or actually having sex.  I can proudly say I learned that one even before I turned 25.  Wow.
Now, I am 40, and I expect my children to learn how to be nice and navigate complex, human relationships.  Hm.  I think I need to figure it out before they are smarter than I am.  I have a few months at least because Hank told me the multiplication tables are where you eat lunch.  That was right after he told me he did not need to go to school anymore because he knew everything.  I am 40, and I now know, that is absolutely not true for me.  I know almost nothing about navigating complex human relationships.  I do not know how I am supposed to do it differently, but I do know that other people know how, I can learn how, and there is always room for progress, not perfection.  I know I must do it differently, if only to appease this weepy tiger.  And I should probably go to al anon in my spare time.  [Not because Brad has alcoholism, but because I suffer from thinking I can change things I cannot change].

I am teaching a how to be a personal trainer class and learning so much from the instructor of the lab portion of the class.  I think he is the best personal trainer I have ever met.  Equal to Dixie Stanforth.  Tony Thomas.  And I will gladly give Jeff's contact info to inquirers, but I don't want him to get spammed from posting his email address on the internets.

To bed.  I am subbing the classes at the J in the morning.  Hank and I bought a Betta fish today.  He did not have a suggestion for a name, so I suggested Gepetto and call him, "Pet."  Then we read Pinnochio, the Meredith-edited version.  Smoking, kids getting turned into donkeys, Pinocchio sacrifices his life for his dad.  Geez, I didn't remember all those heavy plot twists.  I think I do remember Pinocchio blowing smoke into Jiminy Cricket's face, but I didn't remember most of the other details.  Jiminy Cricket is Pinocchio's conscience.  That's pretty heavy.  And Pinocchio gets into trouble initially by skipping school to seek pleasurable activities.  Holy smoke.  Literally!  I love the song Giupetto by Vic Chesnutt.  I saw him at the Cactus CafĂ© with Brian Henry in 1994.  It was an amazing concert.  So quiet except for VC's voice and guitar.  And, I'll tell you a funny story about it another day.

1 comment:

Lisa said...

Hey Meredith... Guess what? Your mom and some girl in France read your blog ... How's that, for international? Jokes asside, I read. I relate. Have been down this hole... Or a hole that looked quite like the one you describe... And I wish I had answers to give you, but I don't.
I just felt the need to tell you: I read.
Take care.