I know why she married him. *sigh*

Well, this - and - you simply couldn't help but notice - from the looks of those Wranglers - umm - nice package. Whoa.

I also learned one of the reasons why he left her. Evidently she likes (or liked?) to smoke pot, and he most definitely doesn't cotton up to that habit. At least that's what D.'s friend Charlie said. He was sitting a few rows in front of us, and we met him before the show started. He's a huge music fan. He said something about his brother-in-law being in the Cowboy Junkies, but I didn't ask who his brother-in-law is.

I am not doing so well this morning, but - oh - last night... An absolutely amazing show. Lyle and his Large Band played for three hours. I wish it would have lasted longer. (Sidenote: He did "Smile" as one of the encore songs. I cried like a baby. I always cry when I hear this song. I think this is kind of ironic.) By the end of the show there was a lovely breeze blowing in off the harbor, and we drove home with the windows and sunroof open, and on the way home D. asked me to take my hair down. The wind in my hair felt nice.

Oh, yes - girls always like to be told they're pretty.

Now, something to eat from Sonic would be nice, along with listening to a little Frank, [softly]. I am the world's biggest geek.

Just because the title of number five made me grin.

my sucky morning!

I hate crying before 9:00 a.m. I hate those kinds of phone calls.

It's not that I don't want to be happy today. I do. It's just harder than I want it be. More difficult than I can imagine. So I read Yeats, and listen to songs, and dry my eyes.

I tell myself, "Nothing can tear us apart." I'm ready to be happy again, but I've got to continue to suck it up. Be patient. We're in different spots, and that's all right. Hold on to the love you feel, don't forget to express it. Show it, do it so that he feels it. Women are talkers - we like to express what we feel with words. Men are different beasts. They want action. Gestures. You'd think I'd know this by now.

The bottom line is that it's worth it. It's worth the hard work. We can overanalyze, and be afraid, and bury ourselves deeply in other things - life - work - whatever. We can rely on the hope that we won't get hurt again - just as long as we maintain the distance, keep that brick wall intact. All of the excuses become the crutch. "It will happen again, yadda yadda..." We hold on to the past, and what the past has done to us. Yes, there are a lot of nail holes in our posts. I'm just tired of examining the damage, but I'll keep looking at it, and talking about it, until we can move on.

Even when I'm driving, and tears are streaming down my face, I've got enough of a backbone to remind myself ~ "you must be strong - there is no other option."*

Tomorrow, Lyle Lovett.

*Of course there's more to the story.

Later~

This story makes me sad.

Listening to my online boombox thing makes me happy.

Even later, dancing in lacy underthings. Possible phone sex.

silly mouse

While "someone" is here - um - "working" - I've decided to use this time to do the kinds of things I can't do while he's here.

(Shhhhhh. Don't tell.)

I set the thermostat down to 76 degrees. I drank a bottle of Chardonnay, and ate a bowl full of leftover mashed potatoes (with lots of garlic and cheese mixed in) - in bed!! I pulled my hair back in a ponytail, pulled on my gym shorts and an old Ticket t-shirt, and watched television past 10:00 p.m. - in bed!! (Sidenote: I knew I'd already had a little too much to drink when I cried during "Sex In The City" - twice. Oh yes - Spinal Tap still makes me laugh.) I smoked one of the two remaining Marlboro Ultra Light 100's I've had sitting around for the past few months (I don't smoke, but fake it once-in-a-while) - in bed!! I "contemplated" where I should hide - um - certain 'things' before my parents arrival (the Mother is a snoop) - in bed!!

More wacky adventures tonight!

I also slept in the middle of the bed - arms and legs sprawled all over the place. Whee!

?

What flips your switch?

(Interpret any way you wish.)

Oh yes. Have a super-fantastic weekend - and - please - whatever you do, do NOT rent this movie.

If you need a little movie action check out Filmwise.

...[she] gave herself a little cuddle

Last night I was tired. Bone-tired. My skin was tired. The mosquito bite on my right knee was tired. I was tired.

I was lying in bed channel-surfing (Sidenote: television is a wasteland these days), thinking about getting up to retrieve that Tom Robbins novel still sitting on the shelf. "I should read more often", I thought. I did get up, but I ended up coming back to bed with four Oreo's and a glass of milk. So much for being a hipster/poseur.

I needed to recuperate from the previous late-night David Gray concert (which was good, but long. I found myself yawning during the encore.) Even more proof that I'm no longer twenty-one.

So - where was I? Oh yes - lying in bed, eating cookies and drinking milk like a good girl. I flipped past HBO (already saw "Sex & The City"), and landed on PBS. I ended up catching the last three wives (note to self: try to catch entire show - this was pretty good stuff), and - well - erm - some other stuff, then promptly fell asleep.

This morning I've got a kind of six-degrees-of-separation thing going on. Inspired by Michy's post about Glenn Tilbrook (who has a voice sweeter than Bosco and milk), I looked this up on Amazon. I need this. I've got a couple of their c.d.'s (the singles, and the Piccadilly thing), but this is amazing! I've got all the old vinyl, but...

So, this morning I'm listening to one of my favorite Elvis Costello compilations instead, and am quite satisfied, and rested.

Does anyone know where the connection lies??

In other news - it tickles me to know that I can still catch The Chairman in concert. Woohoo! (btw - he's number 27 on VH1's Icon list.)

Later, hair.

play on

I realize that this might be a more difficult job than it appears on the surface, but it would be a dream job for me - picking the "buttons" that go on the news pieces for NPR.

This morning I'm listening to someone else's favorite buttons. When these are done I'll pick another one.

If you are so inclined to listen I can guarantee several "a-ha" moments. The "I've heard this before somewhere, I just can't put my finger on exactly 'where' I've heard this"... They're all excellent mixes of mood/atmospheric music. It's divine inspiration, and just what I need at this moment.

Yeah, right.

In other news, more proof that I still rarely stink: I continually have strangers approach me and tell me I smell good [nearly] every time I'm wearing this scent. I'll happily offer up my hand or wrist for a closer whiff. I had four ladies at the grocery store gathered around me the other day asking about 'that scent'. I keep a mini-bottle of the lotion in my car, and I've gotten in the habit of putting some on my hands prior to going into wherever it is I'm going. When people get near me I like to watch their nostrils. Yes, I know, I am very easily amused.

Furthermore....

David - to use the parlance of our times ~ word. (I'm still waiting for someone to explain "it" - I liked it, I just want to fully understand. I'm all about knowledge/power yadda yadda. He abides, already...)

(Note to self: Kelly, you need this surf noir c.d. You also need to make an appointment with your hair colorist.)

crabcake and the saving graces

Later~ (and the cherry on top of the saving grace sundae):

"The Prince looked down at the motionless form of Sleeping Beauty, wondering how her supple lips would feel against his own and contemplating whether or not an Altoid was strong enough to stand up against the kind of morning breath only a hundred year's nap could create."

The winner of the Children's Literature category from the 2003 Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest. The rest are equally amazing. :-)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Well, fine. Today I'm a bit of a crabcake. Meaning, I'm even more sensitive than normal.

Saving graces?

Songfacts - good, clean fun.

This coffee pot.

D. and I are going to the David Gray concert with friends tomorrow night.

Smoked salmon spread, Creme de Brie, chocolate-covered banana chips, guacamole, and Tostitos Gold chips.

Church.

Flowers from D.

Seeing this movie twice this weekend.

potpourri (a.k.a. observations, bits and pieces, etc.)

*My friend Kate came over the other day to show me a pair of pants she'd just bought. She told me - "These are the cutest things - they sit really low on your hips. You've got to feel this material - it's so soft!"

Guys just don't do this. Ever.

*I'm attempting to fast today. No reason, really. I just want to see if I can make it an entire day without eating. (O.K. - it's probably because I made biscuits and sausage gravy last night.) I'm still going to drink - coffee, water, A.C.E. V8, and, of course - Slimfast.

*I saw an interview with Nigella Lawson on 60 Minutes last night. I love this woman. (The "anti-Martha Stewart".) I wish our cable company offered the Style Network. I'm a big fan of lifestyle porn.

*Speaking of t.v., I watched a bit of this show last night. Asolutely fabulous. I wish Carson could be my gay boyfriend...

*I got a nice surprise in the mail from the largehearted boy - another summer mix c.d. - circa 2002. Thank you! There's a magnificient cover of "Cracklin' Rosie" by Shane MacGowan on it that I sang along to (loudly).

*Oh boy.

*I think my purse would be more deadly than an omelet pan.

*I have no patience for rudeness.

*Proof of my low-techiness - I haven't got a clue what any of this means. More proof? I don't care.

*Daily Undergarment Forecast: A cherub pink lightly-lined cotton plunge bra, and a matching shabby chic pink low-rise thong. This bra is a favorite for many reasons (including comfort) - but here's something the ladies can understand. It's summer. You're wearing a cute, tight top. You've got to go shopping at the ice-cold grocery store and/or mall. This bra is brilliant because it's lined - no need to worry about it being a bit nipply.

I'm also pretty giddy over the new flirty collection. How cute is this stuff?? Lastly, I noticed the folks have done a little updating on the web site.

I've got two words for those of you (like me) who appreciate the pretty knickers -

Interactive Pantyshop.

Even Later~

Note to self: You know how much you love those other Rhino Compilations you own? (Divas and Love Songs). Well, here's two more to add to your shopping list:

1. MFP (and - of course - this song is stuck in my head again.)
2. NMFP.

(Oh, shut up. Like you wouldn't crank these babies up when you're all alone at home, either shaking your money maker, or, perhaps eating a pint of Haagen Dazs coffee ice cream. You know what would be really funny? If Elvis Costello owned some of these Rhino Records compilations. I like Rhino.)

Later~

Once and for all, could someone please explain what the male fascination is with this movie? (For the record, I like it.) I'm sure if Chad was around he'd be happy to enlighten me. Anyone?

gasconade

Back in the dark days a.k.a. "ancient history" I'd blogged a list of assorted things about myself. (I've been told I'm really into that subject. I was also recently told I "dance like a dog in heat." Can you imagine?? For the record that's not true. I dance pretty nicely. He was lucky I didn't hit him.) O.K. - where was I? Yes. Myself. Just for fun here's a random, nonsensical list of stuff. This is the only time I'm going to do this. Seriously.

* I am currently listening to Frank Sinatra. I love him. My Mother couldn't stand him because she said he was a "gangster".
* I prefer corn tortillas, smooth peanut butter, unsweetened tea, and beer-flavored beer.
* As much as I hate to admit it, I'm high-maintenance.
* I'm also extremely competitive. I hate to lose. I can be a brat if I don't win.
* I'm spoiled. I used to fly First Class. I loved it, but I always had an uncontrollable urge to giggle when they'd pass out the tiny-hot-lemony-scented-washcloths with the b.b.q. tongs. I'd watch all the other first class passengers daintily wash their fingers/hands, or faces. My two favorite things about flying first class were ~ 1) No matter what time the flight was as soon as my ass hit the seat I'd have bottomless "free" cocktails, and 2) smiling at the coach passengers as they'd schlepp through first class back to steerage while I sipped my glass of wine. (For the record, I no longer fly First Class, and I don't care.)
* Even though I can admit that I'm spoiled I know that I'm not a snob. At all.
* I'm overly sensitive. My feelings are easily hurt.
* I love to check out the camping supplies at Target, but I know in my heart roughing it (for me) would be a hotel without room service.
* However ~
* I love being in nature/the outdoors. I think I still love the mountains more than the beach, but I'm quickly learning to appreciate how awesome the ocean is.
* I don't know why anyone in their right mind would be in love with me, but I appreciate it from the bottom of my heart.
* I'm a very sensual person.
* I love movies with a passion. I'll watch my favorites over and over. I've seen "It's A Wonderful Life", "When Harry Met Sally", "This Is Spinal Tap", "Next Stop Wonderland", "Sliding Doors", "Bridget Jone's Diary", "Raising Arizona", "Bull Durham", "Breakfast At Tiffany's", "Happy Gilmore", "The Wedding Singer", "Chasing Amy", "Austin Powers" - (I think you get the idea....) many multiples of times.
* I love to laugh.
* I've got a keen sense of direction (I rarely get lost), but I don't know my North from my South, or my left from my right.
* My favorite holiday is Christmas. I'm a nutcase. I'll listen to Christmas music any time of the year. I love putting up decorations, baking, cooking, wrapping presents, sending out Christmas cards, etc. I go through a mild bout of depression every January.
* I've had panic attacks. All of them (except one) were in grocery stores. I think that's odd.
* I love to garden. (I've got a green thumb.) I get physically excited while roaming the aisles of a really good nursery. I also love yard work, including mowing.
* I love flowers, especially simple ones like violets and daisies. My favorite flowers used to be orchids.
* I can't go a day without listening to music.
* I am extremely sentimental.
* I procrastinate.
* My favorite color for ever and always has been purple, followed closely by green.
* My favorite curse word is "fuck". I don't say it out loud that often, though. I physically can't take the Lord's name in vain. I can call someone a "pussy", but I can't use that word to describe the female part of my anatomy. I also can't say the word "cock" out loud, but I can easily call someone a "dick" or a "prick".
* I'd rather be cold than hot.
* I'm really looking forward to getting the "spa treatment", but I'm already fretting over a stranger seeing me naked while rubbing grains, creams, and oils all over my body.
* I love to drive, but I never fully learned how to drive a stick. I tried repeatedly to learn on my Dad's old Karmaan Ghia, but I'd get frustrated every time I'd stall. I want to be able to confidently drive a stick because that would be v. sexy.
* I like to be sexy, but I am an anti-man-magnet. I can be extremely rude to a man that I think is "coming on" to me. (Example: At the trip that will always be known as the "St. Valentines Day from Hell 2001" I chased off a grand total of seven men in one night, including one Tom Petty Impersonator, one married man in his 60's who would not quit asking me to dance, and a couple of guys who kept asking me "what's a good-looking lady like you doing alone in the bar of Binion's Horseshoe Casino (Shreveport) on Valentine's Day?" Me: "Hey, asshole - you really want to know? I'm here with my Mother because she had V.I.P. concert tickets for Chicago and she thought this would be fun! She's gotten me comp beer, comp wine, comp meals, and comp entertainment - and I am miserable for reasons that are none of your damn business." These men looked at me like I had two heads - I was such a surly, bitter bitch. I ended up skulking to the back of the bar so that I could watch the hockey game on the bar t.v. and sip wine with the crew from the Chicago concert.)
* I tried to be a vegetarian once while I was in high school because I thought it would be all bohemian and cool. I made it for almost an entire year. I love fruits (especially fresh summer peaches and cherries), and vegetables, but I've got to admit I also like meat (especially pork.)
* I think I'm an excellent friend.
* I've got a freakishly high level of pain-tolerance.
* I'm currently digging Aquafresh's new Extreme Clean toothpaste. I love the way it makes my mouth/teeth feel, but it's got a weird bathroom cleaner-ish flavor (and - no, Pee Wee, I've never actually tasted bathroom cleaner.)
* I think too damn much.

Now I'm sick of myself. Seriously, I'm never doing this again.

even more love letters - hate mail to follow (perhaps, or possibly even more love...)

Dear Adaptation,

I'd picked you up at the movie rental place a couple of times before, but always ended up putting you back. I don't know why, exactly. Maybe it was because you starred Nicolas Cage (in two roles, even!) I'm not one of his biggest fans. (Sidenote: My prior favorite Nicolas Cage movies: 1) Raising Arizona 2) Valley Girl.) You ended up being so very good - wonderful dialogue, interesting story, and a fine reminder of why I love movies so very much.

I'm sorry I passed you over when you'd first come out on d.v.d.

Love,

Kelly

Dear Sassy,

 

Thank you for the lovely handpainted cup. I love sipping my favorite beverages from it. So far I've had plenty of coffee with milk, and some carrot juice. (Did you know the inside of the cup matches my eyes perfectly? If I'm sipping coffee and tilt it *just so* and happen to gaze into someone else's eyes I'm pretty sure they'd notice.) You're a very thoughtful, talented young lady. Hang in there! I know things will work out for you soon.

All the best to you,

Kelly

Dear My Backside (a.k.a. Ass, Butt, Derriere, Gluteus Maximus, etc.),

It thrills me to get compliments on you (considering all the hard work I put in to keep you perky.) "Just like an eighteen year old!" (Thank you, you.) Awwwyeah. I'm so happy I've got no need for this thing! All those squats are paying off. I can honestly say that I am, indeed, in love with my own ass.

Love,

Your hubristic owner

Dear Visit With Dr. B.,

For the first time in a long time I didn't cry. I left you feeling confident, happy, strong, thankful, and full of hope.

Love,

Me

more (later ~)

Dear Duracell Batteries

You rock my world. Ummm - Thanks.

Love,

A Satisfied Customer

Dear Current Local Weather Conditions,

It's 69 degrees, and rainy.

Thank you for a break from all the hot, hazy, and humid days we've had.

Kel

meh

I don't know what's wrong with me today. I feel "off". It's the only way I can describe it. Not bad - not good - not really much of anything. All it took was hearing this song on my radio boombox thing - and - my insides were suddenly off kilter. I love this song, but it makes me sad.

fun musical memory (a.k.a. "this post inspired by listening to my online radio boombox thingy, boredom, and heat")

The first Led Zeppelin album I ever owned was Led Zeppelin II. I used to go in my bedroom after school and sing along very loudly to Whole Lotta Love. I had no clue what "I'm going to give you every inch of my love" meant. I used to think that if a boy really loved me, he'd want to give me miles of love, not inches.

My Mother would cringe when I'd sing "Shake for me girl, I wanna be your back door man!!" I simply didn't know.

I also remember listening to "Walk This Way", and asking my Mother "what does down on a muffin mean?" She told me I should listen to some nice music, like Elton John.

sad

I met him a couple of times. I used to describe him as being "very sweet". He struggled with his English, and had such an innocent, childlike face.

This story makes me so sad. He must have felt so helpless. Bless him, and his family.

love and fear (a.k.a. "i'm thinking too damn much again...")

Sometimes love and fear go hand-in-hand. Example: I love nature - the outdoors - experiencing how large life can be. I'll put my phobias on the back-burner just to get a glimpse of something I know will tickle me. I have an intense fear of heights, but I really wanted to look at the Rio Grand Gorge. Before I knew it I was on the bridge, looking down. I was frozen in fear. I told myself - "Breathe, and then walk. Slowly. Keep your eyes on your feet. Don't look over the edge." I got back to my car, got in, and drove away - eyes fixed on the horizon. (Sidenote: Not too long ago a good friend had me convinced I'd jump out of an airplane. She'd done it, and assured me I could do it, too. She also had a fear of heights. I moved before I got the chance to go with her.)

I also love days when storms are brewing. When I was nine years old my Grandfather died, and he left my Mother and Father his farm in Hico, Texas. The summer after he died my Mother, Brother, and I would spend a lot of time there while my Dad worked. The house was old, and there were only two window air conditioning units to keep the house cool - one in the "front room", and one in the "back bedroom". The back porch was a large, covered slab of concrete. My Grandfather had nailed a thermometer from the Hico City Bank on a porch beam, a rain gauge on a fence post by the gate, and had fashioned a new door for the tornado shelter from a piece of tin. My favorite activity that summer was exploring every last inch of those 166 acres. I'd climb the live oak at the first gate and think. I was all legs and arms and long brown hair and freckles. I was getting too old for Barbies, and was blissfully unaware of the possibilities of romantic love. It was the "in-between" age - I was a ten-year-old future newspaper reporter/architect/cattle rancher/poet.

One morning I could feel a storm coming. The air was still, hot, and humid, but I really wanted to go to Honey Creek, which was on the back of the property. There's a little valley there where my Grandfather had planted a pecan orchard. Most of those trees were dead, but there were one or two that were still producing papershell pecans. There were wild grapevines growing along the banks of the creek, and I knew the creek would be up because we'd recently gotten some rain. I kept my eyes glued to the ground and didn't leave the path - just as my Dad had taught me. (Rattlesnakes.) I didn't notice the thunderheads growing in the sky. I was poking around near the edge of the creek, looking for crawdads, arrowheads, old bottles - the stuff that occupies a child's mind. I was daydreaming I'd discover the ruins of an Indian camp or battleground when I heard the rumbling of thunder. I looked up and noticed the storm coming - I felt the wind pick up, the pressure dropping. I got this feeling in the pit of my stomach --- danger. I remembered "the stories." I think I've written about this before, but just in case I haven't - both of my Grandmother's first husbands were killed by lightning. One while he was rowing his boat back to the dock on White Rock Lake, the other while he rode his horse across his pasture. So - here's me - all skinny arms and legs, looking up at this mid-afternoon Texas thunderstorm - trapped out in the great wide open. I started to walk quickly back up the hill, making my way back to the house. A thunderbolt struck a tree on the other side of the property, and I stared to run. I took a short-cut off the path - through brush, chiggers, and mesquite trees. I figured I was going too fast to get bit by a snake. I tripped on some rocks, skinned my knees, and tried very hard not to cry. I could feel the fear from the tip of my head to my toes. Raindrops started pelting my bare arms, my face, my head - then the hailstones started to fall. (Tiny ones, thank goodness.) To this day I can still feel the pressure in my chest when I hit that screen door on the back porch and slammed the door shut behind me. I was embarrassed by my fear. I didn't want my Mother or Brother to talk to me, so I closed the doors to the back bedroom, turned up the a.c., and turned on the box fan by the bed. I felt so safe on that bed - listening to the storm while the fan dried my damp hair and skin. To this day I can still feel it. It's a crazy, wonderful mix of feelings.

I miss that place. I've been thinking about all the memories I have there. I had my first sip of beer there. I had my first sip of coffee. There's life, and death, and love. I lost my virginity there. This was the place I curled up in blankets and cried after my Grandfather's funeral. I wrote stories, and practiced kissing. I rode horses, and pretended I was Annie Oakley. I was mesmerized by the night sky, terrified of the tarantulas, and now that I'm older and wiser, I know this is where I learned the importance of "home" - it's a place in this woman's heart, and memory.

Word

wow. you must love this country more then i love a cold beer on christmas morning*

Greetings from sunny Virginia Beach - land of F-14 Tomcat's, really tan people, and - at the moment - a shitload of tourists. If you're reading this then you're not on holiday (yet, at least.) Celebrate wisely.

Currently: sipping wine, marinating some chicken for the grill, and rockin' out to Frankie and The Other Elvis.

Going to see the late show tonight after dinner. Will sneak in some tiny bottles of wine.

Go declarate your Independence.

*Who said this?

cheeky (as in ~ "what this post is supposed to be")

Later~

As a sort of follow-up to the post about the VH-1 show about the (so-called) top 100 songs of the last 25 years, here's some interesting alternative lists.

~~~~~~~~~~~

There are things I enjoy "just because". For example: I love frilly knickers. Lacy undergarments. Pretty skivvies. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. It's nice knowing that underneath the conservative khaki and polo shirts beats the heart of a devotee of Victoria's Secret.

I've gone through the "black lace" phase. The thing about black lace is that it's difficult to wear with white shirts (which I happen to love.) I'm currently in a pink/purple phase. (Yes, I do own this lovely bra in pink.) I've got a couple of other favorites - a sheer pink bra with tiny rhinestones that outline the seams. It's so pretty that I'll look down my own shirt to check it out when I'm wearing it. (Really, really nice under the white cotton button-up blouses.) There's also the purple lace push-up bra. It has embroidered flowers covering it. Very girlie. I've got a matching purple lace thong that matches it. The thing about thongs are you can't sleep in them. Well, maybe if you've had a couple of glasses of wine, but - they're best worn during the day. I'm telling you, thongs are brilliant. White pants + nude thong = happy girl. No panty lines. Of course, when panty lines aren't a concern these are some of my favorite undies. I also think these are adorable.

It's just a thing for me. Some girls love shoes. I love underwear, because I'm sweet like that.

Oh yes - here's a cool site for the guys (and girls like me who happen to love the world of sport.) So many possibilities... (Link via Largeheartedboy.)

grrrrrr

Stella needs to get her groove on. Bad. If you know what I mean, and I think you do.

digging (a.k.a. "blog-therapy")

It's too early to begin work on the photo scavenger hunt, so I dug up these (fairly recent) self-portraits:

you
a self portrait, something that represents who you are

 

  

I was goofing with the camera. Quick shots in passing. There are some things that are interesting to me, though.

The hand behind the back.
The look over the shoulder.
The out-of-focus face.

I don't feel like that person from a couple of months ago.

This Saturday's visit with Dr. B. was completely different than the one before. I was crying when I rounded the corner to his office. The conversation soon turned into a theme-park thrill ride. It turned, and dipped, and crept corners. Up and down - attempting to process my thoughts and begging him to "keep me on track..." I hate when things get too intense. I hate being in a room where the feelings are thick and sticky tar. I've got this need to lighten things up, so I tell him one of my realizations ~

"Intellectually I know there's evil in the world. I know there are evil people, who are probably 'reform-proof' - child-molesters, rapists, cold-blooded killers. It's difficult for me to wrap my mind around the fact that there are people who have no conscience - remorseless folks. Ummmm - Dr. B.? ------ Do you think I'm one of those evil people?"

(Yes, this was me trying to lighten things up.)

(Chuckle from Dr. B. He knows what I'm doing. He mercifully takes the bait.) "Kelly, you have a strength of character that I don't think even you are completely aware of now. You're an intelligent, caring, and incredibly strong woman."

I laugh and the conversation somehow spins back to the Mother. Oh boy - back to my rejection/perfection issues. I tell him how I feel about it - brutally honest. "Look - I'm not the first person to have a Mother that wasn't exactly 'there' for her kids. She expected perfection from her children when she couldn't even find the time to cook a decent meal for them."

I play with the wadded tissue in my hand - rolling it through my fingers, balling it up in my palm. "Have I told you how much I love to cook? Do you know why I love to cook? Because my Mother hated to. The only things she'd cook were things she loved - and she'd cook them the way she liked them. She made this meat loaf that was God-awful. She'd put three or four onions in it - I always called it 'onion-loaf' -- but - she loved onions. She also loved homemade chocolate-chip cookies. When my bother and I were little there'd be days we'd get home from school and we knew she'd made cookies because we could smell them."

At this point I knew I'd have to temper this story with a little levity. Insert smile on face - insert giggle - ready - resume.... "Do you know what she'd do with those cookies? She'd hide them from us. She put them in a Tupperware container. When she'd be napping my brother and I would hunt them down. They were usually stuck up in the cabinet above the refrigerator. I'd climb up on the chair and pull out the container, and I'd take one cookie for me, and one for my brother, and we'd hope that she hadn't counted them."

There's lots of other silly examples of shit like this. I laughed and assured Dr. B. that this hasn't fucked me up proper as an Adult. I told him I take it for what it was - simple neglect. I explain that she's probably got issues that even I'm not aware of (my mind wanders to Ya Ya Sisterhood....) I tell him it's too bad she wasn't strong enough to get counseling. I tell him I am proud of myself - that I feel strong. I have a wonderful Father that filled in the gaps as best as he could. I had friend's Mothers that took me under their wings. I accept this part of my life for what it is, and that's o.k.

That's the truth. I'm getting myself a little more in focus. I'm showing my hands, and looking ahead.

(It's time for Pilates therapy. Got to keep the powerhouse powerful.)

(Ooh - ohh. Elvis Costello has a new album coming out in September (sidenote: looks like he's finally written a song for me. Can't wait to hear it. Until then, this song is still making me powerful misty-eyed.)