Irrational Fears, I Haz 'em

(Did you know if you accidentally hit the return key instead of say, the tab key, that your post gets posted likity split? We learn something new everyday.)

So the irrational stuff. Or is it? Or should we just get all pseudo-psychological and blame my upbringing on this one, which I'm having a very hard time putting into words:

If I run out of gasoline, VERY, BAD, THINGS will happen.

No really. The other morning my first errand of the day was to go get gas. Of course my "let's not use up more dead-dinosaurs than we have to" self said I should try to go to a gas station on the way to JC Penny as that was my next intended goal. (more on that later)

This entailed my getting onto the freeway at about 10 AM, you know, AFTER so-called "rush" hour?

Lies. Bitter scarring, lies.

As I was patting myself on the back for correctly navigating my way onto the freeway on-ramp (dude, seriously, did not get lost AT ALL), I was presented with the sea of stopped cars, as far as the horizon, really...and my gas light chose at that exact moment to light up.

No, really.

In the place where the rational thoughts live I knew that the light was on because I was indeed dangerously low on dino-blood, but the incline was the culprit. As soon as we leveled out, the light should go off. I also knew that even if I was really in the orange-light-of-doom level of gas, I had miles, MILES to go before the car would stutter and sputter and transform into 1600 lbs of detritus.

MILES!

Unfortunately, the irrational part of my brain has the power of projection, because these thoughts wholly and completely drowned out everything else:

"OH! MY! GOD! ORANGE LIGHT! ORANGE! LIGHT!"

and took control of my limbs even:
"IS THE AC OFF? TURN OFF THE RADIO! DIM ALL THE LIGHTS! DON'T USE THE GAS PEDAL JUST LET IT ROLL! LET! IT! ROLL!"

No, really. Cuz turning off all the electrical bits will make my engine work that much less so I will have a drop more if needed. The world may never know, because actually, yes, I did need every spare drop of gas before I got to the gas station, but instead of drowning out the thoughts while listening to NPR go on about all the awful things going on in the world, I got to sit back and listen to my crazy-pants thoughts weave all sorts of world-ending scenarios that had me stalling and running out of gas MILES from anywhere...um, in the middle of Seattle.

See, I kept thinking back to when my mom, older brother, and I were driving back from my mom's work and the gas gauge was dangerously sitting at the "E" while we were sitting in non-moving traffic. In the middle of summer. In LA.

The freeways are not just the arteries of the state of California, they are the only known ways of travel for the majority of Angelinos. They will NOT, NEVER, EVER get off the freeway to take the streets because, um, NO IDEA how to get to their destination that way. Or that was the case back in the 80s. Had we been equipped with GPS navigation equipment, I think my mom might have ventured off the freeway, found a station, filled up and tada! We'd have been all good and happy.

But she didn't.

Instead it was (what felt like) hours of her sighing and tapping the steering wheel with her right-hand pointing finger and saying things like, "Andale carritos," and musing about what we'd have to do if we got stuck on the freeway, out of gas, and more tapping of the finger and moving it about conducting some weird symphony (and yes, I do actually do that myself now, hmmm, learned habit maybe?).

And here's the thing, the entire time, needle on empty, no orange light. Not until we got off the freeway and drove up, then down those hills right off my mom's exit.

My mom's "AAAAAAIIIIIEEEE" wail is not something I can reproduce, but I can tell you it only comes out when REALLY BAD THINGS are about to transpire and therefore has seared itself into my brain in connection with serious accidents, deaths, losses of passports/important documents, and the appearance of that damned orange light from hell.

We coasted into her gas station of choice just in time...just as I did, somewhere in the middle of not-University but not-Ravenna, orange light firmly blazing by that point.

Once I finished topping everything off and resetting my trip-meter to 0.0, this weird calm came over me. I knew I was going to have to deal with way more traffic and madness and errands and possible 100 degree weather, but I just didn't care. The orange light was gone and there was gas in the car and I did not have to use plan I was stitching together in my head (Andy + motorcycle + gas can that I did not yet own + where the hell am I and how do I get him here...), and all was right with my world again.

Until the next thing.

Mischeif Managed...

I'm ba-ack.

But I'm not in the right headspace. Too many things going on in there lately. I need to cut back on the over-dwelling and digging up of old memories. They hurtses us something awful sometimes. But it's like...how can I explain so I don't sound too birken-stocky for your tastes?

But really now, you've read about how I must tell a story/dream to make it reality, if you didn't leave then...it's kinda the opposite for some of my memories. I share them with friends and family to get them out of the lurking subconscious so they won't haunt me at my most vulnerable...when I'm sick or tired or...of late, sleeping.

I've had some very poor nights recently where I'm dreaming a scene from my real life but the "players" are all the wrong people. Or maybe I should just say that the main player, the one whom I'm having a great conversation with, watching the stars with, programing the VCR with...that person becomes all wrong. That's when I find I'm slipping into nightmare mode and the cause is one big, bad X who I'd rather went to far far away and stayed there...I mean really now, just when I think I'm all done and over and oh-blah-de, oh-blah-da, life goes on, yeah! He comes back...urg.

It's like those bad b-movies I watched as a kid where the main character thinks the guy helping him/her out is this swell fellow and s/he thinks they're gonna be okay and so UNLIKE The Goonies where the big-bad is actually a sweetie, this big-bad turns out to be the deranged/serial killer/devil?

Yeah, those kind of dreams. But my X plays center stage and I don't realize that he's not my older or younger brother, or my uncle or Lev or Andy or even Richard until he starts ranting and going off on me and laughing that awful laugh that makes me realize I'm in hell and would rather like to wake up now, please...but can't because I suck at controlling my dreams.

Because of this I am distracted and would much rather inundate myself with diverse things as NPR podcasts or reading teen novels that frustrate me cuz it's kinda obvious the author has never driven a vehicle encumbered by snow chains and that whole poetic Justice/suspending my disbelief is rather limited and yet! I can't stop reading the damned thing.

I think it's because her vampire universe is so much more positive and happy than the Buffy-verse or the world of Anne Rice. Or rather, that's my theory. If I wasn't longing for shiny happy things...and yes, I will interrupt myself just here...I guess I do believe this book about danger and dying and bad things happening to good people is light and happy compared to what's swirling in my head just now...The mid-sentence revelations in my blog posts are such amazing things to me. But yeah, if it weren't for that I think I'd have had to ditch the book by now.

See, I know it's all about anxiety and if I just chilled a little more the eye tick would go away and I could sleep better and maybe my tummy would stop it's weird gurgling rumble-nauseous trend and life would slowly get better...but I just got back from L.A. and gah! Life and stress and not enough people at work and the end of the year and did I mention stress? It's a bit much right this second...

And it was 42 degrees on my drive to work this morning. As much as I could not stand the heat of "autumn" in Los Angeles... (more in my next post) I was really rather missing my sweat glands this morning.

Petulant, Yet Flexible

If my immediate superior (whom I share an office with) were to write my yearly review, I think those would be the words he'd use to describe me.

I swore in front of him yesterday. Well, technically we sit "back to back" so maybe it was more like I swore at the wall while he was in the same room. Did I day "dam" or maybe the "s" word? Oh no. There was nothing but intense hatred and maybe a dash of malice (okay, maybe the need for hurting in there as well) as I dropped ye ol' F-bomb when I read the email that told me my work day? The one I'd already over-planned and had been counting on as I've been out (bike accident) and filling in for peeps on vacay? The LAST DAY I'd have to catch up before the month started all over again?

Gone.

I got to drop everything to fill in for a sick co-worker.

I was beyond mad. It took all my 34 years of training to control my god-awful-gonna-have-a-tantrum-RIGHT NOW-temper (sexy, I know) to keep it together. I have an eye twitch and a headache instead...fun times.

Yeah, that was me focusing so hard on doing her data entry I did not turn to look at you, acknowledge your presence, or smile. Yep, that smacking sound was me tossing/dropping entered paperwork on the floor just to hear it smack. Yey for determination that had me finish the mountain of her work in an hour and a half so I might start in on my own. (And yeah, it is extra childish but that competitive nature side of me went "HA!" when I saw I entered twice as much as she did in half the time...)

AAAaaauuummm.

When I went to Italy last year, one of the tour guides said the best way to handle Rome was to visualize yourself as a Willow and bend with the wind, cuz all the planning and phone calls and reservations could not save you from the whims of the Italian government or mentality. (i.e. always have plans b, c, and even d)

It's a philosophy I've actually adopted to my life. That and the "It's just not worth it" mentality are all that keep me going at times like this.

And now I have to run, as I have an hour and a half+ extra of my work to try to cram into this morning.

Santa Claus & OLG's Miss E

It is amazing what a flood of memories a single statement can bring up.

And what lies they tell you with regards to how you, as a teacher, will or will not affect the teens you are teaching...

Okay, in order of the title.

So I scoured through my journals to try to figure out who had said what, when, with regards to my "one and twenty" post. I really was curious enough to pull out dusty tomes best left untouched (most of the time, really).

It was in the battered and beaten notebook I kept during my sailing days where I found the entry. Reminiscing, (as I did much of--I mean there wasn't much else to do during your midnight watch), while in transit between Bajia Candelaria and Mazatlan after talking endlessly with Santa Claus--really, maybe I mentioned him before? I'll look-- that I found my reference.

It was Mr. Claus that brought up the search for Home; the need to connect with others--especially those who already know you. Those with whom you don't have to start from scratch.

So what if you were a poopie-head when you were a kid, if they were your friends then, and loved you as friends will, they will see past that horrid kid to the person you are today--and remind you of your poopie-headed adventures and you will laugh and laugh, cuz really, what else can you do? That was you, after all.

For Santa, it was very important to have folks around him that knew you better than anyone else, cuz, well, by the time you got to be his age, most of your family is gone. He was the baby of the group. He lived through wars (and wartime shortages) and served in the marines (Semper FIE!--please don't shoot me ;)), and had accumulated many careers, miles, kids, and an ex wife or two under his belt. And now he was trying to make it in Mexico, cuz even when you're Santa Claus, your Social Security check is still only a pittance, + the VA bennies.

Aaah, it feels good to be able to place that in correct context.

***

Okay...Miss. E...OMG, OLG's, Miss E.

I have to keep reminding myself that she was only 29. It really does bring things more into perspective. I mean, I still blame her for a whole heck of a lot, but that's cuz I have those "letting go" issues, right?

Miss E. was as awesome as she was traumatizing. She was our 6th and 7th grade teacher, right? Or was it 5th and 6th? See how bad it was? I'd rather not remember:

Sr. J
Ms. H
Sr. J/Ms. M/Ms. G, and other random subs, crazy year
Ms. G, but the nice one! HA!
Ms. R who was new and had this thing about our nails being the right length and us being super neat...
Ms. E
Ms. E
Mrs. T

That seems right.

So when I read Suzanna's comment:

"but I do remember that one of the OLG teachers said that the only lifelong friends we'll make are the ones you make in college. How disappointing to hear for 7th/8th graders with their friends in tow."

I sat at my desk stunned as it all came back. Her voice, the nonchalant way she said it, were we in her car? It was almost summer. Were we helping with something? Maybe the graduation? I think I've inherited Homer Simpson's brain, remembering things the way I want to have had them happened, with green hair, and a jack-in-the-box ;). Whatever the case, I was floored.

What did she mean by that! How could she say that! Did she realize how much she was belittling the friendships we had currently? And she thought I was tactless? (Yeah, I've been this way all my life.)

But she was only 29, and using that 20/20 hindsight? Sheltered. She may have grown up in "LA" but she was an El Sereno kid. She went to school a few miles from the house where she grew up. She lived NEXT DOOR to her dad. I think she was uber bitter and disappointed, and really missed her mom (she'd just died, I think). I honestly thought she was WAY older than the 27 we'd guessed during the "how old am I" guessing game in 6th grade.

I mean, really, I am tactless, I fully admit it, I can't help it! I will bust out with the gods' honest truth -- if you are my peer. If you are a 12-year-old, however? Who might even sorta look up to me? I will not dash your hopes. I will be positive and patient (though I stop short at lying) and she is the reason why.

I never "called anyone out" in the middle of class to embarrass them; even if I was having a bad day; even if I hated them with every core of my being; even if I thought they need it. As surly and adult-like as teens will act, they are still kids and these things will stick, I should know.

And if I ever meet up with an ex-student who has told me they just got accepted into Stanford's teacher education program? I won't tell them that they just made the worst decision in the world! That they shouldn't teach! And not because of their personality or what I remember about who they were back in my classroom. I'd never go on and on about how teaching is the most under-appreciated job in the universe; that no matter what they think they can do with the system they will fail. Not when you see the gleam in their eyes and the energy they have to expend! Cuz all that told me was that she was bitter and really should get out of the teaching world...and not be the principal of our old elementary school. (Oh yes, she was.)

And just to round out the whole Tactless clan? Because of her status at that school? My little brother got to experience her too. That last conversation I had with her? Even worse than the "don't be a teacher" one, was her utter disbelief that the child in Kindergarten wasn't MINE. That I was lying about being his sister and not his mother.

Lady, I may be "blessed" with the overly big tummy and child-bearing hips of my dad's side of la familia, but really and truly, I think I'd know if I'd carried and delivered a baby while trying to finish high school. Just sayin'.

Aaauuummm...

Where was I? I was nowhere...that was me really needing to rant and try to get it all out in the quietest way possible. Cuz really, who am I going to tell this all to? Andy? Poor thing hears enough about how awful my day was to have to deal with my childhood trauma. Have I mentioned how much I love the blogiverse? So very much cheaper than therapy :).

When I was 1 and 20...a Wise Man Said to Me...

Actually I don't know how old I was or remember if the person was male...or wise.

I just remember what they said...but not verbatim, of course, cuz that would require all those brain cells I killed in college, or my mom's memory, which I never had...

Forgotten person and I were talking about friends and friendships and they said that you get to a point in your life where the most important thing to you is finding a place to call Home, and seeking out and/or reconnecting with childhood friends. It's like a kind of taking stock of your life.

It seemed rather odd to me then, a person who was STILL friends with their "childhood" friends. Suzanna, were you there? Was it one of the OLG teachers?

Anyhow.

At 34, I can count on one finger the person I still keep in touch with prior to 8th grade graduation days... High School? Let's not go there, that subject is still a bit painful and raw. College? Counting Grad School and friends outside of classes that I made? I can come up with a handful, tops.

Where did they go, George? Where did they go?

Combine that with my J. Alfred Prufrock moods (I grow old ... I grow old ... I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled), and I am jumping at the chance to help out a friend to check out one of those websites where you might find old acquaintances.

So I've found six people from my decades of yore. But now the conundrum...do I actually contact them?

Reaching out to people I used to know? It's asking a lot from my inside self that would rather sit in her room and knit and read and not go out and mingle with the outside world. I am a hermit at heart. Posting my stuff for other people to see is a whole different universe than addressing an individual. Even electronically. I mean, what do you say?! How do you start?

Hi, we used to be friends then I fell off the planet and now I'm back again, a dozen (yipes) years later, how are you?

The best part of friends that knew you "back when?" We use to be able to just pick up where we left off...No big ole' fill-in-the-blanks. But that was when a couple months - a year tops - went by. It's easy to summarize a year in a couple of sentences.

12 though? Urrr...

There was one site I almost joined because my very first crush's name was in the list of people I might know. Can you imagine that one?

Hi cool guy I used to know and last saw 20 years ago before I had boobs or hips or could control my obvious fascination of you as I stared and stared at you from behind my those dorky glasses and oh yeah, braces! Then there were the bangs! You got to see them through their entire evolution! From the days they were worn short--that would be back before Betty Paige became popular...heh heh, you know, when we just called them Mr. Spock bangs -- to those wretched teen years I was a victim of BIG POOFY East LA BANGS! Yeah! THAT girl.

I am almost old enough to be able to do that. I mean, do you remember that "My So Called Life" episode where the mom was supposed to meet up with an old boyfriend and the anticipation and the worry and the "am I cool enough" and I am so old and then he can't make it cuz he has the snuffles or something? Cuz I might be 15 pounds heavier than I'd like to be, but he could be balding with a beer gut and 10 kids.

And HOW SAD is it that when I watched those few reruns on ABC.com (no longer there for me to link to, sniff) I empathized with THE MOM!!! "Do I dare to eat a peach!"

Sigh. It has been a long week. Happy almost Friday!

Can it Be Wednesday Already? Please?!?

This is my disclaimer for the following: If you are easily offended, or delve far too quickly into the world of depression, or really can't remember that this blog is indeed about me and my feelings and my reactions and I give a shit what you think about it or me, find something else to read.

I'm writing this post to help get all of this out of me, it has nothing to do with you.

The problem with holidays is that too many memories are formed around them and feelings and stress levels and everything are at an all-time high. This is why spending this particular holiday in Mexico where the point is being around family and the highlight is midnight mass, or at a Jewish friend's house who used it as an excuse for a huge meal for good friends, has always been more my liking.

Unfortunately those are also the reasons I would really much rather skip today, tonight and all of tomorrow and just be sitting in front of my computer doing data entry like it was any other day. Cuz when you're dealing with all the craziness of my past? And especially these past few months? Yup, today has been much too hard already, and yes folks, it's not even noon yet.

This morning I could not sleep in. Simply could not. My body said, "Hello! It's Monday! GET UP!" at about 4 AM and I thanked it for remembering it was a weekday but lo and behold, it is xmas eve and I can sleep in! Really!

My subconscious had other plans; as for the next 2 hours it barraged me with horrible nightmares, culminating in the one that finally made me get out of bed--one where my XDH (Demon Husband in this case) was at my door demanding that I let him and his "Fill-in-the-blank for woman who leaves her husband to sleep with mine and oh yeah she has 2 small children and when his mom comes to visit them she high-tails it out of town with her kids because my XMIL is too horrid a person to be around her and her kids) "girlfriend" come in and stay at my place because Andy has invited them and what the hell am I still doing here as I am not allowed to even be in the same breathing space as "her mentioned above" (I'd give her a name, but that would mean that I A) Care enough, and B)Would bring my PG rating down to something fierce).

Yes, I know that obviously in the land of Nod I have many unresolved issues. This is ME we're talking about, remember?

So I get up and I wonder if I can really make it today. Cuz you know that friend I mentioned not too long ago that passed on? Right. I'm still not over that one. I mean, last Wednesday when we all went out to celebrate a friend's birthday and they started gabbing on about the wine, I nearly lost it.

I equate wine knowledge far too much with him. As I do most holidays as I spent far too many years helping with Turkey day preparations in his wee little cabin and big family style xmas dinners. Cuz when you're not Catholic you can spend hours and hours and hours on the food and not worry about wrapping paper and tinsel and trees and Santa Claus and all that other stuff that made everyone miss their families. He also hosted an awesome Easter dinner.

And the last xmas I spent at his house we made tamales, and by god if we didn't end up finally sitting down to eat until almost 2 AM and stayed up far to late watching all these conspiracy theory DVDs and how will I make it through tonight? (I love you L, and I hope you forgive me if I start crying in your tamales.)

With that in mind I fire up the old mini to check the USPS website cuz there just has to be word on that damned package right? -- no information as yet, thankyouverymuch, when I get to read the comment my brother left on my site. OOookaaay. Thanks. Berate me on my website, today, of all days. Thanks. I mean, you couldn't email me? You had to post a comment? WTF?!?

I know, I'm over-reacting. It's what I do. I really really can't help it. Today of all days! And yes, I'm ranting about it on the blog for all the world to see, cuz when I read the comment, I lost it. I could not hold it together any more. But I emailed an explanation, an apology, and edited my blog. Then another apology as it seemed I apologized for the wrong thing, and yes, I lost it again. I did mention emotions running kinda on the high side?

All before 8 AM.

After 8 AM the anger started filtering through.

I hate being an adult, having to remember to keep calm, to breathe, to look at the other person's side lest I really lose it and overreact over something so small, so insignificant when compared to everything else going on... Everyone is living in their own megalomanaiacal universe. It really is all about me, me, me. And how dare you offend my sensibilities! How dare you die and leave me to feel shitty?!? How dare the world be all commercialism and presents? Why the fuck isn't that box delivered yet?

But anger is tiring. It's just blame-storming and all I want to do is crawl into bed and make it all go away. Is it telling that one of the thoughts that keeps me going at this point in time is that I must outlive my parents, after that, all bets are off.

If I have shocked or offended you with this post, you really should have taken my disclaimer to heart. I am leaving town in just a few minutes and so I ask that if you feel the need to tell me what a dumb ass I am, just email me. I will get back to all on Wednesday or so.

And yes, believe it or not, I feel much better now.

Happy Holidays!

Choosing Your Music Carefully

Some advice that I really should remember to follow in the future:

The next time you are on the fine line between depression and just plain exhausted uncertainty, feeling like the world is crumbling all around you, or just not quite right in the head due to life, hormones, the alignment of the planets, etc., DO NOT LISTEN TO PETER GABRIEL.

I don't care if the album is called "UP." This is not short for "up-beat." This is not how you will feel as you sit in traffic wanting to pull your hair out as you wait for the traffic, lights or weave out of an almost accident. You will scream at the top of your lungs, and really, even in Seattle where everyone is busy talking on their cell phones as they drive? They'll be able to tell that you, actually, are not on the phone. They will turn and look at you at the stop light; there will be fear in their eyes. You will scare people. You will scare yourself.

Aaauuummm.

What to listen to instead? I'm not all that sure. There is so much to consider.

Music and memories are very much tied together for me.

For Example, I was telling Andy today, as we drove up to the Alderwood Mall, music blaring on the stereo, that I have the most inappropriate songs tied to guys I've dated. I don't think I've ever really been "into" the same kind of music as the fellows in my life. So when one of them, (who loved Erasure and certain other bands that I was kinda "eh" about) and I happened to "discover" we both really liked Closer by Nine Inch Nails? Yep, it kinda became "our song." (I can't believe I'm admitting that one to the world.)

It's not like it gets any better with age. The X? Well, we were driving around Stanford-town/Redwood City. Possibly to go to Beltramos for some lambic. The Butthole Surfers happened to be playing on the stereo. He hears Pepper for the first time. Right. Our song. "They were all in love with dying and they were doing it Texas," baybeee. I know, I know, how romantical and all.

I will always associate Duran Duran with the X. That kinda sucks. I liked them way before him. Alfred can back me up with that one...we had cassette tapes of those boys long before X really got into them. He was all about the Queensriche, Iron Maiden, Styx, and Rush. On the flip side, I will also associate the Go-Go's with him. Yep, he loved the Go-Go's. I wonder if he's admitted that one to the new "I only listen to angry punk rock music" girlfriend? My absolute favorite memory associated with "Our Lips are Sealed" would be him speaking to Richard over the telephone and asking him if his liking of the Go-Go's (which included dancing and singing along to them) meant he was maybe gay? Richard assured him that no, this was not the case. Then immediately sent him an email with just one word:

FAG!!!!

I love you, Richard.

I can't listen to Tori Amos' "Little Earthquakes" without remembering countless miles between the Renaissance Faire, Lake Arrowhead, and LA in my best friend from high school's little Corolla. As PG above sings, "Life carries on, and on and on, and on..." And it scares me to see just how much time and distance and everything has gone on since those days.

I bring this up as I recently "lost touch" with my best friend from HS. Kyra posted a while back about relationships and that Seinfeld episode (which I never saw) where they discuss "dumping" friends? Yep. That's exactly how it feels, like I've been dumped. And then what? All these memories that are a part of you...and that's all they can be now. All part of the past.

So do you sink into that past and surround yourself with the things that remind you of the good times: They Might Be Giants' Ana Ng? The Bobs' My Shoes Are (on top of the world)? A slew of Ren Faire ditties? ("Johnny Be Fine" to be precise)? Or shake it all off and look to a future with one less person in your life? And maybe listen to too much Peter Gabriel in the process?

Quien sabe. But I think I might have to open my ears up to new music, to maybe create new associations so I can take a break from the past.