Ambiguosity

Talk about mixed feelings. . . 

I just picked up a bottle with 270 xanax in it at the pharmacy.

The Need for Sarcasm

I feel wrung out.  This has been too crowded a week and it's only Wednesday.  I am pretty good at coping, but this week I wanted to throw in that towel so many times and just say, "Fuck it."  And lots of the stuff I had to deal with turned out really well.  Well, there was that one customer service wait with the staticky Muzak.  But I think the thing that is missing is the bouts of laughter that bring tears to my eyes.  Apparently the tears have to go out anyway, (damn that Amygdala) so they were brought on by trips through the bank drive up instead of the strange and funny things that usually happen that we make stranger and funnier. 

My daughter has a friend staying with her, and I guess that is making me a little lonely.  But it would sure be nice if there was someone else in my life that I could converse with until we were laughing so hard we couldn't breathe. But the subject of friendship has been permanently shelved as far as I am concerned.  And the books I am reading are kind of formulaic, predictable, and dark.  My choices.  Not good ones.  Then last night I am proofing and editing the "Big Deal" and the sad parts were making cry, again, and the technical  mistakes I was finding were way too common.  I couldn't believe it after all this time.  And then one of those stupid dotted lines showed up. That just about drove me off the edge.  At least nothing turned red.  The sooner I launch that boat, the better.  If it sinks, oh well, I tried.  And tried.  And tried. 

I know all these feelings are aspects of my personality that I have had to deal with all my life, and part of it is my choices and part of it, as an actual physician said to me very recently, is my "neuro-biology".  I wonder if it could be  the weather that is making it all so much harder to deal with.  I am so used to being the way I am that I actually like me and prefer being this way.  I think the "devil may care" attitude toward life has to be an elaborate costume drama for anyone trying to live it.  No.  I KNOW that.  It just gets to me every now and then and I can be in the line in WalMart and feeling a little creeped out  cuz everyone looks ugly and scary and I can be in the line in WalMart and chatting with strangers and smiling at babies that smiled at me first.  And I know it is me.  Not the people in the line at WalMart.   For God's sake.  For one who feels and enjoys being as insular as I am, man, I sure let the outside world get to me way too much.

I am incapable of any sarcastic rejoinders, my stock in trade, my stress release mechanism of choice. Oh, well.  It will come back to me.  It always does.  Right? 

WISDOM

So many people in this world are unsung geniuses, artists, philosophers--so filled to overflowing with wisdom that will never be shared with the rest of the world.  We should all do what we can to ensure the legacies of such richly endowed humans endure.

Friendship

My younger daughter has many friends.  My older daughter has friends that have been her friends for many, many years.  My younger daughter had a break with a friend that was very serious.  The person felt betrayed and came back and said, "Well, I am still mad about it, but I have to put it behind me cuz I still want to be your friend."  I would say she and her friends love each other.  I wonder where they learned to have friends and be a friend.  Not from me.

I had a friend for many years.  One.  I have many casual acquaintances and waaaay too many relatives, and I am the kind of person that ends up giving the person in line at KMart a hug when we finally say good bye after our eleven minute life changing conversation.  I am also the kind of person that the Mexican handy man on the estate where I worked offered to marry one day when I was complaining about my spouse.  And I have always been able to make friends with people that I work with.  They have attempted to keep those friendships, and "friendships" going when we no longer worked together and seeing one another became less convenient.  But it was always me that dropped the ball, or let the air out of it. 

The one friendship that persisted did so not because of my efforts.  I am phone phobic and I love to read, and would never  bother to call someone just to catch up or make a date.  I just don't want to.  Part of it is time related, part of it, the biggest part of it, is definitely psychological.  But the friend persisted in keeping in touch.  Now we have parted.  She has denied saying things that I have in print (electronically) and she has accused my husband and me of doing things we did not do.  (Also backed up with the printed words she twisted) She claimed that some years back she decided to steer away from certain topics cuz she thought I was going a little wacko.  Well, shit fire.  Everyone knows I am a little wacko.  And the stuff that I have heard from her over the years indicating she is not going a little wacko but has crossed the line into the land of the strangely unbalanced, well, why even bother?   Today I received a letter from her that is so far beyond the pale (whatever the fuck that means) that my mind is spinning and burning and I am venting on this blog to keep myself from taking her letter and annotating each and every bizarre accusation she makes.   I am asking myself, and everyone around me, and they are getting damn sick of it, why did I ever bother?  What did I ever get out of it?  I would get so nervous about meeting her for lunch, I would have to take a Lunesta (maybe two) the night before or else I would toss and turn in a frenzy of anxiety.

I have rewritten my life in fictional works, three or four times.  I cannot actually rewrite my life, and when I consider the bad things that happened, the terrible tragedies that I wish I did not have to live through, the difficulties and mental obstacles and horrible decisions I have had to make, honestly, I look back and think that is just the way it was.  That is why I am here now and things are this way.  And I honestly don't think I would change it.  Well, maybe I would have married that med student, but I think he had a drinking problem.

But this friendship thing?  I twice have moved from towns and left no forwarding address because I did not want some one who wanted to be my fucking friend ( and I don't literally mean fucking. That's a whole other issue. And a way easier one to deal with.) to find me.  And, honest to God, one of them tracked me down.  What is wrong with me, except that my DNA proves my ancestors are from another galaxy, that makes me think friendship is such a HUGE pain in the ass?  I invite your input.  You may feel free to post anonymously and thereby relieve me from having to do anything, besides accepting gratefully,  that might be construed as friendly. But I am courteous, trustworthy, appreciative, kind, generous, unselfish, highly accountable, extremely responsible, fun, witty, (acerbically), literate, intelligent, attractive in an aging sort of way, just unfuckingfriendly. And that wacko thing.

The World's Most Amazing Baseball Game

In the league my grandson plays in, you have to lose two games to be out of the playoffs.  Ben's team, the Phillies, lost to the Cardinals, who are a pretty sucky team.  Ben's team was leader going into the playoff's 16 wins two losses.  Cardinals had two wins.  They beat us in the playoff game and the kids were so downtrodden.  It was awful.  And one of the coaches, who just happens to be a beautiful policeman who, when he shows up in his uniform, distracts me from the game, says to one of the kids, who was commenting on the Cardinals poor sportsmanship in light of their win, "Let them have their moment, they've only won three and you've only lost three." And a Cardinal mom yells, "Yeah, but we beat you."  So another coach gets in her face and politely tells her to shut the fuck up, but not in those words, only with that intent.  So the next day we kick Cardinal ass.  Of course.  So we play the Giants who are no losses in the playoffs and kick their butts  big time, like 17 to two, the Giants first play off loss.  So we have to play them again today. This league plays six innings.  We go into the bottom of the sixth down by six and win.  When it was tied Ben scored the tie breaker run.  OMG.  Then we went over and ate Bubbas and drank MGD and swam in their beautiful pool.  What a wonderful day.

Irony of all ironies, ironically

I bragged about how nice my house looked recently in the very same blog where I spoke extensively on the pruning of a rather unattractive tree on my property.  What is that line about from your lips to God's ears?  C'mon, God.  I actually backed down in the very blog and capitalized your name.  Seriously.  Talk about overkill.

View of the Zoo

We went to the drive in theater in Kenosha.  The screen looked like it would fall down in a strong wind, but it survived a very strong wind last week, the evidence from which was piled in almost every driveway and all along the surrounding roads.  Golly gee. They had to search our car because twice that week, people had tried to sneak in.  The revenue loss was sixteen dollars and we had spent the afternoon packing the car with odds and ends from Valley, so it really was not worth his time.

Ben wanted to see the Zookeeper movie, with Kevin James who is adorable.  I believe that to be the actual title of the movie.  Part of the time Ben and Cassie sat on the roof.  Then they sat in the car and there was not a breath of air, so we had to turn on the car and the air conditioning.

90% of the people we saw there were the same shape.  The women wore maybe size twelve pants, maybe 14, maybe ten and size 44 tops.  I wondered aloud if the clothing stores in Kenosha catered to that specific type of blouse.  I am being mean and petty, but really, what are the odds?  And Ben was being a little loud and colorful previous to the start of the movie and the very nice looking woman with tops and bottoms that looked like God didn't make a mistake, and her very nicely comported young men, one of which, to my chagrin, was a darling redhead, actually moved her car away and was heard explaining to her sons that she did not want to spend the entire movie parked next to those rowdies (us).  Actually the loudest noise we made was me pounding the steering wheel with tears running down my face with laughter, and, at this moment, I do not recall if it was something in the movie or something from my carfull that was making me laugh.  I was laughing so hard on the way up, wondering where this road we didn't belong on was going to take us, oh, lo and behold, it is the street we are supposed to be on, through luck alone, that I was afraid I would run off the road.  We laugh so hard and we just go on with this schtick about ending up on the Amstutz on the fourth of July and what was going to pop up from that huge cavern in the neutral ground.  I don't know.  It is what keeps me going.  This has been the craziest week, with house guests that I think were here and someone breaking into Fran's Valley House, that she is trying to vacate, and the new person, that we do not know where the time went, and the movie was funny, hysterically, in some parts, and stupid in others, but we laughed for what ever reason and we found our way home, and the tiny baby slept like an angel.  I have heard babies will do that when they are over stimulated, just zonk out, when the car is full of warm, crazy people that think they are funnier than the movie, and really are. And, oh I spilled something, oh, it smells good, oh, it's carpet cleaner, and stop spitting those Mike and Ikes out the window.  I complain, and I whine, and I am miserable and unhappy and bitter and short tempered, and insincere and more than a little crazy.  But I have such fun with these goofy guys.  I would not want to be with anyone else.  I am sure.

You wouldn't either. 

Conspiracy Theory

Mel Gibson was right in that movie where he was trying to convince Julia Roberts.  I must watch it again as I do not recall what he felt he discovered and why no one would believe him.  I actually do not recall the name of the movie.  And then there was that phrase, "Just because you are paranoid does not mean you are not being followed."

I am paranoid.  Someone said it about me and I took humbrage.  But I am.  I read some little phrase here or  there and I will think, "Stolen".  Like no one else read that same article or had that same  thought.  And then I think, "It is a plot.  They are conspiring with each other to do it."  Seriously.  Like why would they bother?  I am unimportant.  Perhaps believing these things or suspecting these things validates my importance or my mistaken sense of importance to myself.

And I am doing that thing, analyzing and second guessing when I have that book laying there that I am really enjoying reading, so why don't I?  And those bottles and bottles of helpful little pills.  And people make me so nervous.  Five in the room and I cannot stand the smells or the noise or the movement.  And  I just sit there, trying to cope with my feelings and my distress and I want to scream or sob or disappear, and  a few years ago I would have screamed or wept or run out of the room, but now I try to cope.  And I know I am not coping. I am pretending.  My words are fake.  My voice is false.  Copy me.  I laugh at you.

Why do some days I feel capable and interested and engaged and other days I see everything in horrid shades of green and I am scared and I know, I just know, it will never  be all right. (?)

Five Feet of Heaven in a Ponytail

I made a comment on someone's blog about love and how I felt like only I could love me.  And the person felt sorry for me.  And that is the second time I have done that.  I am kinda bummed.  I don't feel sorry for me, and I don't really feel comfortable making people feel that way.  I feel I am brave and enterprising and stalwart.  (We won't get into foolish or impetuous or wrong headed or whatever in this blog.  At least not today.)  I guess it is my perspective or my use of the word, or, perhaps, my own perception.

Recently I parted ways with a friend I have known for most of my life.  I had always said that she was a better friend to me than I was to her.  But, kind of like a light bulb went on in my head, suddenly (she said and did  stuff I totally could not fucking believe, and still can't) I felt like I was not the person she thought I was, and she was a friend to someone that was a stranger to me and I could not relate to it any longer. It is a huge watershed in my life, and weeks later, I refer to it and dream and obsess  about it.

In the car,  the other day, my daughter was 'lecturing' me on some thing I was allowing with my grandchildren, one of which (whom, who?)  lives in my home.  And I said, 'Well, I know I am an 'enabler', etc.", and brought up the old saw about where do you draw the line between caring and enabling, which is maybe not such an "old" saw, but has always been a good back up retort for me when I am being used as a doormat. and I said, "How bout we wait til this comes back to bite me in the ass, cuz I already did it and I know I shouldn't have and I really don't want to hear anymore about it right now."  And she said, "Okay."  And we just went on. 

Yesterday, when I was holding her baby, (the cutest thing you ever saw, no REALLLY) and I said, "She looks a little thrushy."  And Fran said, "No.  It's just milk."  And I said, "Okay." And we just moved on.

I have never had a relationship in all my many too many years, except for this one with one of my children, and sometimes that is a little shaky,  where things could be said like that and boing just move along with your life instead of analyzing the living breathing shit out of why it was said, and where did that person get that idea, and how should you react, and, Christ, increase my xanax scrip and give me an extra hour on the couch this week.  And, maybe I put too fine a point on it, but I think, if you love someone, or have love for someone, totally, it just has to be like that.   And you don't have to work at making it be like that, it just fucking IS.  And the respect and the admiration and the getting completely pissed off cannot be dealt with separately or analyzed or corrected.  The person has to know who the fuck you are.  Maybe I idealize myself, or feel I am more complicated than I appear to others, but I have been married to someone for over forty years who has no idea who I am or what I am about.  And he shouldn't have to think about it or define me to himself, he should just fucking know it or be aware of it.  I know if someone handed him a copy of one of my books and he read it, (and he wouldn't be bothered to read it unless it was titled  "Getting Down with the Kinghts Templar"  or "Sex and Seamanship") he would have no clue who wrote it, nor would he ever give it a thought.  He would just kind of mentally go, "Uh, huh."  and pick up the remote.

And I totally get that this is all about choices.  And that makes no nevermind here.

What Are You Going To Do?

This has happened at least six times in the last few months. 

I understand there is a certain type of mind that is kind of like a blender, that stuff just keeps spinning around and if you lift the cover a little, something just sort of flies out and sticks, to the wall, to the table, to your face, to your notebook, to your COMPUTER SCREEN.  I kind of have that sort of mind.  And I know I will read stuff and think, "Oh, I wrote a poem like that when I was 29", and it haunts me for awhile that maybe I read that poem by someone else when I was sixteen and it was just whirling around in there and just happened to fly out at a particular time.

But.   When, TWO DAYS after I post a blog about something that happened that was totally serendipitous, and I introduce the article with a cut and paste definition, complete with all citations, of the history and the definition of the word, I come across a blog, using almost the identical words, only illustrating that a different set of their own personal circumstances seemed, in fact, serendipitous, I think the person should at least say, "I was scrolling blogs and came across this blog, by VIRGINIA LLORCA, and she was talking about serendipity and it made me think as follows. "

There is nothing that can be done about it.  But when I realize I got the idea somewhere, I ALWAYS  say I saw this in the paper or so and so was blogging about this.  I think that keeps stuff polite and in the sunshine and it creeps me out that the Supreme Court has to rule on intellectual property.  But, if a person doesn't feel that upright and good citizen, honorable writer, non Cassie Edwards -ish about the subject, well then let them lay in their beds at night thinking that I am pond scum and no one will ever know they lifted it from my sparkling works, or used my stunning example as a platform.  That's okay with me.  I lay in bed at night and think about what Maisie says to Barney when he is standing there in the kitchen in his blue plaid boxers kissing her and the toddlers are smearing cheerios all over the room.

And I didn't get that idea from some else's blog, but someone with a contract with a major publisher will probably have it on the shelf in six months. 

And, a little motherly advice:   don't all the people in the blogging world KNOW that the tagging process GROUPS blogs, and, sooner rather than later, people in the field you are planting,  or hoeing, or trampling, or reaping, are gonna see the crop?  Ah, well.  In pioneer days, settling the ole West, rustlers figured out how to alter cattle brands.  So, who is stupid?

SERENDIPITY

First  the boring part:


serendipity


1754 (but rare before 20c.), coined by Horace Walpole (1717-92) in a letter to Mann (dated Jan. 28); he said he formed it from the Persian fairy tale "The Three Princes of Serendip," whose heroes "were always making discoveries, by accidents and sagacity, of things they were not in quest of." The name is from Serendip, an old name for Ceylon (modern Sri Lanka), from Arabic Sarandib, from Skt. Simhaladvipa "Dwelling-Place-of-Lions Island." Serendipitous formed c.1950.

Online Etymology Dictionary, © 2010 Douglas Harper

Cite This Source
 
 
Now an equally or perhaps, more, boring tale:
 
Ben lost his iPod shuffle.  He got it for Christmas.  He is nine.  The parents were a little worried about the price, size, age of user ratio but decided this is how lessons are taught, and learned.  A few months later, he lost it.
 
The circumstances were cloudy and they hesitated to replace it too easily, and held off.  Searches were conducted, mine, perhaps, the most assiduous. 
 
Meanwhile, May, June, etc.  No new iPod.  No new searches.  Occasional references.  Grannie has a much used shuffle, old edition, and the tuner thing in the cord, which they now know was a bad idea, craps out.
 
New baby.  Lots of shopping, meal exchanges, money changing hands, favors earned and owed, Fran buys grannie a new iPod.  Me:  "Don't tell Ben."  Fran:  Don't tell Steven".
 
TWO days later, Steven calls Fran saying he turned in his credit card points and is getting two new shuffles and some Wii accessory.  Ben hears.  Knows he is getting one of them.  He served his time for a cloudy crime.  "Act surprised when Steven gives it to you."  "Two of them?  Damn, we coulda saved fifty bucks". 
 
Fast forward THREE  days, today, July 01, 2011:
 
Package arrives at door containing the two new free iPods.  Stephanie comes over with her three little girls.  Going through the toy boxes and tables in the playroom, Hannah finds Ben's long lost blue iPod. 
 
Not a big deal, I know, but shades of O'Henry and downright weirdness in this story somewhere. 
 
I don't think we ever even called on Saint Anthony in regard to this one.
 
 
 
 
 
 

Redundancy...but Too Darn Cute

Fran designed these herself which just makes it sweeter for me. . .