tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69430748244463300252024-03-17T19:26:20.285-07:00For Smiles and SmilesEliza Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243693006153300539noreply@blogger.comBlogger6125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6943074824446330025.post-64483886859875529692024-03-17T19:20:00.000-07:002024-03-17T19:25:48.886-07:00The End is Near<span> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGD9eKXwJnWp-xmY71h2BwyQxaGcSG3KKKVaXtSCPAmEZb3mii99PghY1_ThjL7I-FZ5fGVhaznCqzw5rnRa8r8Z21zhqVxmXzRJCEFUZDtD3FwrfDa0P542DLBUdTqmCOHcu3lkY9F_y5Q7hHWeZskoByjlHeulg3nVCKix_Tt-5sjaQDfB2dlMYwdsIh/s2400/bruce-kee-XbuJMwsi4uM-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="2400" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGD9eKXwJnWp-xmY71h2BwyQxaGcSG3KKKVaXtSCPAmEZb3mii99PghY1_ThjL7I-FZ5fGVhaznCqzw5rnRa8r8Z21zhqVxmXzRJCEFUZDtD3FwrfDa0P542DLBUdTqmCOHcu3lkY9F_y5Q7hHWeZskoByjlHeulg3nVCKix_Tt-5sjaQDfB2dlMYwdsIh/s320/bruce-kee-XbuJMwsi4uM-unsplash.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@brucekee?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Bruce Kee</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/selective-focus-photo-of-purple-petaled-flowers-XbuJMwsi4uM?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Unsplash</a></div><br /></span><div><span><br /></span></div><div><span> The end of spring break has come. It has been a lazy spring break. I napped a lot, did a few small projects, and took the kids to do things they liked. There was no grand vacation, no private get-away. I slept later than I intended most days (and by later, I mean six or so).</span><div><span><span> </span> I think the best person to be is the person you are when it is just you and your family for awhile. There is a quiet peace in leaning back and just letting your life unfold. When your days are filled with the basics-and there is no pressure to be or seem a certain way. I love it when I can read what I want without worrying about being impressive or wise. I love it when I can watch what I want, without needing to explain why I like the things I do (though, let me tell you, my mind is often pondering that one!). What content to move quietly through the day, from cup of coffee to cup of coffee, pattering sock-footed through the house (my floors are too dirty to go barefooted. I need a maid or a housewife to take care of me), from bedroom to library to deck to family room (generally, my introverted self is trying to slip away from the others in the house-and they follow me). </span></div><div><span><span> Oh, it hasn't been perfect. A half dozen disappointments, hurt feelings, and half-formed worries pull at the back of my head. I am playing with the line of open honesty and self-protection. To feel is to dance dangerously on the edge of despair. To shut off those feelings is to lose the ability to love. Sometimes a regret slips in and I consider it and find myself surprisingly close to tears. How quickly they can fall at times. And yet, I feel so closed off and only half-alive. Not one of the truly living who dance in the spotlight of life. How is it that one can shun attention and crave it so badly? How contradictory is this world! How odd to be so mouselike and so very proud and vain.</span><br /></span></div><div><span><span><span> Anyway, I haven't done my sweat treatments one time this week. I am so annoyed with myself, but I hate doing it. I will regret it when my hands are slick with sweat while I am working though. I have gone almost completely off wine. It tastes gross suddenly. That's fine. Who needs the extra calories? I am supposed to get my bloodwork done tomorrow, but I don't want to miss the first morning back. I will have to pay otherwise, though. Oh well. I don't feel like fasting and filling out sub plans. </span><br /></span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><span> Tomorrow. A little over two more months before the next break. I can do this. I do love to work anyway.</span><br /></div></div>Eliza Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243693006153300539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6943074824446330025.post-82662117543382461492024-03-08T23:26:00.000-08:002024-03-08T23:39:07.016-08:00It's Not Raining, It's Not Pouring, but It's 12:30 in the Morning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIIR328KxXmzxhjNMVkl1b_i8yj4C_fNcmHwuVkDQ98RKPPmY-aw-Q4mPysyn9uCDFfZb14q4Rpb9gAZ6JZMj_Sx-MxHgy3DmBHyniFkORe50clvN9dCnI80VIGXkN4znLQnhZmDIkED7NNvoTUlkrqi-4iH8eAHZGg-eruXcsK5kmBrabGkrXPHT4jzbY/s4121/kyle-glenn-ynrPyLpFMm8-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2703" data-original-width="4121" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIIR328KxXmzxhjNMVkl1b_i8yj4C_fNcmHwuVkDQ98RKPPmY-aw-Q4mPysyn9uCDFfZb14q4Rpb9gAZ6JZMj_Sx-MxHgy3DmBHyniFkORe50clvN9dCnI80VIGXkN4znLQnhZmDIkED7NNvoTUlkrqi-4iH8eAHZGg-eruXcsK5kmBrabGkrXPHT4jzbY/w400-h263/kyle-glenn-ynrPyLpFMm8-unsplash.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@kylejglenn?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Kyle Glenn</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/man-swimming-in-green-body-of-water-ynrPyLpFMm8?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Unsplash</a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> I awoke! I awoke hard and sweaty. Hmm. That doesn't sound right. Anyway, I awoke at midnight, certain morning was nigh. My craving for coffee hit, and what a conundrum. But alas! I remembered the bag of decaffeinated coffee, and so permitted myself to indulge. Actually, it just finished brewing, I need to go get it.</p><p><br /></p><p><span> Yesterday was difficult. Alec had had a bad earache and sore throat the night before, and I was thankful that I had an excuse to miss work. We were having a staff meeting and social anxiety was hitting hard. However, he awoke in much less pain, and I pushed myself to go to work. </span><br /></p><p><span><span> And I was obnoxious. When I am feeling anxious about my performance or socially anxious, I tend to get verbally rebellious and obnoxious. It's like a cloak of ignorance I drape over my shoulders. It is very immature, but I struggle to see it in the moment. I think I am showing myself how little I care as a way to soothe myself, but when I snuggle in to bed early, and start to doze, the ridiculousness of all my comments hits me. I have to stop being rebellious against silly things. I have to stop the urge to run away when I am feeling like a failure, professionally and socially. It might feel protective in the immediate moment, but in the long run, it leads to a bad attitude, seeming lack of loyalty, and distancing myself. So I awoke, sweaty, and wanting to fix all my wrongs immediately. </span><br /></span></p><p><span><span><span> All I can really do at this moment, is write about it to soothe my feelings and let it go, and focus my eyes on higher goals. I need to step away from feeling, and the fearful avoidant behavior it causes in me, and step into thinking and planning. This is my analysis of what is happening anyway. It isn't like I'd pay for therapy when, yo! There's shoes to be bought! Seriously, though. Single mom thing in an expensive economy.</span><br /></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span> I am not sure if the Lexapro is working for the PMDD. I started it along with iron and Vitamin D, too, due to blood tests results, and I DO have more energy. I have gotten back into doing a kitchen cleanup every night, and I had been slacking on that. I know I could train the boys, but I am struggling with being outnumbered. It has been mostly about survival this winter. I felt a little too grumpy, no-nonsense with my class. I do need to tighten up my routines and expectations, I struggle because I am a little rebellious, so I get where they are coming from, but at the same time, they are young and will not always choose what is best for themselves in the long run. I have to set that tone and hold to it. I also feel as if I am not doing a very good job teaching them. And it hurts because I do love to teach. I just need to make it more engaging. I don't get a lot of feedback from anyone, other than it's all about relationships. So that may be what I need to focus on along with making it more engaging. I need to tighten up AND be warmer. <br />So, there's a plan. Anyway, I have to go back to my health care provider and talk about how I am doing on the Lexapro this week. And honestly, yesterday was so rough, I was a little worried. Not like breaking down crying rough, although I did shed a few tears of loneliness and left-outedness, but just slightly dark, hopeless thoughts. But I think that is just a little anger I am turning inward. It's hard to know how much to put on yourself, how much to put on others, and how much to just accept. I may be obnoxious, others may be excluding, and it may just be what it is, ALL AT THE SAME TIME. And I want to solve the problem, and...there may not be a solution. </span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span> It's the INFP thing. I focus on my feelings first, when I need to be approaching things with clarity and reason. It's rather self-centered of me really. I don't even know how to step outside of myself to put the focus on others, because I keep getting sucked back into my head. I probably need a cheat sheet or mantra to retrain my brain. Which, by the way, has been muddled lately. My thoughts haven't been making their way out of my head and I have been vague and searching in my speech. I think I need to exercise more and PRACTICE TALKING more. But I struggle because I don't want to bother others or force myself on them, especially if I am going through a being annoying phase. Which I am. I feel like my choices are be aloof and seem unfriendly, or be open and obnoxious. I am struggling finding mature warmth, which must be in me somewhere. I think the obnoxiousness is a coping mechanism which is ultimately detrimental. I am not sure I was BORN INFP. I think I just became that way. It could also be ISFness. I feel I do lack in creativity. It's introverted feeling driving me, anyway. I feel I disappoint others when they get to know me. </span></span></span></span></span></p><p><br /></p><p><span> </span>Anyway, that was long and boring and I am just frustrated because I am not being my best self and I am not sure the Lexapro is helping. I HAVE been more patient with my own kids, but I haven't been Ubering this week. The real test is when I get back from Ubering and the house is destroyed, how will I handle it? Will I yell or be rational and in-charge. </p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span> My work plan is to spend the week planning out the rest of the quarter as best as I can. I love the planning aspect, though I need a lot of support this year, because I don't understand the best pacing. I want to plan beyond just worksheet tasks and just lecturing. I need to get them students more involved in what is happening. So I think I want to have more whiteboard time, and games, and tasks cards. Just get them moving a little more and having a little more fun. I think my fear is managing all the body movement. But I have to stop fearing and start practicing it. I have to be in the moment more and have confidence in my own authority, without being too arrogant about it. </span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> I probably should use spring break to do some projects. I need to repaint some rooms. The boys are always running their hands on the walls. Really my front door frame is sliding, but I don't know how to fix that, and can't really afford to have it done. It's embarrassing though. You know, I don't want the imaginary people dropping by for all my imaginary social events to see it. I don't think I am going to get the broken garage door fixed this year unless I get June and July jobs. I need to repaint it though, and see if I can rubber mallet it into better shape though. The other door works. I really need to have the broken furniture littering half the garage hauled off, but noone has a truck anymore. Maybe I will find someone in Facebook Marketplace who is hauling this week. I don't think I will attempt a garden this year. Maybe some tomatoes. I have just been half-heartedly doing it the last few years, and definitely not recouping the expense I am putting into it. I haven't gotten a summer school job yet, so fingers crossed something amazing happens. I really would like to work June and July. July is only online, but I am down for it. We'll see. If I didn't get one, I would have to deliver a lot of food. We'll see what happens. It's all good. All good, folks.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> Well, no deep thoughts here. Just shame and realization tonight. But hey, it's a start! Keeping the eyes open and not falling back into that half-conscious slumbering thought reality-that is the real challenge.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span>Have a great Saturday!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p>Eliza Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243693006153300539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6943074824446330025.post-87950273503345551512024-02-25T07:43:00.000-08:002024-02-25T07:43:51.611-08:00February Musings<p>Musings is a lovely word, but this is really just the groans of a middle-aged woman. Be forewarned.</p><p><br /></p><p> I keep waking up with a headache. I think I am grinding my teeth at night. I did that a lot as a child, and I feel a lot of pressure. Most of the pain is in my forehead. It will pass. Of course, part of me wonders if it carbon monoxide, but the kids aren't complaining. I need to get a monitor, I suppose. Now, Gabe wakes up sick/hurt/dying on most school days and I have to mentally prepare for the begging to stay home, but this is real pain. </p><p>I have switched back to half-caff coffee and it is just not as satisfying. I don't get that "Ahhhhhh," hit of caffeine first thing in the morning. But I do find that too much caffeine makes me too anxious, and I love to sip hot beverages all day.</p><p>I am really and officially old now. My NP has prescribed me with supplements to take. Two iron pills a day and one Vitamin D a week. Apparently this was supposed to start after some bloodwork last August, but I missed the message somehow. I finally went back and asked for something for the PMDD. I used Lexapro in my 30s, so I asked for that. It makes me a little sad, because my independent nature wants to handle "all by myself!" but I found I was really being too cranky with my kids, and that overrides my pride. We'll see how it goes. I have had 4 doses and haven't really noticed a difference at this point.</p><p>I was making my gross coffee this morning and remembered how I had planned to buy myself an espresso maker. I thought about cramming that into my budget, and feeling sad for my lower middle class status, but then I remembered....literally children are being blown apart across the world. I can live without an espresso maker. At least until I can afford to pay for it without credit. Same for my wardrobe. I am not saying I should deprive myself, but not having money for new spring clothes? Not a tragedy.</p><p>These iron pills make me want to vomit. I never took them in pregnancy because of that, but I didn't seem to need them back then. I used to use cast iron pots and pans that I had bought for myself from Fingerhut when I was 18 or so because of course I planned this Little House on the Prairie existence and I was preparing for that.</p><p>I am completely exhausted. Utterly exhausted. Saturday morning I woke early, worked a few hours and then just stopped. I literally just lounged and napped and fed my brain a diet of social media and celebrity gossip (I am not even that into that-I was that...gone). It was really wonderful.</p><p>Yesterday we went to Tierney's baby shower which was held at her in-laws. I felt bad that I couldn't do it, but I feel some shame over my house. First of all, my garage door. Tierney/Jake hit it once, and I hit it again, and now one of the doors isn't working, and is slightly out of shape. On top of that the neighbor kids grabbed spray paint from my garage once and sprayed the door. I scrubbed most of it, but haven't had the energy to repaint the door, which will end up being both doors because they have to match. I also have decision paralysis in regards to which paint color to get. Also, my house if 50 years old almost, and the front door needs reframed. It's visibly slipping. Add to that, the damage the kiddos have done to the kitchen floor, and...now my head knows if it is clean and kept, I shouldn't worry too much over the wear and tear. I wouldn't judge someone over not having thousands of dollars to make an old house look new. But it also needs repainted, as the kids ALWAYS put their hands on the walls, and that is a simple fix and I should just do it. I would judge over that.</p><p>My head hurts. My glasses are hurting my eyes/nose. `I almost threw up that iron pill. Twice a day, I have to take it. I don't want to take pain reliever because I have heard that can have a rebound effect as your body gets used to taking it often. I am will just relax and tough it out. Sometimes it just blows my mind what people had to deal with in the past. Strep without antibiotics. UTI's without antibiotics. Just prolonged misery until their body healed...or died. We romanticize the past, but it was brutal.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Eliza Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243693006153300539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6943074824446330025.post-60898439588941852022024-02-25T06:36:00.000-08:002024-02-25T07:55:49.162-08:00It's a Sunny Sunday!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/FM7MFYoylVs" width="320" youtube-src-id="FM7MFYoylVs"></iframe></div><br /> <span> </span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOra6U745hZ3nrksJRd9mKla56NNHTV3aFR5VCJdj5plVnTCzkNjngh1bey4KX5aCYBzxr_LUAudweLLxAwN4b877wgFG8Ql77besf8PYctWoiv00ign7-vDDWjZsqH_iNNeycX3xy1ojg_zjqmlODKuJnzmzgbvSjfHJSceZqdy2pc3jsepuGCVf7We6v/s3872/istvan-hernek-mx3Vp_XleHs-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="3872" height="428" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOra6U745hZ3nrksJRd9mKla56NNHTV3aFR5VCJdj5plVnTCzkNjngh1bey4KX5aCYBzxr_LUAudweLLxAwN4b877wgFG8Ql77besf8PYctWoiv00ign7-vDDWjZsqH_iNNeycX3xy1ojg_zjqmlODKuJnzmzgbvSjfHJSceZqdy2pc3jsepuGCVf7We6v/w640-h428/istvan-hernek-mx3Vp_XleHs-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@origamiaround?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Istvan Hernek</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/white-and-pink-flowers-in-tilt-shift-lens-mx3Vp_XleHs?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Unsplash</a></div><br /><p></p><p><span><br /></span></p><p><span> It's still rather chilly outside, and I will be leaving soon to pick up the boys from their sister's house. The price of getting Liam to stay all night there is a trip to a disc golf course in another small town. Usually I can get away with taking him on a quick trip to Oak Grove which we can finish together in less than 30 minutes-and I am bad. But I promised, so I won't think on it anymore. I'll just make the drive, walk the course, and drive back. It's fine. It's all fine. </span></p><p><span><span> I enjoyed my time alone last night, but honestly, something has to change. First of all, I am over alcohol. I bought a box of wine on Thanksgiving, which didn't get drunk, so I got accustomed to relaxing with a glass in the evening this winter. The box lasted almost until Christmas. Then I just kept up the habit. However, a week and a half ago I started taking Lexapro for my PMDD AND I bought a bottle of peach wine. I was thinking it was Boone's farmy-type, but no. It was a stronger alcohol and just too much like, well, a sweet wine. I don't really like sweet wine much, unless it is carbonated. So that's sitting there and I feel very put off by it. Last night I went back to my preferred cabernet sauvignon, but I had to force the second glass. Really one glass is relaxing, but more than one is best saved for a social setting. Because it pushes me to the level of tipsy where I want to chat with someone, and noone was there. I am not too big on chatting online. Maybe because it is just men who I feel want something. And that's fine, there is nothing wrong with wanting something, but...I just don't think I have anything to give at this moment in my life. And if it's all my money they are wanting...well, they will be disappointed. </span><br /></span></p><p><span><span><span> I really want to go OUT more, but it is hard to go out alone. I want to go to plays and bookstores and concerts. Who does that alone? I guess I will have to since I can't imagine who to do it with. I don't like the expectation of having to hold my end of the conversation anyway. I am so moody and sometimes I just don't feel like talking. I'm definitely better alone. </span><br /></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span> So, the alcohol was unsatisfying. Plus I didn't know what to DO with my time. I wasn't up for reading. I watched Call Me By Your Name, but the magic is sifting out of that one. I need to take a good long break from it. I am tired of the same old movies, but it'</span></span></span></span>s so risky to just watch a new one. So many are just not good. That's my tendency towards stick-in-the-mudness showing. </p><p><span> I also had to start taking iron pills twice a day and Vitamin D once a week. The iron pills are wreaking havoc on my already sensitive stomach, but the NP swore I would have more energy if I kept it up the vitamins and Lexapro, so I'll keep going. </span><br /></p><p><span><span> I feel very old taking pills on a daily basis. I had planned out this long post on delivering Ubereats this morning, but now it's gone, the dogs are barking, and I need to go get the boys. </span><br /></span></p><p><span><span>Later perhaps. Oh! I LOVE honeysuckle scents in the warmer weather and since we always push seasons around here, I found sunkissed honeysuckle wax melts at Walmart that are just splendid. You should try them.</span></span></p><p><span><span> </span><br /></span></p>Eliza Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243693006153300539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6943074824446330025.post-43507035370815778832024-02-07T20:11:00.000-08:002024-02-08T17:27:47.529-08:00Movie Date<p> Trigger warning: Fear of violence (maybe-how sensitive are you?) mental illness. I started writing something, and I am trying to reach in and pull out the experiences and de-ice the them. But...they are so vague.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZ8UfG9jtgCwKa5UNEHnMv82BRAN0sVPBPi6yt0t-1xHBy1c-PshTTiE3bMl9KrHROxRV3nqEPT0eOl4p2xA-OdtV8DDlogJr2S6UmLYOY7ksJm8XhiQVOvSeUrsNDyWqJGoMStLIXAJCcTA6sWqykkY2P7dCrqtI7e4OxfTWoxuO7OBBEeVhJyv37_8m/s4500/debby-hudson-_HwEGoJKsaM-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3378" data-original-width="4500" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZ8UfG9jtgCwKa5UNEHnMv82BRAN0sVPBPi6yt0t-1xHBy1c-PshTTiE3bMl9KrHROxRV3nqEPT0eOl4p2xA-OdtV8DDlogJr2S6UmLYOY7ksJm8XhiQVOvSeUrsNDyWqJGoMStLIXAJCcTA6sWqykkY2P7dCrqtI7e4OxfTWoxuO7OBBEeVhJyv37_8m/w400-h300/debby-hudson-_HwEGoJKsaM-unsplash.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@hudsoncrafted?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Debby Hudson</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/sliced-oranges-on-chopping-board-_HwEGoJKsaM?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Unsplash</a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> It was December and it was cold. My (now-ex) husband and I had just left the movies after watching The Last Jedi. I am a lukewarm Star Wars watcher. Of course, as a little girl with brothers, I liked Star Wars, but as an adult woman, I would say I can watch them, but Star Trek is more my jam. Science fiction over fantasy, is how one person put it when we were discussing it. </p><p>It was 15 degrees cold in December, which is early enough in winter to feel very, very cold. Something happened-the windows were rolled down. </p><p>"It's freezing! Will you roll up my window." An argument ensued. He was so insulted. Suddenly my being cold led to screaming about? I don't remember the words. And then we were speeding down Battlefield heading west towards home. "Stop! Fred (name changed to protect the guilty), slow down!" We were going too fast, slamming on the brakes just before the lights. He was angry that I cared. Insulted. </p><p>So much is foggy now. Too fast driving, me crying, him mad that I was crying. And I was furious that we were at this place. Something was clearly very wrong with him-more so than I had realized, and here I was in the car again, after the last episode a few weeks before where I swore I wouldn't let him drive me again. </p><p>Finally, he stopped. Right in the middle lane of Battlefield in front of Sonic. </p><p>"If you don't like my driving, then I am done!" He stepped out of the car and walked off into the frigid night. I was stunned, numb, and relieved that he was not driving. I climbed over into the drivers seat and slowly started driving home. He had no gloves, no coat on. I was worried. Even though I didn't want him with me, I didn't want to be responsible for driving off from a clearly unhealthy person who was inadequately dressed for the cold water. But I went home. </p><p>I heard him stirring at the door about 30 minutes later. A surge of fear leaped into my heart, and I slipped into the laundry room and closed the door. </p><p>"Jill! He walked around. "Jill!" A minute later, the laundry room door opened. </p><p>"What are you doing in here? Are you hiding from me?" the fury was evident. He was so very insulted that I might hide. I felt my bladder begin to let go. Was this fear? Am I some sort of whimpering puppy? I thought in amusement. I slipped out of the laundry room into the kitchen.</p><p>I was met with a wall of fury. Screaming in my face about how ridiculous it was that I was afraid. Foaming spit at the corner of his mouth, occasionally spraying in my face.</p><p>Don't back down. I told myself. Don't flinch. I would not cower to someone who was being irrational. When had he gotten so very bad? Was he taking any medications at all at his point?</p><p>"I want my keys!" he demanded. I thought back on his driving and as much as I wanted him gone, I did not feel being behind the wheel of the car was where he needed to be.</p><p>I shook my head. "I don't think that's a good idea."</p><p>Thunder rolled across his features and vibrated through the kitchen. I had moved to place the counter between us. </p><p>"It's my car!" </p><p>He had a point. But again, what if he killed someone?</p><p>I stared back.</p><p>And suddenly, my determination to not back down, to stand my ground crumbled around me. A hand slipped into a drawer and pulled out a large kitchen knife. </p><p>A knife is a scary weapon. Maybe not as dangerous as a gun, but much more personal. A person with a knife has to be close. Close enough to reach out and touch you. </p><p>When a grown man pulls out a knife the air changes rapidly. I did briefly consider it was an old, dull plastic-handled cheap Walmart knife that had never been sharpened. But, I considered it, and thought if we could still push it through a pot roast, it could still slide through skin. And then he turned the knife toward himself. "If you don't give me my keys, I will END MY LIFE!" I thought of witnessing this. The rest of my bladder emptied, but I kept my face as passive as I could. I have my pride. A whimpering, wetting puppy I might be, but I wasn't going to call attention to this fact. He was too far gone for it to register.</p><p>And just like that, my resolve to protect the innocents on the road crumbled. I handed over the keys. He left. Left to go driving around all night, all over the state. </p><p><br /></p><p>What's weird about this, is that it should be so sharp in my mind I feel, and yet it's so vague. So tame. It must have been terrifying, but I feel as if the window to this memory is foggy and obscured by baked in dirt. I have no idea where the kids were. Were they upstairs sleeping? Who babysat? Was Taryn there? Caleb? Were the kids with Tierney? Was someone babysitting and then left when I got home. I have no idea.</p><p>And part of me thinks of the horrors that others experience and I think, who am I to call this trauma? Nothing really happened. </p><p>And why, I wonder, does it feel so shameful to remember and share? Perhaps some part of me wonders about my willingness to overlook what others would call red flags. My belief that I somehow could handle the bad. My shame that I am not pretty enough to get something...saner, perhaps. Is that the shame? So many interesting things to ponder.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/FM7MFYoylVs" width="320" youtube-src-id="FM7MFYoylVs"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>Eliza Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243693006153300539noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6943074824446330025.post-59512694639511161822024-01-09T09:28:00.000-08:002024-01-09T09:39:43.117-08:00She's Back-and she's , well, that remains to be seen!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik_wOXs3uqnJNOATIi0I49cYqKuY4fkA_fuIGJ0sP7PJjqPCPoAk83jO-NxoQY1ambh5yLrXSNojtOb1FFYjW6vcf89qUzY5-qvPx-hJlagkiWITQX-o9B5IFGJPiUAwe67reiuxdBz6HpE2PlLRWAwOwj2MN7LXz96BH3hB-dWM_sai3DOVaLc0X9rZBH/s2400/noaa-8BoyeHOX4CI-unsplash.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1589" data-original-width="2400" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik_wOXs3uqnJNOATIi0I49cYqKuY4fkA_fuIGJ0sP7PJjqPCPoAk83jO-NxoQY1ambh5yLrXSNojtOb1FFYjW6vcf89qUzY5-qvPx-hJlagkiWITQX-o9B5IFGJPiUAwe67reiuxdBz6HpE2PlLRWAwOwj2MN7LXz96BH3hB-dWM_sai3DOVaLc0X9rZBH/w640-h424/noaa-8BoyeHOX4CI-unsplash.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>Photo by <a href="https://unsplash.com/@noaa?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">NOAA</a> on <a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/northern-lights-8BoyeHOX4CI?utm_content=creditCopyText&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash">Unsplash</a></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p> Sunday in the throes of emotional pain (I am exaggerating), but shame nonetheless, I unpublished all my blog posts. I will never be famous; I will never be beloved. NONE of my blogs lately have had merit or value. They have been whiny and rambling and essentially just noise adding the overly cluttered universe around us. </p><p> Then today, I had a little reminder that this feeling (while there may be some truth to it), was just my unbalanced hormones affecting my serotonin levels. I really wasn't keeping track-and when you are my age there really is no keeping track-it could be four weeks, it could be three months. The thing is, it isn't really, really bad unless I have some underlying mild depression. And my life is going pretty well right now. Since nothing was too bad, I wasn't really looking for this issue. So here I am, my mood lifting slowly, feeling pretty excited because the next two weeks should be the bestest. </p><p>I do have to address the unposting of my blog. It's a problem. I don't understand this level of shame I subject myself to when I put my words out there. What am I afraid of? Someone not liking me? Lots of people probably don't like me. It isn't as if they are going to storm my house and point their pitchforks at me and berate me for my emotional inconsistencies and odd thoughts. We all know this comes down to growing up in a home where shame was overused and then integrating into my own self-management systems as I learned to navigate the world with a lacking toolbox of social skills. As I have gotten older shame over my actions doesn't bother me much, however, I find shame over expressing myself to be absolutely mortifying. And yet self-expression and feeling understood is what I crave so badly. And admired for my amazingness, of course ;). I don't know. It just pisses me off that I am this old and still wading through the same murky waters.</p><p>And then, someone will respond with care and I push them off by backing away with a joke. It's so frustrating, and so hard to see in the moment. </p><p>Anyhoo, lifelong personality struggles aside, all is okay. I have some ideas floating around in my head that I want to talk about on A Mighty Queen, but I have been holding back, because my belief systems will annoy some people. I have GOT to stop caring-or at least learn to put the caring in its place (which is not the forefront of my brain). But I think it's natural. Humans are social creatures. Fitting into society, especially as a woman without the protection of a man, is really important to my inner neanderthal. She wants be safe and secure. Modern day me wants to be expressive and potentially divisive. So there is this tug of war between playing it safe and being myself and I just end up looking inconsistent in the meantime.</p><p>I NEED to make myself a list of what to do when I am feeling what. Otherwise it all gets lost in the mess and I revert to past behaviors.</p><p><br /></p><p>Now, I know you all are dying to know: How is my hyperfixation on Timothee Chalamet going? Welllllllllll.</p><p><br /></p><p>I just can't with the Kylie Jenner. I can't. It makes me question his public persona completely. Like maybe he is the ass that people from his past suggest. Maybe he isn't deep and emotional and sweet. The bad teenage rapping already had me questioning his true self, but I was willing to consider it to be a generational thing because he has a hot face (well from some angles. From others he's like the dweeby cousin who won't go away). Maybe he just likes the money and the fame. Or maybe together they are loving and sweet and happy, but no. Gross. I can't. Plus, I saw this interview with this young woman, and he was staring her in the eyes, and I am melting thinking, oh wow, he is really attentive and connecting, but then...I started to wonder, was he just trying to sleep with her? There is this huge rumor that he slept with a lot of people at NYU. And that's fine, that's his business. However, that is not the guy I want to follow and keep up with. So, anyway, it's time for something new. Hopefully I will find a new interest that is not human and if it is, perhaps over the age of "still a kid to me."</p><p><br /></p><p>:)</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/F90Cw4l-8NY" width="320" youtube-src-id="F90Cw4l-8NY"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Eliza Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13243693006153300539noreply@blogger.com0