Wanted: 1 good job

I want to work hard, I want to go in early and come home late. I want meetings and deadlines and to be held accountable and set goals. I want to teach people what I've learned and learn from them, too. I want to make money but just a bit more. Just enough to rent a house and maybe get a better car for now.

I know I made my choices and I know that's how I got here. I knew when I made those choices that my future would be difficult because of them but they were important and they are the reason I am who I am right now. I just wish I'd been a little more cautious, not wasted so much time and money. But I guess that was all a part of it, too.

I feel like I've been stuck on the same level of this game for far too long. I keep looking for the next step, checking behind each door, discovering the next key, even doubling back from time to time to see if there was something I've missed. I'm frustrated. I want out. I want out so damn bad.

I hate it when my confidence lulls like this. I believe in myself, I know I can be all I want to be because I am that already. I just can't find a way to

Well, whatever then. Here I am and here I'll stay until something changes. I will not lay down, I will not give in. I will fight and be frustrated and try and try and try until I get ahead. I believe in me. I just wish I could convince someone else to believe in me, too.

Frustrated = F A T

I learned two things definitively today. Things I already knew on some level but put them into words. 

1. I'm an obliger. 

2. I'm fat because of frustration, and because I'm an obliger.

I'm not addicted to food. I can control myself around junk. I neither need nor necessarily want to eat at any time. But when I'm feeling frustrated I will eat anything and everything. It's not that I'm out of control, it's more that I need to feed the thing inside that is eating away at me. I need to satisfy the beast. 

Is there any other way to satisfy the beast? In the short term, I think yes. I can exercise, I can eat healthy food to my heart's content, I can eat small amounts of junk food to ward off a craving. I can write, I can pamper myself, I can lose myself in my work. When I'm really, unequivocally frustrated, though, only junk food will do. And a lot of it. 

An article I was reading this morning told me I am an obliger. Gretchen Rubin, the author of The Happiness Project, says that there are four main tendencies: Upholder, Questioner, Obliger and Rebel. In her article she offers several questions and the one you identify with the most is your tendency. I took the quiz because I was surfing through LinkedIn on the toilet and had nothing more interesting to do. I also love to learn about myself and ways that I can better myself, and there is no better way to better yourself than understanding yourself better. Huh?

Anyway, when I started the quiz I honestly had no idea where I would end up. I assumed that, as with most personality quizzes, I would identify partially with all of them and completely with none. An upholder meets their obligations, a questioner questions the world around them, an obliger does for others, a rebel doesn't do for anyone if they don't want to. But the thing that really got to me and put me square in the obliger camp is that I have absolutely no problem doing for others but it is a struggle to do for myself. 

I gave up my job to figure out what would make me happy. I gave up my home to support what made me happy. I moved across the country to test my happy. I moved home with my parents to share my happy. In all of that time, what I didn't do what keep the promises I made to myself about the little things. To exercise, to get to appointments on time, to get involved in my community, to find healthier ways to deal with my frustrations in a way that doesn't involve a hamburger, fries and ice cream. 

That's okay, though. If I can eat healthy the rest of the time, I'll allow myself a burger instead of pulling my hair out. I know without a doubt that exercise would help so much more but that will come. Maybe if I deal with the obliger part, the rest will come a little easier.  

And then I research each of the four tendencies in more depth and I am indeed all four. And more frustrated than ever. Always everything and nothing, everyone and no one. Always pulled apart. Always frustrated. Always fat? I don't think so. I just need to keep trying new things to figure things out. I'll get there. I always get there. I always take the longest fucking way around possible. But I get there eventually. I get there. I'll continue to get there. As long as I'm trying, I'm getting closer to succeeding. 

Evolution

Some people in your life are weak. Sometimes you are weak, too. I didn't know I was allowed to be weak. 

I was raised in a house where we were perpetually nice to each other. We had to be. Mom was the rule maker and dad was the enforcer. They were a great team, let me tell you. We told the truth, we were friends and narcs. 

I was the best narc. I used to lurk, stand behind walls, look in drawers. I was the youngest and I could've been the biggest tattle-tailer and gotten free shit. But I wasn't. 

I've been wanting to talk about this for a while but I haven't so I'm just gonna bust in on that train of thought. 

I remember sitting in our little tv room or 

I'm going to try blogging for once, instead of rambling. I wonder if I can. Here goes, then.

We used to have a

Nah, fuck it. Anyway, the other side of the story. That's a unique perspective, isn't it. What is the other person going through? I used to also spend a lot of time with that other person and they told me. Most likely because I asked.

Then again, every time I have a great idea when I get stoned I have no idea if it's good or not.

I don't like talking to me when I'm stoned. I'm going to turn on a show. Byeeeee!

Day 2/2

Holy shit, my brain moves fast when I'm on my own. I wish I could slow it down... I want to hear my voice... or my voices. Don't get nervous, they're all me but I've learned that we all have several phases of life - family, self, work, relationships, love, family. And we all have to master these things to be happy. All of these things. We learn one at a time until we concurrently love them all. Concurrently. Or whatever other word I should use for at the same time. That's where love is, man. Self love.

You work on the phases, one at a time. That's the order I worked on mine up there. I don't think order is important, though.

(You know, it's a lot easier to live this stuff than it is to write about it.)

I'm going to try to write this as I think about it. Just word vomit until I get it out. Most of the time I want to stomp my feet and

(Sometimes you can't get it out, though. You just sit there and think "I'm going to type about whatever I can think" and your mind goes blank. No, not blank. You think of all of the things you want to say.)

But you don't want to say them, in case someone won't agree with you. Because it's kind of a reflection. On the day,

[It's interesting, though, because you want to share it but you don't want to talk about it. It's just stuff. It's just things.]

{I want to think! I want to learn. When I was high all the time I was teaching myself to not think all the time. To not learn. You push through your lessons like one, two, three.}

It's rarely that easy, though. And when things are super easy for you when you're growing up

{I can do this. I know I can do this.

But it certainly slows things down. I guess I'll try to push it out. That's where I'm struggling the most with my work blog.

So, anyway, fast. I've already done a check mark on all of these phases. Right now I'm practicing to be a parent. I'm at my "family" phase again. This time it's "my family" phase. It's also my "living my life" phase. The culmination of all of the things I've learned.

(I already said that. Did I mention that?)

[Okay, one of the things I've learned is that you can get in shit at work by saying something about the company. Even if it's these asshole kids who are being mean because they're jealous. They're just jealous, right, friends?]

Whoa! Almost went off on another tangent!

{That's the problem, though. How could you tell? I don't care what they think. Small town bullies? Or people who were trying to get ahead and would do so at any cost.

I didn't care. I was so embarrassed at first. But then I couldn't figure out why I was embarrassed. Because they saw things about me that they didn't need to know about the person who had been their manager. And would be their assistant manager.

Was it Jordan? Or Sherry? I often wonder that. Just saying.

Anyway, I figured it was just as well. I didn't want to stay there anyway. I tried. I mean, I loved the restaurant and I loved the bar. I'm not really big on feeling like I'm five years old.}

[It's okay when I'm thinking about working hard that my heart goes BANG! when I'm thinking about my career, right? I always loved work. When I was a kid, I didn't play in the sand. I didn't pretend I had a baby or that some handsome man came and swept me off my feet. I dreamed I was in an office. I would staple things and have meetings. My tea party was coffee across my desk. My play time ended with the closing of the door, and a proud "Good evening, people that I work with."

Then I started babysitting. I was nine. I was so excited. My sister was a babysitter and I wanted to be a babysitter because I wanted to be everything my sister was. At first I loved it. Just as I had loved that my sister got calls from boys before that. And as I had loved figure skating before that. And Brownies. And Girl Guides. I was the youngest person to join our school choir. They came and asked for me.

They came and asked for me. My sister graduated (or whatever they call it) from Girl Guides and became a Pathfinder. They asked me to be in the play. They asked me to help them make tissue flowers for their float boat. I was all yes, I was in. Because they asked me. They made me feel special. {I have to pee.}

Ma'am, we're going to have to ask you to step away from the computer for a while. Are you making any sense? Inside your head? Checking for similarities? Rereading books you read when you were getting to the new phase of life stage.

My problem isn't believing what I can do now. I know I can do it. I don't have the slightest doubt. I know. The only way I can communicate that is to tell stories. It's what I do. But I don't want to tell any stories of myself now. Perhaps as it pertains to the point I'm trying to make in my long winded blah, blah, blahs. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings.

But at the same time, I just want to talk about people. My perspective about people. I don't want to tell anyone else's story, I want to tell my perception of their story. I don't know their story, I wasn't there. I just want to tell it how I see it.

Some people can do that without the fear of hurting themself or someone else.

[Yes, I am aware that "themself" is not a word. Because, you know, biggest weakness speech all prepared!]

{One of my main rules I had for myself when I took the year off was that there were no rules. Hypocrisy? Possibly. I wanted to explore that.

Did I run because I was embarrassed? Or did I run because it was an easy way out? Depended on who you asked. But I knew it was for the best and so I went for it. I decided not to go to work that night because I didn't care enough to fight for it. I learned the lesson. Or at least had gathered the information I needed and had no reason to try any harder. Or anymore. I just didn't want to face it. That's the true test on if you want something. How hard you try to keep or lose it.

[That's my life test. Let a decision be made for you and watch how you react. The more you react, that's what it's worth.]

{I'm glad you brought that up. Because I haven't stopped reacting to what happened the next day. When he called me up the next day and said "how could you?" And I realized that in reacting, I had hurt my friend. I didn't want that. I hadn't immediately considered the fact that it would impact his sales. I wasn't thinking about his wallet, I was thinking about my heart. Then I realized I wasn't 12 anymore and that wasn't good enough.

So, when I started having issues with my current boss, I didn't want to react. I didn't want to hurt others because of my need to flee. I don't flee anymore. I make an informed decision. I do my best to take in all of the details and lessons and look to my heart and my gut for the answer.

[I used to look at how others treated me for the answer. My parents said if you fall, it's going to hurt. And I said I don't care. And I fell. And it hurt. It hurt so much. My friends said if you fall, it's going to be embarrassing. And I said I don't even know what you're talking about. I wouldn't be embarrassed if I fell in front of a bus stopped outside my school in grade 9 and was filled with nearly everyone in my class. What would be embarrassing? I didn't mean to fall. I didn't try. Oh my god, I was so embarrassed.

But why didn't you care about me? How could you treat me like that? Why didn't you ask if I was okay or help me get up right away and brush me off? My parents taught me that that's what people do. They reach down and help someone up.

And if you do that, they will like and want you. They will give you a record and say "I wanted to give this to an especially good girl."

{And your mother will say "Cathy'd really like that" and all you could think was "I'm better than Cathy. I'm better than everyone! All the time. Me! Me! Me!}

[I think I said it outloud one time. Maybe many when I was a kid. But probably not. How was I supposed to know what I was feeling? To articulate. To stomp my feet on the ground without stomping my feet on the ground because I wasn't allowed to stomp my feet on the ground.

Whenever I pushed too far, they told me that was enough. Whenever I got to the point where I wanted to throw things, bang my head against the floor, or *gasp* swear, they told me enough. Actually they didn't tell me. They told my brother and sister and I learned.

I watched them fight and I learned it was dumb because they both got bruises. You just couldn't see them all because some bruises are on the outside.

I learned that some are worse than others but they were all just bruises. I picked up every life lesson I was taught and then I wanted to teach them to myself so I could see the signs, see the lesson coming, watch how I reacted, decide if I'd reacted properly, what could I have done better, what would I do different next time?

[Okay, where was I?

In the comma?

{Not in the comma.}

Bracket. Yes, bracket. I don't care what it's called. I'm thinking about the comma. What comma?

I was a very very good learner of lessons. I learned everyone else's lessons. I feel like I already said that but some of the lessons need to be repeated until I hear them. And when I hear them, I learn them, I reflect on them, I tell jokes about them, I cry about them and I move on.

We had this on our wall when I was a kid and learning to read. I would look at it, time and time again. Because I wanted to know what it said because I was learning to read. If I first saw this poem I couldn't think about what it meant. I'm pretty sure my mother read it to me. I probably asked her over and over. What does that say? And then I memorized it. Then I learned what word was what and learned to read it. And I believed it so hard.

Here it is:

CHILDREN LEARN WHAT THEY LIVE

Dorothy Law Nolte

If a child lives with criticism,
he learns to condemn.

If a child lives with hostility,
he learns to fight.

If a child lives with fear,
he learns to be apprehensive.

If a child lives with pity,
he learns to feel sorry for himself.

If a child lives with ridicule,
he learns to be shy.

If a child lives with jealousy,
he learns what envy is.

If a child lives with shame,
he learns to feel guilty.

If a child lives with encouragement,
he learns to be confident.

If a child lives with tolerance,
he learns to be patient.

If a child lives with praise,
he learns to be appreciative.

If a child lives with acceptance,
he learns to love.

If a child lives with approval,
he learns to like himself.

If a child lives with recognition,
he learns that it is good to have a goal.

If a child lives with sharing,
he learns about generosity.

If a child lives with honesty and fairness,
he learns what truth and justice are.

If a child lives with security,
he learns to have faith in himself and in those about him.

If a child lives with friendliness,
he learns that the world is a nice place in which to live.

If you live with serenity,
your child will live with peace of mind.

With what is your child living?

I just realized something else. I'm still learning. I'm still asking what did you teach others? When you're 85 years old and you get to tell one line about who you are and who you were, what do you want to say?

[This is how I look ahead. Watch, do, teach. That's how life is to me. And sometimes, when it's a good lesson or a lesson that I didn't expect to learn, I tell it back to them to see if I'm on target. Because if I'm right, I get a feeling that far, far outweighs eating bad, or smoking cigarettes, or drinking beer, or smoking pot, or seeing if I can get a man to sleep with me.

{Those were my old rewards. Those were my old lessons. And then I said "What am I living?". And then I said "Is that true? Is that what everyone else thinks? Are they right? Is it what I want, is it a direction I want to go?

And sometimes I took the wrong direction and regretted it. Sometimes I took the right direction and regretted it. Sometimes I took the direction someone told me to go and regretted it. And every single time I regretted it, I learned something.


I'm also loving everything else in my life. Everything is good, getting better and pretty much on track of what I wanted. In the process of what I hoped. At the beginning of what I dream. I love and am loved. I could never share the entire contents of this journal because I don't think he could get past the details. I don't know if he should be asked to. Those are my details, not his. We'll learn each other's details as we go. I am completely upfront and forthwith about my feelings. Even when that means not expressing them. Even, even when that means expressing them.

[Because that was always the hardest part.}

I want to honour the spirit of them. The seniors, the employees, the families, the management staff. I want to say "Yes, we need you!", "How did you learn that?" and "What would you say if...?"

Ohmygog, I just thought of five thousand things to say as I was trying to remember my password. Had to look it up and it made me laugh. Yes, Iam.

I'm stoned. And I haven't been stoned in front of a computer for a while (or at all, for that fact) and I want to tell me something. I don't know what.

The things I tell Stephanie when she is heartbroken after her break-up type situation that we don't really know how the story ends yet. I want to tell myself I'm good. Tell myself to be strong and we'll get through it. I not longer have to say things to pick me up... I'm almost up. I went through another tunnel and life is good again. I'm moving forward, I'm applying myself, I'm communicating.

This stage of growth is occurring because I met Corina and Charlene, and Brian, too. I am so glad that I became friends with them at basically the same time.

It's working. All that shit I crammed into my head for all those years. The vision board in my head? I'm almost realizing it. And, funny enough, the things that were so important to me - so important - just a few years ago. The support, the pats on the back, the life advice. I think I'm very open to being trained by a mentor. And that makes me be a much better mentor.

I learn as I go. I figure out the important stuff, and I make it better. One department at a time. I've done things so far out of my comfort zone you would not believe.

I'm okay now. Things are good. I made it over the hurdle. We made it over the hurdle. I might have said this before and I'll probably say it again. A new fork in the road, so to speak. I made a decision (without pot) and I lived with it (without pot).

And now, work wise? I'm just the same as I used to be. Confident but still pulling out the training manual to make sure I'm doing it exactly right. Then stepping back to see how well I did. And the ways in which I could improve the manual.

I am a very good sink or swim type person. And that is why I am eager to take on the responsibility of a retirement place that isn't doing awesome. I want to go somewhere with 65-70% occupancy and I want to rebuild each department, one step at a time. At first you get to take giant steps. Eventually you get to take smaller steps because you've reached your destination, your goals have been met. But you must keep moving and get better and better. You're never "there", you're just trying to get "almost there". The place I work is fantastic. I can't say enough good about the residents, the staff, the dude who delivers thinks I'm cute (and I am), dude who does the pest control thinks I'm super friendly (and I am), the residents think I'm wonderful (and I am).

I actually sign my cards to my grandmother as "With love from your wonderful granddaughter, Bev". I first threw the "wonderful" part in on a card for my grandfather after I was seriously chatting him up one night. I always chatted my grandfather up. Just asked questions and questions.

I love working in retirement because I love asking and being asked the same questions over and over. It's like groundhog day because you're constantly learning and trying to get it right and eventually you do. In the movie groundhog goes away. In real life the groundhog is tremendously important.

It's by asking questions that you take care of them, too. How are you today? What's new with you? How's it hanging, Charlie? Okay, perhaps not that far. ;-)

And I know nothing about them and they know nothing about me. We get to decide on things eventually. It doesn't matter to me that one man flew planes in the war or one was a reverend and a doctor or lawyer or psychiatrist. It makes no difference that one was raised in a poor country and one lost her father at sea but he actually had amnesia and came back home after 3.5 years and then he went back to sea and never came back. Okay, I say it makes no difference but it matters to them and so it matters to me and that makes a world of difference.

Imagine being a strong man, a soldier maybe or a plumber or a painter. Imagine a good life, not easy at times but you got through it. And here you are at the end of it. Now imagine sitting on a couch all day, staring at the tv. Imagine struggling to hear, being challenged by a short walk,

(Possible tweets will also go in here for review tomorrow.)

My love is not a gift. My love is earned. Then I give you gifts.

Getting high is like sitting in a room with my best friend and opening my soul to someone that I really trust will never betray me. I like that feeling. I like teaching it to others. It's a very good feeling. Yup, still stoned.

I'm funny. I like me. I didn't used to like me. I used to base my self worth on everyone else. Like I was only the person people told me I was. And that's all I could be. I mean, I could stretch boundaries - I could go so far. But everything had to be "Beverfect" as Corina calls it. It's fine, it's done well but I couldn't stop unless everything was Beverfect. And if it wasn't Beverfect, it would be put away like it didn't exist.

I used to think I was pushed away like I didn't exist. Now I realize I was standing next to them. They had completely different perspective that me but we were next to each other. I was trusted and trustworthy. Someone always believed in me. It may sound weird but me and my parents and my brother and sister always walked in a line. There was never a moment in my life that someone didn't believe in me. People believed in me because I was believe-in-able. It never for a moment in my whole life did I feel that someone didn't believe in me.

Maybe that's why I was so uncomfortable in university. But it had nothing to do with school... it was everything, everything changed at that time. I still had the best of both worlds but it was really hard to get used to being in a room with a bunch of strangers when every room in my life previous had been filled with people who believed in me. Then it became really hard to be in a room filled with people who believed in me because they believed in me from their view of me, not mine.

They trusted me because I was trustworthy but I wasn't always. I used to take money from my parent's friend's wallets. I don't know how many times I used to do it but I did. I stole from stores - somehow also always clothes because I didn't think my chances were as good if I pocketed a chocolate bar. I stopped because I was afraid of getting caught. I was afraid. Do you know how strict my parents were? Strict. Not mean but fair and understanding. Sometimes too understanding. I could've played them like a fiddle if I knew how to play the fiddle. But we had our boundaries and those boundaries were very close to absolute.

I had to learn to be so much less absolute. I took little adventures with my brother but they freaked the shit out of me. I couldn't believe or understand how anyone could be so open. Just open. To virtually anything. I got into a little bit of shit but my brother got into way way more. My younger brother got into more than any of us could imagine and they still loved him, too.

When I was growing up I thought there was boundaries on love. I see now, of course, that their boundaries were endless but they didn't just tell me that. I had to test them. I had to see if they loved me as much as they said they did. I pushed my boundaries as far as I'd let myself and I learned the rest from my brother. I think I was already saying this but got side tracked.

This might be the longest I've lived and the farthest I've ever gone to push my boundaries. I've gone so long that I'd even accepted that I was willing to sacrifice love, something I wanted so much because my boundaries were so important to me.






I always had the feeling I was expendable. They loved me too much, it was too easy. I




but I also always felt that other people confused their boundaries

Do you know that if you try long and hard enough, you can push someone away completely? Do you know that if you push them away long and hard enough, eventually they'll stop coming back? 

I love that Jeff believes in Ruby unconditionally. I want her to know that feeling. To be loved unconditionally is to only see the good. She will also be only able to see the good in herself and I can't tell you how empowering that is. To be ruthlessly wonderful in this world is to see the world as ruthlessly wonderful. 

But to be ruthlessly wonderful, she also has to know that she can be a little bit ruthless. Because, why not, right? Unconditional love. Do you understand what I'm saying? It's unconditional. But that's only good if the conditions are right. 

Love has to be only conditional under the right circumstances. You don't have to love everyone unconditionally if you don't want to. I mean, love everyone unconditionally if you want but when you're being loved unconditionally it takes away the need to be loved. 

It wasn't unconditional in what we did. I mean, we had to work at it. We had to earn it. Some of us resented that we had to earn it but begrudgingly did so and learned (consciously or not) that it feels really good to be loved but it sucks because everyone drives you crazy. Some of us swam in it. Some of us glowed so brightly  

I know I'm wonderful. Hahaha, good one. Bev has a really big head, right. But then one day someone said I love you unconditionally 

Dr. Horrible: we are going to be good or we are going to be bad. We make a choice every day. For whatever reason, we choose. And all of the choices put together is how we get to find the answer. Are we going to be good or are we going to be bad? What if you grew up without a reason to be bad? What if you grew up with only reasons to be bad? Which way would you go? It's a choice. 

No one in the whole world would blame Jeff for being a bad person. But he learned that he can be loved in every single little fibre of his being and the person that loves him so much it's outrageous can still beat him up if he wanted to. For no reason. How would that person ever be able to believe in love? How would that person ever be able to give love if that's what he learned that love is? He would have no reason to love and every reason to hurt people.

Now let's take me at the other extreme. Can you blame me for being a good person? I learned that I can be loved with every single fibre of my being and the person that loves me so much it's outrageous will love me no matter what I do. No matter what I do. How could I not believe in love? How would I be able to not love if that's all I've ever been?

Loving unconditionally was the most challenging thing I ever did. To love everyone in your life was exhausting and eventually you just assume everyone knows you love them and you stop showing them. Because they already know. What am I trying to prove? 

There are rules, of course, but it doesn't really matter if you adhere to them or not. Life is easier when you do but that's not necessarily better. Easier can be pretty unrewarding. 

I hate living on a reputation. I mean, it's nice, don't get me wrong. You build the reputation and you can get away with a lot of stuff but why bother? 

A girl I mentored (I don't know what to call it - I was old, she was young, we were friends) asked me once how I could diet when I was alone... how did I not cheat if there was no one there to see? And I asked her why would I bother? I can cheat if I want to cheat, no one is going to know. But where is that going to get me? If I want to lose weight and need to follow certain guidelines and rules to do so (eat healthy, exercise, etc), how will it benefit me to go against those rules?

My rules for me were seriously easy to follow. Do whatever you want, I'll love you anyway. 

As long as I talk politely and do my chores and clean my room and come home on time and whatever else was requested of me (requested, not demanded) I was loved without question. Even when my father pulled down my pants and smacked me on the ass for disobeying him or not doing as I was told, he did it as a show of love for me. Because he believed that if I was taught my lesson I would be good and love him. 

You don't have to love someone if you don't want to love them. And you don't have to love me if you don't want to love me. And you I don't have to love you if I don't want to love you. And hopefully we'll agree but lots of times we won't. Especially when you get into larger groups. We were five and became six, then one, then one, then one and one taken away, then two, then one, then two taken away, then 

Moral of the story? I love me. And I love him. I love her and her and her. Sometimes more her, sometimes less her, sometimes I forget to love her and I'm just starting to love her. I like her a lot, I like her, she's okay, I don't like her. 

It might sound dumb but maybe the final step in loving me is not liking her. Even though she's a good person and I wish her no harm, I could also squash her like a bug because she does so much harm without even knowing it. Used to make me sad. Then it made me mad. Now it just pisses me off. 

It really bugs me. It always has bothered me when someone tries and doesn't succeed but it bothers me way way more when someone doesn't try and succeeds. There is no honour in that. Why would I want to be with someone like that? Who can respect someone like that? 

Sometimes people think they're trying but they're going about it all wrong. Like enough right that they succeed but so much wrong they can't enjoy it. They either think they don't deserve it or think they deserve it all cost.

This is hilarious. Man, I just want to say super nice things to people. I want to walk around and pat people on the back, help them up when they fall, find a way to help them fall less. And I want it back. That's what I grew up with, that was home to me. It doesn't matter if they mean it. I believe they mean it so it means a lot to me. I have no control over who they are or what they think or how much they way to complain about something. So I love them. And they love me back. And we keep a counter between us so we don't get too close. You can lean on the counter or you can put your elbows on it and hold someone's hand when they are sad or afraid. You can move further away from it when people yell or whine if you want. But you alway have to be on your side of it. And they always have to be on their's. It works. 

We like to talk to therapists or the bartender because they have no investment in who you are. So you can afford to be yourself. And they have to kind of stand/sit there and listen to you because you gave them money. They don't have to, they want to. They're interested. So there's a waiter that says do you want more bread and one that spills water on you or charges you for things you didn't have... which one do you like better? Which one do you think is rewarded more? 

I told Jeff that I wanted to get stoned because I felt I needed to have a talk with myself. Not to bolster me up or to talk me down into me but to support myself as I would my lover, my child, my parent or anyone else I love. I needed to have a talk with myself because I needed some advice from the wise old woman inside my head who believes in me and loves me unconditionally. I am good at loving. And when I am stoned I get to love myself for a while. Without having to worry about batteries.




The people in 55+ retirement have no interest in us because they already have the lifestyle, but in their own home and on their own terms.

The seniors who live alone in the house they built with their families are significantly more difficult to reach.

So we need to concentrate on their children. We need to be in front of them when they need us. No pushing, just a friend saying we are here to help when you are ready. Until then let's hang out or at least make contact from time to time to say hello. Not because we want a sale and not because we need to make our numbers but because we genuinely care and want to help. They can feel that and they will buy. (That's how conmen are made, too, if you want to work here you must use this gift only for good.)

Make someone feel good, bring home a paycheque. What an amazing way to earn a living.



When I was in my current position for about nine months, Stacey, our full time chef, said to me "Bev, you always smile and say hello to us when you come into the kitchen. It really makes us feel good." I didn't really understand why she said that, how could I not smile and say hello when I see you? I care about you and want to know that your day is going well and be available to help when your day isn't going so well, if only because I . If nothing else, I'm presenting myself professionally and to me that means respectfully. And, to be completely frank? It makes me feel good when they say back "I'm good, Bev, how are you?" It's a pretty healthy, legal, sugar free way to feel good, don't you think?

But none of the other managers said hello. Not one. Not just on a bad day but in general, they just didn't look up and say "Good morning" before they asked for a bowl of soup. Can you imagine? What kind of day would you have one of your managers make you feel like you were a server instead of an equal? What kind of day would you have if five of them did it? And, then, what kind of day would you have if one of them did it and genuinely cared about their day? When people are happy they work much harder than when they are stressed or ill or feeling put down. It's science. It's contagious. So smile, fool, smile.










I don't avoid posting pictures of my body because I don't like my size or because I want people to think I'm something I'm not, I don't decline tags on my Facebook because I'm shy or embarrassed that my eating habits got a little out of control for a while. Quite frankly, it's no one else's business and the only opinion that counts is mine and that of the people who love me. I guess it's because I don't want you to make assumptions about me. It is only my vessel, it's not me. I don't want to test the weight of your opinion against the weight on the scale. (Pun. Intended.)

I don't remember what I was going to say

This morning I received a thank you card from a resident, thanking me for being so supportive. She said she'd been feeling like she was 'running out of steam' lately and I have helped her get through that.

This afternoon I gave a thank you note to our wellness manager. When I walked in the door yesterday, there she was - bucket and mop, swapping the deck. The place didn't smell pleasant in the least and when I saw her mopping I have to say I was impressed. She is a nurse who is smart and beautiful and who always dresses her best, she does her hair, she wears snazzy little baubles and accessories, and she mops floors. She said she was the only one who could do it so she did it. And she did it with a smile on her face, smiling on the outside if not on the inside. How could you not respect that?

This afternoon a co-manager said that I was helping her through her breakup by letting her talk out her feelings. My advice was open and honest and I helped her see some things that she hadn't seen on her own. I wasn't hard on her but I wasn't easy either.

I cannot respect anyone who does not hold me to higher standards than I hold myself. I want to get better, not be an asshole. Or worse - completely stagnant.

What made me realize this was when the people around me didn't hold me to a higher standard. They let me make my reputation then they said only nice things to me. To me. I have no idea what they said about me.

You might think it's rude of me to say that - to assume they are talking about me behind my back. If they don't hold me to a higher standard, chances are pretty great they don't hold themselves and each other to a higher standard.

And let me tell you how very much I hate the "I've told them a million times" diatribe. Let me give it to you straight and blunt - you didn't tell them nearly a million times, you often didn't tell them at all. Do you understand how many staff members and residents we go through in one of your six month meetings where you sit and talk and everyone else listens? And they have to share a "positive" and smile politely, right? You'll speak to them directly eventually, maybe. Except when you do you will either be slamming doors or kissing ass. One is no better than the other, if you ask me.

Hold me to a higher standard. Hold me accountable. I need to try or else why bother? At first I felt a bit of respect for her when she put me on that attendance awareness program. She was right... she was just wrong in what she was right about. I was coming in late, I was disrespectful and took time off because I didn't feel like going to work. My team probably suffered a bit, I don't think she suffered in the least.

I had a huge issue with how she put me on the disciplinary program in anticipation of me meeting the threshold instead of reminding me of the threshold and letting me have a chance to do better. But she was the boss, she noticed I was taking time off and coming in late frequently and she called me on it. I had to respect that.

I always go for the best assumption first and let it be proven or disproven. What I mean is I will always assume I did it right before I assume I did it wrong. Because when I'm trying my best I believe in me. When I believe in me it is easy to believe in others. But with myself and with them, the next step is testing the theory.

She failed miserably. Sure, I thought it was she was holding me to a higher standard but all she was doing was following the rules and using them to create a power struggle. Of which she had to win because I need to eat and she approves my paycheques.

But I thought she held herself to a higher standard and I was willing to respect her, with just enough reservations to let me see if I was wrong. One day she came into my office and took a file. A few days later I asked her for the file and she said she didn't have it. Did I mention that she and I are the only two people in the whole building who have access to my office? Because about a week after that I found the file in the cupboard where we keep used office supplies. And, surprise, surprise, the stuff that had been in the missing file was right there in the replacement file. Sabotage? Could it be?

Two years have passed and my findings are conclusive. She's an asshole. I don't think she knows she's an asshole. I think she thinks everyone thinks she's an asshole in one respect and she's right, she if a terrible asshole in just the way she says she is. But, for the most part, she has absolutely no clue how much of an asshole she is.

She is missing things and blaming others; she talks us up in public and chews us out in private. She can't believe the mistakes she has to put up with but she can't admit to making any mistakes herself. She stomps, she slams doors, she is short, she is demanding. And that's all fine by me. Be all of those things. I have been dealing with all of those things since I was born, I have had to deal with all of those things even in myself. She thinks she holds herself to a higher standard but it is a standard that is going to make her fail miserably. Or maybe she'll succeed and life will be all sunshine and happiness, and maybe she'll deserve it in many ways. But not as a boss. As a boss she deserves only failure.

Did I mention I woke up at 5 o'clock this morning with my cheeks soaking wet? I was having a dream, I don't remember what we were saying but I was talking to my bosses boss and I was laying it all on the table. I was frustrated and I was angry. Because she doesn't hold herself to a higher standard, either.





By the way, "quotation mark haters", I get what you're going through. It was difficult for me to understand, too, but I figured it out today. Once when I was writing an address on an envelope for Jane, and also when I received that beautiful

Personal

Shut up, man. What's it to you if I drabble on and on and on in my own stupid journal type blog or whatever.

Nah, I'm just shitting ya. It's okay.

I just need to talk to myself when I'm high and I do it better when I'm writing. It slows down my thoughts or something.

Ironically, on my career blog it slows my thoughts to a dead stop. Everything does.

I just got off the phone with my mom. She's pretty cool. I think I wrote something about her last night but I didn't read it again today. I rarely make sense when I'm high. I ramble like a pro, though, so I'm really just playing to my strengths.

What? See what I mean? Who can make sense of that?

It seems that I am quite over the self reflection portion of our agreement. I've passed the analyzing to Jeff so I can concentrate on other things. Like analyzing him.

No, not really. Sort of probably.

See what I'm saying? Now pot is just for fun, I guess.

I like that way better.

Out.

Twitter style, bitches!

I love my new process for picking passwords. I used to use some mixture of address and know what went with what based on where I lived when 

Tonight I'm writing my posts text/Twitter style! 140 characters and then I stop. I want to entertain me, not drive a bunch of people crazy. 

Dammit. Forgot what I was going to say. 

(Yeah, this is gonna be fun.) (For no one.) (Except me.) ☺

I still have like 18 characters to go.

I am a Twitter phenom, I'll have you know. I'm not trying to say I'm funny but I sure can write the shit out of a set number of characters.

It's funny. I'm writing these on Twitter to get a character count and almost post every one. That's not funny But it's not not funny either.

I miss playing Twitter. We used to have so much fun. I used to be such a smartass. But I gave that up to be wonderful. Not the best trade.

BTW, if you count each paragraph you will find nearly all of them are only 1-2 characters off 140. Just trying to give you something to do.

I almost never find my Tweets funny the next day. But I almost always find my blog-type posts unbearably dumb and erratic so this is better.

Seeing I'm just talking to me, I can be blatantly honest and forthcoming here. I didn't say I will, I said I can. I might. I probably will.

This is kind of fun.

I love Jeff. Like, it's gross. It's high school crush. It's young woman flirt. It's sitcom laughs and porn star sex. It's old woman respect.

I got stoned the other night when he was home. I don't usually smoke when he's home but he was having some drinks so I had a couple puffs. 

Anyways, I looked at him with my new eyes and I almost fell over. He is exactly what I wanted when I used my old eyes. Foolish. Cute. Weird.

And difficult. I always liked difficult. Difficult men are more real, they don't kiss ass or swarm. They tell you the world as they see it.

My university application has a few essay questions that you have to answer. One of the questions was who has influenced your life the most?

Yeah, totally posted one. Just smoked one, too. Obv. Now I have to figure out how to fix the font. I told you, my life is a constant party.

I hate how much I hate going to work now. I hate not being interested. I hate not trying, not caring, not bothering. I hate not loving work.

Posted anther. Gonna leave this one as is, though.

Teehee. Goodnight.

This is going to be another choppy one

I feel defeated. I don't want to be defeated but I just want to throw my hands into the air. Did I used to be like this? Was I like this before I found this new self?

If there's one thing my parents did, it was to raise us with confidence. Too much confidence in one way, not enough confidence to believe in it. I wonder sometimes. Am I wrong? Do they not see something in me that I know is there? How do I show them? How do I let them see I am wonderful? Why can't I just tell them and they believe me? lol

I know. But someone give me a job, already. I forgot how long this takes. How hard it is to look for a job. Especially when you already have one. I work all day with these people I love and in this job I love and I'm so frustrated. I want more. It's like dating and wanting to love the person you're with but you just can't. It would be easier.

Then I start to think, do they see something I don't see?

Is it bad?

ARE THEY RIGHT??

Why did I start here? In this position. Actually, no, I started in BC working 11 hours a week. Well, hired for 11 hours a week and working 10 hours a day. I loved the whole concept of the retirement industry and how well - how impossibly well - it fit with my work life. To me, it looks like I've been training for this job since I was nine years old.

I started babysitting when I was nine years old. A few years ago I asked my mother what the hECk she was thinking, allowing a nine year old to babysit. She said it was just down the street from where we lived, but it was actually in the next town. The kid was an infant, and a nine year old child was responsible for her life. Ruby is seven. In two years we'll be lucky if we can let Ruby be responsible for her own life. (She's kind of a free spirit.) (And an inspiration, quite frankly.)

My mother said I was really mature so they didn't worry too much. And I completely agree with her. I begged to babysit this child. I would've begged on my hands and knees if it would've helped but what I did instead was show I could handle it. I did my chores, almost always on time. I was responsible and mature.

I knew exactly what to do in the event of an emergency. I'd gone over the procedures in my mind a thousand times. They taught me to change her diaper, how to feed her, how to rock her to sleep. And I sucked up everything they told me and sang it back to them in tune of some lullaby and they believed in me.

I want someone to believe in me again. I want someone to say "I value you" or "you can do this". What I have instead is someone who had decided who I am and nothing I can do will change her mind. I can't argue with her, it will only confirm her belief. I can't get so frustrated that I cry because the last time I did that she took away one of the things I loved most, certainly the only thing that motivated me.

I need to be the teacher's pet. I need to be the best and the most awesomest. I told my mother once when we entered in a bowling tournament with work: you have to be the best or you have to be the worst, no one else gets the same kind of attention. I don't like being the worst so I have to be the best. (At work. Home is very very different.)

Work is math. I go to work, I get paid. I go to work, I will be nice and patient no matter what else is going on in my life (except for dire emergencies, obv). I go to work, I feel nice, then I feel better. I'm professional, I try my hardest. Ergo (*teehee*), I go to work, I feel better. And feeling better makes me try harder.

Part of the reason I went into this line of work is because it makes me slow down. I am forced to pull back, I walk a little slower, I keep pace with whomever I am with. I make them feel good and worthwhile and I make them smile. I relate, I comisserate, I try to help them settle in, I program their remote and restart their computers and compliment them on a new hairdo or a new shirt. I laugh and flirt, I frown and shake my head, I pat on the arm, I tease them and call every single one of them by name as often as I can.

So going to work makes me feel better. But right now it also is ubearably frustrating. I like my boss, she's a good person, she tries sometimes; she's just the worst person I've ever dealt with in a work setting. The. Worst. Her concept of customer service makes my blood boil, and her shit show of employee leadership attempt fails are a thorn in my side. I hate that she is teaching my co-managers these terrible, terrible techniques of dealing with people. I hate how she treats the residents, and the staff. Virtually everyone in that place (I'm talking 115 residents and 53 staff members) has felt or currently feels that she does not like them and/or that she's never even spoken to them.

I've had residents come up to me and ask who she is because they've never seen her before. (The woman sits in her office with the door closed-are you kidding me?) I've had several residents who didn't want to leave compliment cards for the staff because they didn't want to have to hand them to her. When I said I'd take it and put it in her inbox or told them to slip them under her office door when she's not there, they said okay and took the form. And brought it back, too.

I said something to someone one day and she laughed when I said I genuinely meant the nice thing I said. She gestured toward my boss and said she knew I was genuine unlike some people. She says I'm like their parent and I have to go out and put them in line from time to time and they quiet down. (The fact that they do quiet down after is half her problem.)

We had a resident saying he was moving out and made it perfectly clear that it was because of our general manager. She told us about it at a meeting and laughed when she said "and I've never even spoken to the man!" Can you believe that? Not, "oh, I should go introduce myself and see if there's anything I can do to talk him out of leaving." Not even "would someone talk to him and see if there's anything we can do to change his mind?" You know why? Because she can't be wrong.

Okay, I'm off on a damn tangent again. Blood is boiling, what can I say? I was stomping around this morning and he was making what-a-bitch sounds and I said "I don't want to go to work, don't you understand? You feel crappy and say you're going to call in sick, I get frustrated and mad because I want to cry and I can't cry because I have to go to FUCKING WORK MOTHER FUCKER GOD DAMN. Ahem. I think he understood what I was saying, though. I hope.

I'm so unchallenged. I'm so unmotivated. She thinks she must motivate like a mean old nun or something. She's right to a degree, though, I think because I do find it motivating to avoid having her come into my office and try to look all casual and supportive while she tells me something that I did wrong. And it's all my fault. I shouldn't feel bad about it, though. Don't lose your sleep over it, there, Bevie.

The only thing I'm losing sleep over is that I have to go in there again tomorrow. And the next day. And next week. And desperately, desperately I shout a plea out into the world where good juju and karma live and I say not another month. Please, not another year.

I have good ideas. I know how to deal with people. I know how to budget. I know how to juggle the budget. I know how to fill in reports and watch for trending and keep track of the regulations and ensure they're all followed. And I can do it a damn sight better than she. She thinks she such a hero for running around putting out fires all the time but what she's actually doing is strolling around handing out matches. i.e. She causes the fires and thinks she's a hero for putting it out and can't for the life of her even stop for a moment to see if there was any way for her to stop the fire from starting in the first place. Eek!

I can do so much better. At least do so much more than I'm doing right now. I don't mind proving myself. I've proved myself with the company I at now but there is no opportunity to improve myself. I've drained every bit of learning I could out of this experience. I want to stay in retirement. I want to continue to be a GM, and beyond. I'm not waiting 10 years for the industry to kick off and then graciously accepting a manager job after all of my co-managers.

I need to get moving on this now. If I can't find what I want I'm going to have to find what I can get. I don't want to move laterally but I will. No, I won't. I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to have the word "assistant" anywhere near my title. When Joe asked me to run his company I told him I would only do it if he gave me complete authority and the front office. I was the starting point for everything and I loved it and I was good at it. I want to be that again. At least, I want to be more. I can work up to everything. I just can't get past where I am with this company. And I'm pretty okay with that and ready to start somewhere new.

The second greatest day of my life

I was in my bedroom when she called my name. My mother was standing at the foot of the stairs. And she was falling apart.

Through her tears she told me that, before going to bed, my dad had told her he didn’t think he would live to my sister’s wedding two months later, that he felt the cancer was winning and the end was near.

We went downstairs and sat on the couch, for the first time in my life (although not nearly the last) I held her as she sobbed; the feelings she’d buried deep inside finally overflowing, out of character for a woman so strong and in control. Dad heard us and came downstairs. He stood at the door of the living room looking small and lost. The woman he loved more than his own life was falling apart, and she had called out to me instead of him. Because, through the years of his illness, the years of them being strong for each other, they had unintentionally grown apart.

He sat on the chair across the room in obvious discomfort. When he finally spoke he said he didn’t realize she cared so much, he thought she’d already let go. She had gotten into the habit of crying out on the patio after he was asleep. She didn’t know that, in trying to be strong, she appeared to be disconnected.

I realized at that moment why I was there. Why I had left my home and my career to move thousands of miles from the west to the east. I was their link, I was there to bring them together again.

Eventually he moved to the sofa and I sat between them. We talked about the end of his life and what it meant. I played the roll of mediator; how do you feel about this, what will happen after that, perhaps we should consider rescheduling, maybe we need to get ready to say goodbye.

The night ended with them holding each other as they cried, and I retreated once again to my bedroom. The walls had come down and they found the words that had been lost in the silence of strength and getting things done.

All of us changed after that. There was more laughter and more tears. He lived to walk my little sister down the aisle. He lived to see his and my mother’s 44th wedding anniversary and his 67th birthday. He lived to be my dad, wondering how Mom would ever learn to buy groceries without him sitting in the parking lot, fuming because she was taking so long. He lived to teach me the right way to mow the lawn and return the recyclables. He lived to say good-bye, to give away his prized possessions, to swear that the next time he had a terminal illness, he would make sure he was gone before the hot weather came.

And there was my mother. Still in control but with a new empathy that had been buried before. There was my mother, smiling, telling him to shut up and take his drugs already. There was him taking those drugs, prolonging a life he was ready to turn from. For her. There was love. Open and honest love. Between us all. Finally.

The greatest day of my life was the day I held his hand for 10 hours or more so I knew that he knew he wasn’t alone, my father turned to me suddenly and the light left his eyes. The second greatest day of my life was the day I brought my parents together again, the day I reminded them that feelings - even feelings that made you cry - are better shown than hidden.

HMV: Her Mother's Voice

It's no secret that I spent a lot of time and effort trying to come to terms with my weight issues over the past decade or so. Perhaps the most important thing I did was stop spending so much time and energy worrying about my weight. A lifetime of yo-yo dieting, frustration and self-abuse had led to a terrible body image. I was tired of avoiding mirrors and basing my worth on the reflection in them. To be honest, I also secretly believed that if I truly overcame my weight issues, I would magically become thin. And yes, that was probably the driving force that led me to getting my brain under control.

My brain? Most people would say I needed to get my eating habits under control but, after nearly 40 years of being on (or rebelling against) a diet, I knew I was spending all of my energy trying to fix a symptom and I needed to go deeper than that to find the cure. So I decided to try the one thing I'd never tried before - I let myself off the hook. It was 'no holds barred', no rules, no self-deprecation, no regrets. For the very first time in my life I didn't berate myself for not exercising, I didn't give myself a lecture for eating food that was unhealthy. I allowed myself to eat what I wanted, when I wanted, how I wanted, without regard to the number on the scale. I ate so much junk! Oh, what fun I had!

It should be no shock when I tell you that, six years later, I am the largest I've ever been. What might shock you, though, is that I'm okay with that. Like, more than okay. I giggle into mirrors, I jiggle my rolls, I actually carry this great big belly before me like a trophy. An accomplishment. A prize. I did it, I succeeded. I'm okay. Fatter than ever but also better than ever. I have a strong sense of self-worth, I have a career I love, a home, a car, a family and a man who loves me in exactly the way I always wanted to be loved. I won. I more than won, I conquered. Food is no longer my enemy, exercise is not a dreaded chore. Finally, a bag of chips is no more enticing than a salad, a chocolate bar is a nice snack but no better than my homemade trail mix, a bowl of fresh cherries will trump a bowl of ice cream any day of the week.

Ironically, I still want to lose weight. That doesn't really made sense, does it? It is something I have been struggling to understand myself, believe me. But it has nothing to do with how I feel about myself. I have boxes and boxes of clothes that are too small right now and no financial means to replace them so my wardrobe would be significantly improved if I dropped a size or two. I also get this pain in my chest sometimes and my right hand goes numb a dozen times a day - I'm not sure what is causing these things but it can't possibly be good. Probably most importantly, I want to lose weight because I want to keep up. I want to be active, to spend more time outside, to walk with my friends without having to take a break every 15 minutes, I want to run with my step-daughter, to swim and snorkel when I go to Hawaii in a few months.

Hey, did I mention I'm going to Hawaii in October? (At least once a day, my friend... to anyone who will listen!) My brother very generously invited my mother, sister and I to tag along on his family vacation and we are very excited. My mother called once the arrangements had been made and promptly began talking about her plans to lose some weight before we go. But she couldn't start her diet until after the barbeque she was invited to next week because everyone knows you have to get in all the good stuff you can before you start punishing yourself with eating healthy. And there would still be lots of time - if she started losing weight next week she still had three months so if she lost one to two pounds every week she would definitely get to her goal weight, all she had to do was deprive herself of all the food she enjoys and get used to being hungry all the time and force herself to get on the treadmill in the cold and damp basement every single day and everything would be just fine. Then she asked if I wanted to participate in a little weight loss challenge to give us some motivation? No.  No, thank you very much I do not want to not even one little tiny bit.

When I hung up the phone that day it hit me - her diatribe was exactly the type of thing the voice inside my head used to say, nearly word for word. I would lay out all the timing and terms, I'd list all of the things I needed to give up and remind myself of the torture of daily exercise that I had to suffer through to become the person I wanted to be. And I would always start 'tomorrow'. Unfortunately, though, my youthful brain added in other stuff. I had to do a lot of work to become the person I wanted to be because the person I currently was wasn't good enough. I had to give up the foods I loved because I needed to suffer to learn my lesson. I needed to not be disgusting anymore because no one would ever love me if I was fat. No one could love me if I was fat, not even me.

I walked around in a stupor for a long time after I hung up the phone that day. The voice in my head all those years wasn't mine. The voice in my head was my mother's. Let me be clear that my mother never once said she wouldn't love me if I was fat, what she alluded to is that she wouldn't love herself if she was fat and I took that lesson and applied it to myself. I grew up believing her absolutely because I loved and looked up to my mother in every way. She was great and wise and everything I ever wanted to be as a human being. But she was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

I've decided to see if the new voice in my head can have a talk to the voice in my mother's head and make her realize that the poison she's been feeding herself is so much worse than high calories and fat. Don't wait until tomorrow when you can start yesterday. In fact, don't think of it as starting at all... just continue. Don't give up and have to and force yourself. Just find a reason that means something to you and let it evolve. There is nothing wrong with being fat, and there is nothing wrong with wanting to lose weight. Do or don't. Make the effort or not. It's okay. Just be at peace and stop beating yourself up. I vow that when my voice is in my step-daughter's head, it will be a voice filled with love, confidence and self-worth. A new voice and a whole new idea.

Notes for him

A large part of this has to come down to what I'm looking for, what I expect from him, what I need to live the life I want to live. So I figured I'd jot down some ideas to get me going. 

• I need to feel free. I need to feel as if the things in my life -where I work, where I live, who I live with- are a choice. 
• I require change and spiritual growth. If I'm not growing, I feel like I'm shrinking. 
• I want to move. Physically move. I want to be active and get out. I don't mean I need to train for a marathon but I do need to walk and play and vent my energy. Because if I'm not venting it, I'm covering it with food or trying to force it out with pot or booze. 
• I don't expect him to be infallible, because I don't expect that of myself. 
• I must be acknowledged. I don't need flowers, I don't want poetry and declarations of undying love (although they're nice from time to time). However, I have spent too much of my life feeling like I was invisible or in the way, I will not do that again. 
• My physical appearance has always been indicative of my relationship with myself and the world. When I say I'm getting fat, it's the same as saying I am getting frustrated or I feel disconnected. 
• I need to be able to give of myself openly and freely, without keeping score. The only way I can do that is if I feel we are equal. No one wins but everyone wins. 
• I enjoy taking care of them, but I have no desire to do anything for anyone when I am feeling used or taken for granted.

Where I'm at

I think my biggest problem right now is that I'm not thriving in my environment. I'm more than not thriving, I'm deteriorating. I look worse than I've ever looked - fat, shitty skin, limp hair. I feel defeated and repressed and out of sorts. I'm frustrated, I'm unhappy, I'm tired. I'm depressed. And I'm already on anti-depressants so that's no small feat.

He loves me. I know that. I love him, too. I love the beautiful little gem. I want to live near my sister, I want to be able to see my family. But at what cost? Am I paying for this with my entire being?

Two days ago I said I had enough. I decided to call the whole thing off and move west again. I miss it there. I miss me. Every moment in this town has been an uphill battle and I finally cried fowl. I felt good about it, too.

Then he begged me to stay. He said he wouldn't survive without me. He played on my guilt, he worked me for another chance. He asked for six months, I conceded with one.

One month. To see. To try. To consider. Maybe to accept and adapt.

Two days have passed and he is back to forever. And I'm still struggling to come back from never again. And I don't know what to do.

This is what I said to my sister:
He says he thought I was just making threats before but now that he knows it's real he'll try harder and make it right. How can I not give him that? But at the same time I can't help feeling a little scammed. How many times do you give someone a last chance, you know? But, on the other hand, I'm so tired of leaving all the time. He's making all these promises that things will get better so only time will tell, I guess. It's hard but leaving would be harder. So I'm gonna sit up here on the fence for a little bit until I decide where I want to land.

I am

- an athlete trapped in a fat girl's body

- a manager living as an assistant

- a lover who loves one who cannot be loved

- a mother without a child of her own

- a dream living a nightmare

I am going to awaken again.

I will. 

Because I am.

For the record

Because sometimes I think I'm too easy on myself and sometimes too hard but it's hard to figure out which time is which, I'd just like to say.

I'm really stoned.

I need to spend some time not stone. I want to. I choose to. I will.

Flush.

Maybe.

Eek.