A place to put my energy

Since the tornado began, I’ve been grasping for some way to stay firmly on the ground.

Everything has felt so unbelievably out of control and all I’ve had to hold on to is my anxiety, my fear, and my grief.

I’ve had anger and it’s been a great comfort when that comes flying out sideways towards people around me – especially to those who I’ve decided have made me a victim.

Because feeling like a victim has really helped me feel even worse and more out of control.

This process of letting go, detaching, and trusting is too ephemeral, intangible.  It’s all about feelings and mindset, which, when I wallow there, makes me more anxious and freaked out.

And with the accident, we are looking at a long road of letting go, detaching, and trusting. We are stepping into one of the greatest unknowns I’ve ever had to enter.

And today, I have found my anchor…

Office supplies.

There is so much paperwork flying at us right now: medical bills, insurance claims reports, and soon there will also be legal paperwork out the wazoo.

And here’s where my security blanket, my new turquoise binder, sparkle dividers, and pre-hole-punched recycled paper, comes into play in a way that calms me and keeps me focused;

I can do court. I can do organization.

Give me a couple of bright post-its, and some new pens, and maybe even some of those pretty, striped paper clips, and I am all set.

A new three-ring binder is an inspiration to clean my desk. Printing out 100 pages of forms motivates me to finally mop the spill on the kitchen floor that has been there since the breakup.

I got one of those briefcase sized file folders with 13 pockets. It’s purple. Calms me right down.

In my desk this morning, I found a whole drawer full of exactly what I just bought – minus the sparkle dividers. It’s good to have backup, but if I really want to feel better, I need to spend money that should be going towards bills, at Office Depot.

Then, add to all of this, my experience with both the medical world and the legal world.

I’ve had at least 6 surgeries since my kids were born and add on one surgery for each of two of my boys. I’ve been to spine doctors, hand specialists, pain management physicians, countless orthopedic surgeons, and neurologists…plus the OBGYN – just to name a few.

Plus, all of the time and energy I’ve put into my parents and their medical ailments and hospital time puts me in the upper echelon of experienced patients.

And court? I’ve been there 7 times in the last 8 years, just for my divorce, not to mention jury duty.

I’ve worked with multiple attorneys and 2 different judges.

I’ve had some serious wins.

I can organize for court like nobody’s business.

So it appears that the years of agony and questioning, “Why is this shit happening to me?” are going to serve me well.

When I begin to feel completely bombarded by the Universe, I have my shield.

It’s the prettiest shade of blue and has a clear pocket on the front to insert a hopeful and calming photo and an inspirational quote from some random buddhist website .

Binging

What is it about the word “budget” that makes me want to hit the mall?

At least Amazon and PRANA dot com.

All I want is new shit to wear in my poverty: new things to distract me from my empty stomach. All under the guise of  “If I dress like a writer then I will be a writer and then I will write the Great American Novel and make it onto the New York Times Best Seller List and it will be totally worth the new yoga pants. And, if I don’t get those cute pants, then when it’s time to sit down and write all I will have to wear is distractingly uncomfortable clothing that will not allow my brain the freedom it needs to put words on paper.”

So yeah, I need to shop.

Most of the time, online window shopping works for me. I go to multiple websites, spend hours finding just the right items (including the solar powered rechargeable battery charger for my new wireless mouse that goes with my new desktop computer) fill up my shopping basket, narrow it down, then close the page and leave feeling totally satisfied.

But when I am on this tight of a budget, the kind where I am not allow to spend any money on any thing except living expenses, a few full carts doesn’t make a dent in the need to spend.

Eventually I’ll get into the groove, I will enjoy seeing how much money I can save. Having been extremely successful at denying myself food for several years, I can easily starve my spending habits and gain a little pride with every penny that lands in the piggy bank.

It’s just that getting to the place of sensible self denial takes a lot of tenacity that I’m not really feeling today as much as I am the need to have a new dress to wear on my book tour.

 

Never Say Never

“I will never have a dog while I live in town.”

“I will never bring a dog into my house with cats.”

“I will never have any kind of dog but a cow dog.”

“I will never have guns in my house…”

“…I will never hunt…”

“…especially if it’s not for food.”

“I will never have a dog that fetches.”

“I will never have a dog that needs to go on walks.

“I will never have a dog that jumps into random bodies of water.”

“I will never have a needy pet.”

“I will never, ever, EVER get a lab.”

Enough said
Enough said

There is a Guardian Angel

“Mom, you’re not Christian or Mexican, why are you so into Jesus candles?”

“You know Buddy, just in case.”

Who knows if it does me any good, but I figure it can’t do us any harm, and last night felt like a Guardian Angel was looking over my family so, I’m going to keep on lighting them…

…just in case.

It was the night of the Homecoming Dance, and hand in hand, the Homecoming after-party.

Back story here:

My boys are teenagers. We live in a small redneck town where kids drink Coors Light, chew Copenhagen, and go mudding in the mountains in their big trucks. I was a teenager once and made a LOT of really stupid choices. My children have made a lot of stupid choices. So have their friends. Their father, a recovering alcoholic, thinks that a “talk” here and there about the dangers of drinking, especially with their genetics, is keeping them from imbibing in said alcohol.

So the way I look at parenting them during these years, given the above factors, I have 3 choices; tell them not to drink and think that they won’t, thus having them lying and sneaking all over the county with a beer in hand; cruelly forbid them to ever leave the house just so I feel safe; or be totally realistic and hope that a policy of transparency will keep them honest and maybe a bit more careful if they’re not having to lurk around behind my back.

Since Dad has gone for number 1, and number 2 just isn’t fair since they haven’t done enough to warrant its implementation, I’ve opted for number 3.

Number 3 is great when sitting around the dining room table, me being the cool mom.  It’s a whole other story on a Saturday night when they are making plans to go to the mountains with 235 of their closest stupid friends to drink beer and Fireball, at two o’clock in the morning.

Which was last night’s post-homecoming plan.

So many things were freaking me out about it, yet I chose to let them go: with stipulations.

No drinking to vomiting status.

No taking advantage of drunken girls.

No drinking and driving.

Curfew.

First one, I just had to keep my fingers crossed that they too believe that Vomiting Isn’t Fun.

Second – I just trust them. Should I? I certainly hope so.

Third – I offered, as I always do, to do the driving for them. I always agree to drive up to the mountains at extremely-early-in-the-morning (like 2) to pick them up to guarantee that they won’t get in a car with a “sober” driver.

I remember one night that I was the “sober” driver – I was chosen because I was the one in the group who’d only eaten one hit of acid instead of two.

Curfew – Of course they don’t want one. Of course they’re going to get one.

“Can we just spend the night up there?”

Fuck. No.

So they asked if they could spend the night at a friends’.

“Is this your way of getting out of having a curfew?”

“Yes.”

Remember, I have asked for total transparency.

And, I said “Sure.”

Crazy, right? It just seemed so much easier having another parent involved, even if it was one who was going to let them stay out all night.  It gave me the opportunity to turn a blind eye.

And I took it.

God I love denial.

It didn’t mean that I wouldn’t stress, freak out, lose sleep, etc. But in saying “yes” I hoped that they would be able to say “no” if necessary.

Another part of the equation was this:

Friend wouldn’t be drinking or driving like an idiot because he’ on probation and has to take a pee test tomorrow and the truck is his dad’s and if he messed it up, we’d all be running for the hills to avoid the wrath.

“I wish I felt okay about this because I trust Friend to make smart choices, not because he’s made so many dumb choices that he can longer afford to make more. But I’ll take what I can get.”

And then, I received this text: No one wants to go to the mountains, it’s too cold and too much driving. So just a few of us are going to go to Friend’s to hang out.

No stupid driving on stupid mountain roads with stupid drunk teenagers. No wondering if the cops (who always know when there is party in the mountains) will show up and issue my children MIP’s (minor in possession).

They go one place, where they will stay, with parental supervision, right in town.

Yes. Yes. Yes. Have fun. Have a great night.

And there is proof that a Guardian Angel does exist and thank the heavens above that I lit that Jesus candle yesterday.