Catching Up

So, hello blogdience. I'm back - did, um, you know I was gone? Probably not - but, hey, here's today's entry.

As you know, my friend Mike moved away. So, now that Mike is gone, I'm not really looking to date. At the same time, I'm not necessarily NOT looking to date, either.

A few weeks ago, an old aquaintance and I ran into each other at an outdoor concert. I caught up on his life, he caught up on mine ...

We've met three times since then - tonight being the third time. Here's how I'm feeling on it.

Torn. On the one hand, I don't feel a drastic, dreadful NEED to see him or hang out with him. However, when I am with him, I feel very comfortable, very serene ... and in relationship to my past relationships: BO-Ring. Although our excursions have been anything but.

Our first excursion was to the Gay Pride parade, at which we ended up on the float that his company had in the parade. Our next excursion was the next week, when he stopped by my work just as I was finishing up for the day to tell me he was just laid off - could I go walk with him for a while so he can process that?

Both excursions were kind of like walking into a minefield for me. Big emotion, big expectation, I guess. He asked me out for tonight, and I was kind of like ... eh. Ok.

Tonight we went to a concert at a neighborhood festival. And tonight was really nice. We sat on the grass and listened to the music and just talked. Conversation flowed easily, we laughed, we chilled. It was a really ... nice night.

But, it's been bothering me: Why does he want to hang out with me? He's had to have noticed that I am about, oh, I don't know, fifty pounds heavier than the last time he saw me. In fact, it could even be sevently pounds more - I got down to 180 when I knew him before, and if I'm at 243 now ... In my experience, that's got to gross a guy out. I mean, there's no way he could want anything to do with me. I'm horrendous. I'm an embarrassment. So why the phone calls? Why the invites out?

I want to do like Oprah in her Chicago interview and say, "I'm overweight you know." But I'm stopping myself from bringing up anything about weight. I'm trying to just be and allow.

So, we're sitting in the back of the crowd, on a little bit of a hill, and he lays down. I'm sitting up, and we're talking. Then, I decide, OK. Let's just let this happen. I lay down too. We continue talking, and then: he gently takes and holds my hand.

I am absolutely shocked. The only thing I keep thinking is that the people walking by must be thinking: uch. What is that guy (he's quite tall and thin) doing with that fucking hulk of a woman?

That was it. That was my thought. Not "oh, this is nice." or "oh how sweet." I wanted to pull my hand out of his to spare him the embarrassment of having touched me in public.

But I didn't. I just stayed with the hand holding.

But it bothered me immensely. I mean, really - his even being seen in public with me goes against EVERY THING I KNOW OF HOW MEN RELATE TO WOMEN. No joke. Everything I know is that a man will marry a thin woman, and a thin woman only. And if that woman goes and gets fat during the marriage ... well, you can't divorce a woman for getting fat. But you can divorce yourself from any public assocation with her; ie, dancing, hugging, or generally claiming her as your own to anyone who doesn't know any better. You just kind of meet her at the car at the end of the night, drive home in silence, and fuck her at three in the morning, when it's the darkest of the dark of night, thus the least amount of visibility.

God what depressing thoughts. Ich. I don't even want to read about these horrible thoughts.

So, back with Tom on the grass holding my hand. After staring up at the sky for what seemed like an interminable amount of time, I had to ask. I mean, he's holding my hand, a guy doesn't hold a girl's hand who he just wants as a card playing partner.

I turn to him, and I say, "So, why do you want to hang out with me?"

He looks at me, a little stunned, kind of laughs, and says, "You look at me so sternly as you say that: 'WHY do you want to be with me?'"

I laugh a little, and say, "Well. ... Why?"

He looks at me and says, "Well, because I like hanging out with you. You're pretty. And you're easy to be around."

I scoff a little, I'm skeptical, and quite honestly, a lot of people find me easy to be around. Rather, I should say, I don't consider that to be much of a magical experience. I say, "Well, a lot of people find me easy to be around. That's not necessarily anything special you and I have exclusively together."

He accepts my comment, and says, "I'm into the hang time right now. The sex, the physical part of it, if the hang time is good, the sex will be good too. I just want to be able to have somebody that I like being with. And I like being with you."

I look back up at the sky, taking that in. I register how nice it feels to simply be holding hands. His hand is warm, the feeling is nice. I am still uncomfortable with what other people must think, but he seems so fine with it that I decide maybe I shouldn't care. He doesn't care. And maybe ... maybe nobody else cares either.

I don't say anything. He says, "Do you not like holding my hand?"

I say, no it's nice.

He says, teasingly, but he's fishing for my response; "Is it too much, too fast, too weird, too gross ... "

I laugh and say no. I turn back and say, "I'm trying to just be with it and not overanalyze it."

He looks at me with complete sincerity and says, "I think that's just right."

And then we lay there, just looking up at the night sky, holding hands.

That's it for today. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

Sexy Weight Loss

Scale this morning said 247.

A calm has come over me since reaching my goal of 250. And, I'm finding I'm finding my true sense of self and style.

Saturday I went out to do some of my census work. My regular work clothes were dirty, but I had a black shirt dress that I had just bought.

I was surprised to find that I felt fear putting the dress on. For one, it's an item of clothing that I think only thin people should wear. The other thing that was interesting was this nagging feeling that I would get raped wearing something like that.

The rape thought was interesting to me - it wasn't that I was attractive enough to be raped, which is in and of itself an interesting thought. But, the thought that it would be so easy for someone to just lift up the skirt, rip down the panties, and go. I felt a feeling of dread, of "putting it out there," of "asking for it" as I walked out the door.

I went and knocked on some doors, and one woman let me in. She neither complimented my outfit or complained. I just ... was. I realized she had no prior expectations of me or my clothing choices, and what I was wearing was just fine.

But then, I decided to go walk along the lakefront on my walk home. As I walked toward the beach, I had three guys smile and say hi to me. They were not threatening. They were not attacking me. They were simply offering ... attention.

This was a big deal to me. I haven't had a guy look at me since I started this whole weight gain experience. Or, if they have, I haven't been noticing.

So, the guys were heavy themselves, I'm not going to say they were gods giving me winks and nods. However, having their reactions made me realize what attraction is all about.

I was finally at a point of acceptance of myself, and I think that is what these guys picked up on and reacted to. It took a lot of courage for me to go out in that dress - a dress that would be considered conservative and non-sexy on any body. But I did it, and I felt calm for the first time in my life about wearing a dress. I was not worrying about who would find my outfit slutty, like I feel when I'm thin; or dumpy, which is how I feel when I am fat. I simply was wearing something that I liked. I was presenting ... me.

I think some of my co-workers are unwittingly reacting to my new sense of self as well. This weekend, a couple of the guys asked me if I've lost weight. I found this to be a nice little irony, but at the same time, emotionally, I feel like I have. Like a weight has been lifted. I think it comes across to other people.

That's all for today. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

Mission Accomplished.

I. did. it.

250 pounds.

I set the goal.

I attained the goal.

That's all I have for today.

Two Pounds and A Rose

I've started sketching at night to express how I'm feeling about things. Last night's sketch consisted of a female runner just about reaching the finish line, her foot stretched to cross but it not quite being there yet, her hand reaching out for the finish line ribbon but not quite having a hold on it yet either.

It's how I feel. I feel I have been running a very long race, and that I am finally almost across the finish line. The finish line is the 250 pound mark on the scale.

I sincerely feel this. I feel like I am just a step away from the pinnacle of the mountain. I feel like I stopped just short of it a while ago, and couldn't figure out why I wasn't able to start down the other side of the hill. It's cuz I never reached the top of the hill in the first place.

I am truly scared about hitting 250. I feel like my body will completely shut down. I'm afraid I will go into some type of dyabetic coma. I'm afraid I'll have cardiac arrest. I'm afraid of all these things. Yet, all I can tell you, is that I must reach this goal or I will spin at this weight forever. The tip of the mountain is very clear to me now. I just have to get there so I can start the adventure that awaits on the other side.

Quick story from yesterday. So, here I am, feeling like I am this beast of a woman, just shy of 250, totally unloveable and unattractive, when one of my customers brings me a rose. He brought it because he's been not showing up to the appointments we've booked; I don't get mad that he doesn't show, I just don't know why he keeps booking appointments to work on a project he doesn't seem to want to do. Anyway, he tells me he's stopping by today, and he's got this all wrapped nicely with a piece of greenery and a ribbon to hold it together. He presents it to me. I say, "Oh, my gosh, can I hug you for this? This is so nice!" So I hug him. And right then, I got it. Or, at least a piece of it: love is this simple. And you can't not love others. This guy is married, he loves his wife. But there is something about me he loves as well. Maybe he can tell I'm hiding in my weight right now, maybe he just likes me and wanted to give me a gift. I don't know his intentions - I do know that they felt pure and simple and that somehow, there was something in me that clicked, that jogged, that felt safe in being loving and joyful with everyone.

As I went home that night, carrying my nicely wrapped rose, many people on the bus or on the street would catch sight of it, and their eyes would light up and they'd smile. Some would say, "Oh, is it your birthday?" To which I would resond, "No, it's just a random gift. Isn't that nice?" And they would smile and say, "It sure is. It's a beautiful flower." Others, who had been walking down the street with scowls on their faces, seemingly lost in thought, unwittingly brightened upon seeing that simple little coral colored rose. Still others just gave sideways glances at it, seemingly trying to look at its beauty for as long as possible without being obvious about it - almost like trying to sneak away a bit of it's enjoyment without being found out.

I found all those reactions interesting. Not only did I benefit from receiving this flower, but other people benefitted somehow, too. Just seeing that someone got a flower from someone seemed to imply that love was exchanged. Didn't matter what form of love, just that some form of love and care was given and received. And other people seemed to feel a bit of it by seeing the floral representation of that exchange. It was a pretty amazing experience. The flower garnered so many looks of joy, or brought smiles to faces that were otherwise scowls, it occured to me that maybe love really is the greatest form of protection - I felt safer walking down the street than I ever have, as if people wanted to protect that delicate flower so much that, as the carrier of the lovely thing, I was protected as well. I truly wondered if it work as well as a gun if I were in an inner-city neighborhood. Would the love be so protected there? Or would there be attmepts to destroy it? I was simply amazed at how much of a protective shield that little flower felt like.

It was an interesting and lovely experience. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

Sexy

Couple things.

Yesterday, I got on the scale. 245 pounds.

God. Dam itt.

So, I got thinking about it. And I thought, well, long ago, I had a set a personal goal for myself of getting up to 250 pounds. That way, it felt to me, I could live in 125 pounds and emotionally bury 125 pounds, leaving my dead twin spirit at a viable, healthy non-existent weight. I don't know why that feels so right to me. But it feels right. Yes, I've considered therapy. I've more than considered it - I've done hypno-therapy, psycho-therapy, postive psychology therapy ... believe me, if there's a therapy out there, I've done it. However, this little weight gaining experiment seems to be opening up more stuff and hastening things along more than any therapy I've done.

Yesterday at work, a couple of my male co-workers started chatting with me about how we're all coming on this 8 Pounds in 8 Weeks program, for which I am the Captain of at work. One said he's lost half a pound; the other said he's been excercising, but just can't seem to get a pound off his body. In my head, I'm thinking to myself, It's because you aren't really ready to take the weight off yet. I didn't say that though. I'm trying to learn to let people discover their own lives instead of me "gracing" them with my knowledge of what they should or should not be doing. ;)

Anyway, I mentioned how I've gained weight since we started it. I said, that's typical me, even if I'm the one acting as my own authority, I buck it. That struck me hard when I said it - I do buck it. Any goal I set, I immediately seek to destroy it. It got me thinking about my goal to get to 250 pounds. And how far did I get? 243. J u s t s h y of the goal. No quite, but close enough. Just like my life. Not quite. And close enough.

I thought, you know what, I need to hit that goal. I had set it, and as crazy as it might sound, knowing that I can follow through on ANY goal I set for myself would be wonderful. So why not set up an easy mark - with a negative goal? Sounds like a doable goal to me.

On the way home last night, I went to Whole Foods to read. The one they recently built down on North and Sheffield is amazing, and I wanted to be around people and not go home.

I went and bought treats to eat while I read. Last night it was two pieces of cherry pie and some brownie bites. As I made the purchase, I wondered why I always felt it so important to eat while reading.

Then, as I sought out a place to sit, I was hit with more thoughts. I saw all these people there, working on projects together, eating together, laughing together. I saw girls, look like roommates having fun buying groceries together. I saw guys, are they friends? A couple? working their way through the aisles as well. Moms and kids. All these different groups of people, sharing an experience.

I've never really known what it's like to have that experience. I've always kind of been a loner, and always hung out with loners. People who didn't go shopping together. For anything - not clothes, not groceries, not home improvement items. I've been noticing people shopping at my job at The Home Depot. I could not imagine going there with my girlfriends. Who's fault is that - mine, for not inviting them? I suppose so.

Anyway, this is totally rambling, but back to that conversation with the male co-workers about losing the weight. I did make a comment about not being ready to lose it. I said, "I suppose people couldn't figure out why I gained all this weight, but I'll tell you - it's a lot easier here than it is thin. Thin means guys deciding they want to harness my outgoing-ness and make it their own. I don't want anyone harnessing me. I want to be able to talk with you, and you, and whoever else I want to talk with, and I don't want to be told I can't or have a guy think I want more than just the moment of conversation that we are having together. I can do that at this weight. I don't like a lot of things about being this weight - but that part I do like. I like that part a lot. It's very safe here, and I think I'm going to be here until I know how to manevuer through life otherwise."

One of the guys just kind of walked off, like, what a load of bullshit. The other, though, looked at me with what seemed to be new eyes. I could see he never thougth that somebody might have literally thought about keeping the weight on. I think we all think that weight is this unconcious *THING* that nobody can seem to *CONTROL* - well, some people can. But the ones that can are annoying, self righteous bitches and pricks. Choose to be fat? Benefits to being fat? I could see that it had never occurred to him.

But it was bothering me after I said it outloud. Because, in some respects, it is a load of bull. Or, rather, more like this: somewhere in my psychological pursuits, I heard it said that having a revelation, for example, "I am mean because my parents beat me," is only revelatory in that moment. We should not, pardon the pun, revel in our revelations. We realize them, and then we work to move past them.

Most of us don't, though. We stay in them. I'm a bitch to my sister because she was a bitch to me. I am not nice to my aunt because she was never nice to me. I can be an asshole because my dad was an asshole to me. In general, I can hurt other people because somewhere along the way, somebody hurt me. We all operate on this motto. Poor, poor me - so fuck you.

My little share with the guys spun in my head all day. I've known for quite a few years now that I have a hard time dealing with male attention. And female attention for that matter. The other guy had heard me say it once before. Maybe twice. Seems I've been reveling in my revelation - spinning my wheels in the muck and the mire, instead of getting myself some sand to get myself out.

Or is the weight the sand that is helping me get out?

Seeing that I want that - that I want to be able to talk and laugh and have fun with everyone I meet - do I really have to stay fat to be able to do that? Do I have to absorb other people's insecurities? Or, do I fear that I do want to cause trouble, and then just innocently say, "Oh, I was only having fun..." ? Maybe I do. Maybe. I. do.

I got thinking something about my sister last night - how I've stayed fat to stay safe around her. That she trained me that thin is dangerous; for I learned early, if I outshine her, as my other sister seemed to, she will go out of her way to destroy me, as she did my other sister. Being fat was a survival technique.

Well, survival time is over. Now, it's thrival time. And it's now or never.

Today I went shopping. Had some guilt on this, as I didn't check my dollars available to spend before I did it, but I did it. That's for my DA meeting to contend with. However, I spent $150 and got some good summer outfits, outfits I feel good about going out in - even though I am a size 24.

24?!?! How did that happen?

Don't get me wrong, I'm fully aware that I've been hoavering around 240ish, and I'm fully aware that 240ish pounds has to fit into something. I never knew what a size 24 looked like. No, I take that back. I know what a size 24 looks like. And I don't think it looks like me. How's that for being squarely in the middle of a big ol' river in Egypt?

As I tried on clothes today, I started off with size 20s, and then remembered that that last pair of jeans I bought - a pair of Levi's, and may I say, Levi's are amazing - they can make great asses look greater, and fat asses look, well, we don't want to say they look fatter. They look allright. At least, again, in my mind, which might just be so far down along that river in Egypt that what the Levi's have done for me might just be a mirage. Maybe I should take a picture and post it - I've been meaning to get some pics on here. That's probably a good one to start with - a big dose of reality to get this boat a little bit back on course.

Anyway. I bought some outfits that were outside of anything I've ever purchased before. I bought three types of outfits: For one, I bought some yoga clothes.

In the past, my workout outfits were baggy t-shirts gotten free from random events I'd attended, with baggy shorts. The thought of buying those cute little workout outfits ... oh no. Only the tragic People Only Love Me If I'm Thin people buy those. All those matching tops and pants, with the piping that only goes with each other. Not me. I like mix-y match-y separates, comfy cotton knits and interesting patterns and textures.

I ended up spending $33 on a pair of white knit yoga pants and four interesting, bargain priced tops. Tight fitting. Too tight to wear in public, but not too tight to excercise in. They fit well, is my point. On a thinner body, they would look hot. On my current lumpy body, not so much. Is as if I have to back myself into my clothing preferences; and wearing these clothes at this weight and on this body shows me that this is simply my taste - I do not do it to show off when I am thin. I don't know why I feel I have to go about it this way. But I definitely feel I do. I can't wait to stretch out in my cute outfits. And I really can't wait until I look just as cute in the cute outfits as the cute outfits look cute on their own.

The next set of clothes I bought were for going out. I spent $40 on these three outfits. The first, which I absolutely LOVE, I have never bought an outfit like this before in my life. Let me give a little background.

If I were to pick a style for me, up until this point in my life, I would call it safe. And that is so interesting to me, because I don't consider myself a "safe" clothes wearing person. However, I've always been very careful not to draw too much attention to myself with the clothes I'm wearing, always been in style, but not too outlandish. These days, I seem to be going through my bourgouise hippy phase. Impeccably mis-matched, shlippy shloppy outfits that are planned to look unplanned. And so were the three I picked out today; the first, a sequined strapless grey knit top with a light, striped sweater to wear with it. It looks so hippie chic, I can't wait to wear it. I got two other tops that are just easy, breezy, summer tank type tops, that I want to wear with a covering to cover up my arms, but they are along that same hippie chic vein. The jeans are ripped - ripped jeans! ONly on the fronts of the thighs, and you can't see any skin, and there are no rips on the backs of the legs. ME - a SIZE 24 WEARING RIPPED JEANS! It's completely preposterous. In fact, if I saw another size 24 wearing them, I'd think, who the fuck does she think she's kidding? Does she really think anyone is going to find her attractive in that outfit? The answer is - yes. Me. I find me attractive in this outfit. Or, rather, I find the outfit attractive. And I've decided I'm not going to not wear something because of my weight. If I can't wear it with the weight on, I'm realizing I won't be able to wear it in good conciousness when the weight is off.

I am wearing the outfits that I have always denied myself wearing

, reasoning that I can't wear them because I'm not a size six. And then when I lose weight, I feel bad for looking good in them. These are outfits that would be totally sexy and hot on a thinner person. I have to learn to love me wearing whatever I want to wear. Then maybe I can love me when wearing the same clothes when I get skinny, too.

The third group of outfits are, well ... I'm not sure how to classify them. Maybe these are the clothes that represent the side of me I don't want to admit is there? Again, I've never bought clothes like these, either. The first outfit, which I HAD TO HAVE was a pair of mauve walking shorts and a white, v-neck, cable-knit sweater. VERy Martha's Vineyard. VERy "Welcome to my yacht." VERy, "Hello. I'm wealthy and I wear sweaters with shorts. Welcome to my yacht." I don't know. I'm actually a little afraid of this outfit. The next outfit is a cotton shirt, in a kind of western-ish floral pattern. It's too big, I have to take it in, but I want to get a pair of white capri's and wear them with it. It's my, "Hello, I'm a hip 30-something mother who doesn't wear cleavage any more. Isn't this top cute?" It's a little tragic. Maybe I need to tap my tragic side, too.

The last think I bought is a black cotton/spandex shirt dress, with slight puffing a the caps of the sleeves, and some detailing on the chest. It's got a slightly southwestern feel to it, and I think it would look super cute with a big chunky turquoise necklace, a brown loose-fitting belt with one of those big silver southwestern belt buckles, and some red coral accents. With a pair of cowboy boots. If I can get myself to wear that outfit at this weight, that will be truly amazing. For I truly feel that that should only be worn on thin, attractive bodies.

OK, that's enough for today. I feel like the outfits were important purchases, purchases that are saying who I am. For the first time in my life, I feel like I am dressing for myself, and not for keeping up with the latest fashion trends, keeping myself acceptable to my friends and family, or for what would make people on the street put me in the "fancy" category. This is truly, for the first time in my life, when I simply bought clothes based on the sheer fact that they would be fun to wear. Regardless of my size or how I pull the outfit off. Good taste is good taste, no matter the size, and tragic is tragic at any weight, too. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

Today

Today I realized that maybe my weight is my teacher, and I respect what my teacher is trying to show me.

Code entries:

1. Laughing hysterically with two male co-workers yesterday. I realized I would laugh like that with them whether I was 250 pounds or 125 pounds.

2. There is another guy in the store I am like oil and vinegar with. That would also be the same whether I weighed 250 or 125. However, I do think he would be nicer if I were thinner. Or not. Maybe we'll find out.

3. Another guy likes talking with me, and this would be the same at any weight as well. However, he feels like a needy guy, so I envision him as wanting us to date and not understanding why I wouldn't.

4. I do not have any girlfriends right now that I call up to talk with. I am internalizing all this or blogging about it. It feels more right to do it this way - or rather, more directed. If I just blab about it to all of them, I don't feel like I make movement on it. I just spin the same wheels. Not speaking of it causes action; for the energy of what is going on must be released somehow.

5. I ate some cookies last night before meeting with my manager for a part time job I've started. I was really silly and funny during the meeting - and I realized, the cookies put me in a bit of a sugar high. In essence, I had had a drink before our meeting. I felt so guilty leaving that night. I felt it was another step toward my own cookie sobriety.

The last thing: today is the day the rainbow connection line was drawn in the sand. That will make more sense as we go along.

Thank you for listening. Until next time.

Forgiving Dad

This probably should be posted under my money section, but in all honesty and practical application, my money habits fall under a fasting and feasting pattern, too. Yesterday was a prime example of this - and in the midst of this tumultuous day, I realized I had some forgiving to do.

I had the day off from work. Normally on a day off, and especially right after a paycheck Friday, I run errands, and buy all the stuff I need - primarily groceries, toiletries, cat food etc.

However, since I have this census job, I feel like I am supposed to do that every day as well. Which, is not far from what they want us doing. So - yesterday I get up, and I think - ok, I need to get fabric and I need to get my sewing machine fixed. Get that done, get back here, do a little census stuff, and that's really all I need to get done today. Oh, and dishes and laundry.

Well, I go to the thrift store to get fabric. It's not quite what I'm looking for. My goal was to find a matelesse comfortor to complement one I already have that I want to use to make a slip cover for my sofa. Hence, the fixing of the sewing machine as well. In my head, I'd have that all done and be back to my place by noon.

Of course, it didn't happen that way. I ended up not getting the machine back until 5:45, right before they closed. Which resulted in an odd mixture of accomplishment and wasted for the day.

I realized how passive aggressive I am when it comes to checking in with authority figures. My census crew leader assistant texted me about calling him to set up a time to meet yesterday. I didn't want to have to work on census stuff aside from the bit I had to do with my building manager on some remaining units that I needed information on. So. I never called him back.

The truth that I will tell him is that my cell phone was not holding a charge yesterday. Which was true. However, the real truth is that I didn't want to work that day, and I was afraid that if I called him, he'd make me. Reality is, he can't make me, but I feel obligated, so i tend to avoid obligations until I am ready to commit to them. It was an interesting realization.

Then - while waiting for the machine, I shopped. Here's where I had some very bittersweet results. On one hand, I went and simply took pictures of things I normally would have purchased. This I have found to be a very satisfying substitute for having to buy the item. This is probably why many places do not allow photography - when you have it in your camera phone file, mentally, you have it as well, and don't necessarily have to make the purchase.

So, I flitted in and out between responsibly not purchasing and recklessly purchasing. I think the biggest reckless purchase yesterday was a printer - which, is not that reckless because I needed one. However, it was an unplanned purchase, which made it feel reckless. But there was only one left! :) Yes, I fell for the limited quantities tactic - oh, which made me just realize that technique at my own work. Also, about shopping for products you don't know much about, but know that you need. It was a good reminder.

Anyway, I did get the census stuff that I intended to get done yesterday done; however, I never called my crew leader assistant. Passive! Aggresive! Pa-ssive Aggressive! Pas-Sive-a-g-g-r-e-s-s-i-v-e Aggressive! Pa-ssive Aggressive - Woo! (kick)

Overall, it was an undulating day - I was very much back and forth on how I felt I was doing. At one point, I was in a panic over some socks that were on sale at Wal-greens, and I thought - man, maybe I do have a type of addiction with this shopping thing.

Anyway, I also saw just how feastish and faminish my spending habits are; I was in the spendy mood because my first paycheck hit from my part-time census gig. I realized yesterday just how those was how we were on the farm growing up. Our main paycheck came every week with selling pigs which become the bacon on your cheeseburger. Then, in the fall, we'd get big checks for selling corn, soybeans and wheat. This is when the big spending would happen. All the things we'd been lacking all year got made up for with the fall bonus, if you will. And you had to hurry up and get it while the getting was good, or you didnt' get nothin'.

Yesterday I saw myself falling into this pattern, I was going to buy a pull-down spice rack cabinet insert, and i stopped myself and said, "Hold on. Let's wait on this. It's not critical today, and maybe you can trust yourself that you will allow yourself to get that if you really want it. Let's just hold off for today and see how you feel about it in a week or so, and then we can always come back and get it. Trust that you will do that for yourself."

That was a big break through for me. I realized I could come back for a purchase because I AM IN CHARGE OF THE MONEY NOW. My past behavior, I realized, I was still operating in grain-check mentality of WE HAVE TO GET EVERYTHING WE WANT RIGHT NOW WHILE THE GETTIN'S GOOD OR THE OPPORTUNITY WILL BE GONE!

Not only was I acting that way this this little bit of extra cash I'm getting, but I get that way EVERY PAYCHECK. Every paycheck, in my mind, was going to slip through my fingers without me being able to use any of it. I realized this is why I keep racking up credit card debt - to make that true.

It was a pretty heavy duty day. I shopped from 7 am to 9 p.m. that night, with aobut a two-hour break for census stuff. It was quite a day. Although I didn't do it perfectly, I felt i did pretty good. Although, the saying the path to hell is paved with good intentions did fill my mind often yesterday. But, live and learn is another good cliche too. Thanks for listening. Until next time.

OH - I never got to the title of the piece - forgiving Dad. So, part of my shopping exploits included trying to find an appropriate father's day card for my Dad.

I usually buy him a funny card, but I recently found some old cards and saw that my sister sends him very deep cards - cards that say things like, "I'm glad you're my father," and, "I appreciate the love you've given and continue to give to me," and "I love you."

Nowhere in her cards was mentioned anything about his farting prowess or nap skills. It struck me - I never send those cards, because ... I realized I don't feel that way about my dad.

I am not a person who just grabs a card and slaps it in the mail. Actually, I have done that, and I felt the difference. It felt icky. So, even when I'm not happy with someone, I try to get a card that reflects the current mood of our relationship.

The last few years have been hard for me to buy Father's Day cards for my Dad, because I quite honestly have not been happy with his behavior since my mom died five years ago. Nothing major - he just started dating a woman way faster than I was prepared for. Which also would have been OK if it had looked at all like my dad grieved the loss of my mom. I'd like to think he had, but man, I tell ya, he's been looking pretty happy since my mom died, and prior to her death, I thought they had a happy and healthy marriage of forty plus years. Maybe not.

Anyway, I decided this year I would try to find a card that fit my current feelings. But everything I picked was snarky and while it looked funny on the surface, my feelings underneath it were not loving.

I was bothered by this. I looked at the deep-sentiment cards and thought, well, the problem is, I never felt those sentiments toward him. "I always knew I could call you for love and support." Um, no. "You have always been a rock for me." Nope, not accurate. "I'm proud to say that you're my Dad." ABORT ABORT ABORT - no that's not quite right either.

I came close to buying a sarcastic card but decided to wait. But it was bothering me - why didn't I feel that way and my sister did? Did she really feel that way, or just want to? Was she doing the classic tactic of "fake it till you make it?" Should I be doing that?

As I went about the rest of my day, I continued pondering the strained status of my relationship with my dad. I felt so bitter towards him - he never had a talk with me about boys. He never told any boy I dated that I am loved dearly and need to be treated respectfully. He never held me or helped me when I was sad or upset - just a "Here's your mom" if I'd ever call home crying - and that was rare, I've really never felt I could go to my family for emotional support.

So what the hell am I going to do about this, I kept thinking. And then I thought, I mean does he even ever think of me? Does he even hope I'm doing OK? Does he ever say a prayer for me in church on Sunday?

And then that Billy Joel song, "Only the good die young" came into my head. "Oh, she never cared for me/ But does she ever say a prayer for me. Ah woah woah woah woah..."

It kept running through my head. But does she ever say a prayer for me. She never cared for me. But does she ever say a prayer for me. And then, it occured to me.

Do I ever say a prayer for my Dad? I've been angry and bitter and felt rejected and lost, but have I ever said I prayer that I hope my dad is happy? No. Nope. Noonens. I've just been mad because he's not been the dad i wanted. Well, he's not the dad I wanted anymore than I'm probably the little girl he expected to get when I was born.

And then, I felt some peace. Oh, I'm not over it, I'm not all forgiven and life is peachy. But i'm in the direction of forgiveness. Ok, in all honesty, I'm not quite there either. Let's just say what's true: the concept of forgiving my dad for being who he is instead of who I want him to be has entered my realm of consciousness. I'll keep you posted on the results of either letting it all go or talking it out with him goes.

Ok, this time I mean it. Thanks for listening. Until next time.