Accepting Ativan Donations...

Today was pretty bad. One of those days where you think about a possible worse-case scenario and it lives up to your expectations and then some. I'll spare most of the details, but recount just one example for good measure.

After a particularly frustrating outing, we got back just in time for me to call about the student loan consolidation I had been waiting to hear about for so long I've lost track. I had already called twice before, asking what was taking so long. (My original application was received on October 25.) At the time, they said they would re-do the request to my lenders for the pay-off amounts for my loans because it had already been two months. Then the evil woman on the other end of the phone asked me if I knew I would lose the forgiveness benefits of Loans X and Y if I consolidated. (X and Y are currently under cancellation, and get paid off little by little for every year I work a certain number of hours as an RN.) Bastards.

I had no intention of consolidating X and Y. But, the application said that under penalty of death by nuclear fallout I must report EVERY student loan I have even if I don't want it included in the consolidation. I remember typing in the account number for Loan X and thinking about how livid I would be when they screwed up and added it even though I checked the "No, do not f&cking include this in my consolidation" box.

Of course, because of the curse that I have always carried, which has been somehow exponentially increased after taking my wedding vows, they screwed up. It will be another 60 days before they "review" my case and "see if they can fix it". 

The silver lining to this day is that I had this wonderful memory of one of the first friends I made in college. I remember having a day like this one has been. I stormed out of the underground library in no mood to talk to anyone, and there he was. We lived in the same dorm, which had a church attached to it, and he said, "No matter how busy you are, sit in the church for ten minutes before you go up to your room".

I remember that sense of peace that I could find in the chapel of St. John's. A aesthetically pleasing place to sit and think in silence with other people who were also sitting (or kneeling) and thinking. Maybe it's time I found a nearby church that's pretty on the inside. Otherwise, I think I need an Ativan prescription. Either way.

**************

At the end of the horrible day, I was driving in our new town and saw a sign that looked like a squiggly line next to a large tree. A few feet ahead was an area where an actual large tree trunk was spilling onto the place where the road should have gone. Instead, the curb curved to make room for life. I heard the voice of Mr. Rogers asking if I had learned my lesson for the day.

December 1st Remembrance

I was wondering if, on this World AIDS Day, I could tell you about Jeff?

I’ve been thinking about him daily lately for reasons unknown. Whether it’s the anniversary of his death approaching, the fact that I met him in the Fall, or some other cosmic intervention I can’t be sure. I miss him.

Jeff was this strange, bouncy, slender, comic of a person. When referring to an aspect of his personality or one of his latest actions, we would say, “that’s Jeff”, and smile. It would take up much of the interweb to describe what his friendship meant to me, so I’ll try to keep to the point. He was an amazing hugger. I think his hugs changed the world.

I recently realized that the Catholic church was teaching me to hate, during my formative years, no less. It was not all bad; I am proud of some of what religion taught me, but that is another post.

A few days ago, I was at work, and an employee whom I had never met before admitted in casual conversation that she did not learn Spanish because she lived in California and “couldn’t stand the Mexicans”. I tried, as I often do, to put myself in her frame of mind, to try to understand why she would think this an acceptable statement. I suddenly, uncontrollably flashed back to a time almost ten years ago.

I remember an unsolicited feeling of disgust, fear, and self-loathing brought on by any mention of gay men (or lesbian women, to a lesser degree). For over twenty years, I had been brainwashed to “love the sinner, hate the sin”, and to pray for the dammed soul of those who “chose” to have same-sex relations. Shortly after high school, I was able to break free from the darkness of these thoughts and realize, thanks to life experience, that my church was unbelievably wrong. I now know that palpable feeling was hate, and I can’t figure out any explanation other than it was a learned behavior. The deepest undertow of this triggered reaction was always dislike for my self, because I like to think that my adult self was trying to emerge from under the flood of Catholic belief.

I remember being trained to say that I had no sympathy for those who “brought HIV on themselves”. Literally, trained. I actually remember being coached by our youth leader on how to “defend” myself against the influence of gay people. These beliefs were so deeply rooted in my brain that to this day I am still amazed sometimes that I am the person I’ve become. It must have taken a miracle, or an average man.

I can’t remember how I was convinced to take my first trip to a gay bar, with my new roommate. Jeff was sitting in the beer garden, laughing, and telling a story about getting stung by a bee while working at Dairy Queen. We were introduced, and since I was a nursing student, he asked me what he could have done to make the pain stop. I told him he could have used a paste of baking soda and water, and he said he had tried, but all he could find was gravy powder. So far, I could not figure out why I was supposed to be hating him. For the first time, my Pavlov’s dogs reaction had not been triggered. He went on to ask why there was a weird scab forming, and I said it was because his phagocytes were busy repairing the damage. “Oh girl, my phagocytes!” We laughed. I loved him.

Heading to C-Street became our weekly vigil. The love and acceptance poured over me and washed away that terrible, conditioned feeling I now know as hate. At the end of one night, Jeff hugged me goodbye. The bar was gone, music stopped, voices silenced. His hug was the kind that made you feel like you were the only one on Earth, and that the only place he wanted to be was in that embrace. I was overwhelmed by his affection, after only knowing each other a few short weeks.

He made up a name for me. He encouraged me during a difficult hairstyle transition. He made his boyfriend buy us drinks. We laughed at the regulars: Chew Cow, K-Mart Queen, Debbie. We cleaned the Dairy Queen when we weren’t getting paid so he could come to the bar sooner. My fondest memories are of that time in my life, and may always be. I had never experienced such unconditional acceptance. I knew from then on, I owed the same to Jeff, and every other person on the planet, and have never turned back. 

Safety Goggles

So I feel like I need to blog. I have had a lot on my mind since my first entry. In fact there are several points I wish to cover. The problem is, getting them written down. I feel so discouraged. Not that writing things down is a waste of time because I know it will make me feel better to get it out but I am worried I might infect some of our soon to be loyal readers and take away what hope and drive they may have with life.

Drifting is a good way to describe my mind set because I feel like my brain is hopelessly drifting aimlessly around in my skull. Some days I do not even feel attached to my body, as I have to negotiate with it to do what I tell it to do. I guess detached is another way to describe how I feel. I know I am a part of society. I interact with people, go shopping, kept an Ice Rink running, meet people, listen, and do my best to feel a part of this experiment we call life but when it comes down to it, I feel detached. I cannot seem to be happy and content with life like most folks. I am jealous of those people who can just go to their repetitive mindless jobs and after work crack open a beer and be happy with life. I cannot. I have tried my best not to care about the big picture of life but I always fail. I was hoping having a disgustingly cute daughter would fill that void I always feel but even she does not. No matter what I try, I can occupy my time and be temporally happy and proud of my life but in the back of my drifting mind, I still wonder what the point of this exercise is.

People always say “a means to an end” when they need to justify why they are doing what they are doing. Many cases it is making a short-term sacrifice to accelerate obtaining a long-term goal. I have no problem coming up with the ‘means’ but it is the ‘end’ that eludes me. I do not know what my ‘end’ is. I know several things I would like to do with my life but none of them would constitute an end. Even my wildest dreams of opening up an Alpaca Ranch or an Outdoor Adventure Camp are great to think about and would be great if I accomplished, but they would just be means of passing time. Even if I won the lotto and could do whatever I wanted to, I know I would still be searching for my end. Is life all about an end goal? Why is it so important? Is it what we are to do with our lives to feel like fulfilled humans? Is it to have a dream out there to shoot for to tell yourself ‘someday things will be better’ while you slave along day to day?

This next part might infuriate some out there. Please keep an open mind:

Other than the group of people who can have a beer at the end of the day and be happy there is one other group of individuals I am jealous of. They are the Religious. I do not care what you believe or to what extent of your faith you believe, I am jealous. I know many strongly religious folks and many strongly atheist folks. I have tried to get into organized religion but I cannot. I have discussed this with many of my atheist friends and several agree with me. I have talked to many of my religious friends and they have tried to help me. I wish I could believe in organized religion. If I did I bet it would bring that sense purpose I lack and fill that void in my life. I want to believe. I even tried to fake it for a while to see if it started to come on its own. It did not.

I think we are all born with goggles over our eyes. These safety goggles are there to protect our minds. They filter out all those bad things in the world we all wish would just not be. They allow us to filter out what we do not want to see or admit and allow us to only see what is easy and healthy for the mind to digest. These safety goggles are there to allow us to accept things as they are told to us and not question them in. They allow us to believe and see the world through a different filter. They are kind of like beer goggles. When you have beer goggles on, you see the world in a new way. Ugly becomes pretty, stupid things become fun, things seem easier and the world seems better. The same goes for the safety goggles issued at birth. They help you to see the good in everything, trust people, and feel like a valuable, integrated member of society. They focus on puppies and rainbows but filter out things like what is in dog food and the fact that you are causing the pollution that obscures rainbows these days. They allow you to accept things on faith, be okay with answers that are given to you buy those with authority no matter how far-fetched it may seem and be content with everyday life. 

My problem is must have lost my set on safety goggles at some point in my childhood. I remember being happy as a child. I remember being hopeful and ambitious about life. I also remember thinking this religious thing seeming like it was a crock of shit (I went to a Catholic grade school for 8 years). I remember even as a kid watching the other children seem to get pleasure and happiness out of religion bit I never did. I kind of felt like I was the last kid waiting on the bench to get picked for the religious team. I guess they had enough players because I never got in. Early on I realized I was different from everyone else, so I decided to play along and observe to see if I could figure out why. I never did. What I did realize is how sheltered many people are about so many things and how they will do anything to stay that way. I think they must still have on their safety goggles on. Part of me wants to tear them of to show the world I see to others but the other part of me wants to let them stay blissfully ignorant to the real world and let them enjoy life.

I keep hoping I am wrong about life and it has meaning. I keep hoping someday I will find an extra pair of safety glasses to cover my mind with. I keep hoping that I will discover my ‘end’ which makes the ‘means’ worth it. I have even thought about becoming and alcoholic to keep a pair of beer goggles on fulltime but I know that would not solve anything. Would a fresh new pair of safety goggles even solve anything?

Spirituality, or lack thereof?

So I came to my computer while Ava (aka. The Dinosaur) naps with the intention of finally typing out her birthstory. I've been meaning to do it for a long time (well, since about 9 weeks ago, to be exact) but of course I checked my gmail first and changed my mind completely. 

Hang in there, I swear the connections from one thing to another will make sense. Right? I make sense. Yeah.

The email I received was one of those stupid forwards from a family member (actually from one of Longitude's family members...HA!) that I usually just delete. Which is a big deal, because having gmail, I archive EVERYTHING except stupid forwards. Anyway, the email was basically saying that the majority of people in America like that "In God We Trust" is on our currency and that our nation is "Under God" every morning in classrooms across the country. The email failed to mention the source of this information, but asked: why cater to the small minority who wants the god crap removed? (Okay, not a direct quote, but I think well summarized.) I was then instructed to forward the email if I agreed with it or delete it if I don't. Well, I was going to anyway, stupid Forward!!

I obviously don't agree with this, and think that this subject has nothing to do with what the majority of people are thinking, but it's unconstiutionality. That's the way America works, right? If we did what the majority of people wanted this would be a completely different (and probably much better) place. But this is all beside the point.

I am constantly being subjected to Christian culture in my daily life. God is everywhere. He even appeared talking in my ear as I was pushing my daughter out in the hospital, in the form of an obnoxious nurse's aid. At this point of the process, I was extremely focused and confident and just wanted everyone to shut up and let me concentrate. Happily, my nurse and husband figured this out just by being in the same room with me. I was almost unable to speak or really communicate anything, so they must have figured it out by body language or ESP. Unfortunately, my nurse had a back problem so she asked the nurse's aid to come hold my leg up. (No easy task, I'll give her that; I pushed for two and a half hours.) She was good at it, and this was the only reason I did not scream at her and kick her out of the room.

Her "encouragement" went something like this:

(contraction starts)

Her: You can do this because god will help you do you want me to pray for you I've gotten people who didn't believe in him to go church just by praying for him I could tell you lots of stories when this is all over...

(contraction ends)

Me: (barely audible) I don't think that's going to help right now. 

Her: (sad sigh) Don't worry, prayer will help you, I promise! 

Me: I just need someone to tell me when the contraction starts because I hurt so much I can't always feel the beginning and I don't want to miss out on any pushing time. (This might have come out completely unintelligible or only in my own head.)

(contraction starts)

Husband: Can you get out of the way of the monitor so I can see when the contraction is?

Me: Is it starting? Can I push now? I'm going to anyway.

Her: Believe in the power! Me, in head: (Of Philo) Believe in him! (my dog Philo) He knows you can do this! (Philo the dog)

(contraction ends)

Me: I really just need someone to tell me when the contraction is starting. I'm fine.

Her: (completely oblivious to my actual needs, but fulfilling her own quite well) I bet the doctor is praying for you right now, he prays for all his patients.

and so on.

I couldn't believe that I was being bombarded with this. It was the first time in my life when I felt completely unable to get away from religious crap. Even after 8 years of Catholic school with forced Mass every week, at least then I knew that I could run out the door if I had to. (Although I never would have done this because I probably would have been in big trouble.) I was practically tied down, unable to walk or control anything that was happening to me and this woman was trying to convert me! I actually felt more violated by this than by all the vagina prodding and such.

So what I say to you, supposed majority of people who want god to be on our money: you can get your own trinket of any size or shape that says "In God We Trust", even with your favorite bible verse, your name on it, what have you, and keep it in your pocket, purse, or wallet. I don't want to be forced to do so.

**************************

This is another area where I feel that I just don't fit in. I actually feel quite at home in a Catholic church. Comfortable, even. But, I don't actually believe what I would have to believe to be an acceptable member, and I never will. Sometimes I think that maybe we could find some sort of church that actually values what we do, but most of the time I'm just glad to find spirituality in other things. 

The only problem is that church is where many people find their closest friends, do most of their socializing, and even networking. Crap. We don't fit anywhere.