February 2006 Archives

it's downright depressing how many relationships don't work out. specifially all those people out on the internet selling engagement rings and wedding rings, it's just - sad. I hate to say it but I've completely lost faith in the ability for two human beings to find each other, get past all the speedbumps, and not only want to stay in a committed relationship with each other but to do it permanently, with witnesses, 'till death do they part. I mean, seriously. I'll be happy if I don't screw up this whole boyfriend / girlfriend thing with raf.

really.

so I thought I was all comfortable with myself and sure of who I am and really feeling like, okay in my own skin - and I do, on some deep core level, but now everything that's up at the surface is all garbled and fucked up. like one day, sometime in the last few months, who I am inside and who I am out loud had the decoder inbetween get reversed. so here I am, all being able to accurately talk about how I feel and who I am and how I'm doing, and then all of a sudden not only can I not do that, but to top it off things are coming out all fucked up and backwards. I'm all anxious and neurotic and second guessing everything. I had a long talk about all of this with donna last night, and she very plainly stated that when I don't have control over my emotions, I freak out and feel like I have to figure out what's wrong and what the hell is going on. and I kind of understand that, but not totally. so we used the example of work. work slows down, I'm broke, it's a drag, I intellectually am aware that things are going to be fine and that it will pass, and it lasts a little longer than last time, and I start to panic. then I start wondering if I'm making the right decision by staying in this job, or if this is the universe trying to push me on to bigger and better things, and I start to have a meltdown and second guess my entire life. then we used the example of my relationship with raf, when I start falling for him and really realizing that I'm into him, I immediately start wondering if I'm doing the right thing or if it's alright to be with him or not, is he too much this, am I not enough that, and I start putting myself into a thinking coma. so raf, the job, all that stuff, none of that is the issue - as usual, it comes down to me just not being screwed together quite right. then she continued on to say, you think you need like, medication or something, when really all that's going on is that you're feeling everything and you have no control over it, and you have to just get used to it. you can function and be terrified, anxious, in love, whatever.

and the funny thing is, I've been like, maybe I'm all psychosis girl and I need medication. and the unnerving thing is, it's - well, unnerving to have someone make such a "this is totally obvious" statement about a part of my personality that I can barely comprehend. most of the big ways that I am, I know about. and I can logically understand what she's saying, I guess, but I don't feel it and I don't really, really get it. then she's like, you're thinking too much, you don't need to "get it", it just is. now I'm talking to a ninja encrypted zen master and I'm like, I have to get off the phone. I can't keep thinking about this stuff anymore or my brain is going to melt and pour out of my ears.

so the thing is, I'm not always going to know what I'm supposed to be doing or saying or being or feeling. and the prospect of not being able to figure things out is totally dismantling - I mean, it's all math, you know? logic. x + 2 = 5 and stuff. no debates. constants in the great proofs of life. and apparently, on top of the big stuff I know isn't math, a lot more of it isn't than I realize. I can't even wrap my head around it. but apparently, I'm not supposed to.

wtf?

so, right. so I guess I should like, go work or something. because that's a piece of cake with all this shit rattling around in my head. I'm hitting one of those places where I don't know what the fuck is going to come out, so I'm trying not to talk much. hence all the typing.

I've made the decision to go back into therapy. wait, let me rephrase: I have not only made that decision, but have followed up on it by taking the necessary action to create the desired result, by calling my old psychologist and leaving a message.

"hi, malinda? this is victoria, either schultz or vanbruinisse, I don't know which you remember me by, and, well, I don't know if you like, deal with stuff, that's not like, you know, just marriage stuff, but, I'm divorced now, and I'm - well, I'm not like, getting out of bed in the morning, and I think I need to come and talk to you." or something to that effect.

my cell phone rings about ten minutes later.

"hi, victoria?"

"yes."

"it's malinda."

"oh, hi! can I come and see you?"

"you sure can. when's good for you?"

(crying) "um, soon. soon would be good."

we settled on wednesday at 9 am. (not so) coincidentally I established march 1st as my official "get back on track" day. gym schedule, weight watchers, the whole thing. I'm tired of flip flopping and not taking care of myself. anything worth having is worth fighting for, and I've got to fight for my health. especially moreso now that my mom really isn't taking care of herself very well, and - I hate to even write these words - that I don't want to wind up like she is. I don't care if I have to go on medication for the next fifty years or eat broccoli every day, but I don't want to be afraid to leave my house, and I don't want to let myself slip away because of some unnamed fear. I mean, I don't know what it's like to be in her shoes, and maybe I'd be doing the same thing if I was, so I'm not trying to take shots at her or anything, but I'm not. in her shoes, that is. I can be healthy and fit and happy and as productive as I can, normal emoting over whatever life happens to hand me notwithstanding.

I'll be back with more details on wednesday.

kisses,

~vvb

here in status symbol land...

whenever I hear ritchie valens on the oldies station, I immediately think about the guy who played him in that "la bamba" movie. same goes for val kilmer playing jim morrison, and the guy who portrayed manson in "helter skelter". which, by the way, is an excellent documentary about the whole ordeal - highly recommended. I guarantee your local video store, if they have it, has it in stock.

so, anyways. point being, I wonder how many things my brain does that with that I don't know about. like what things are, to me, the idea of what they are, or the image of what I think they are, instead of what they actually are. I suppose ignorance is bliss, but I can't say it doesn't concern me a little bit.

I've got to tell you all that I'm sorry for all the bitching, but there's just shit rattling around in my head that I just can't seem to shake. like the universe is breaking my balls about something, relentlessly, only I've got to figure out what it is and what needs to change. and the only clue I'm allowed to have is the after-effect of excessive ballbreaking... I'm annoyed and wondering if there's any truth in what's being said, all the while knowing I need to toughen up and not Take Things So Personally, and the like.

is this making any sense? to be quite frank I don't give a shit if it does, because it's more about me getting it out than you wanting to read it, but still. I can't help but look for that affirmation, even if it's just between me and the imaginary reader.

so let's break this down for a bit. there are things going on, that I'm responsible for, that are bothering me because I'm either not doing them or not paying attention to them. I'm sleeping late, I've been skipping the gym, and I don't want to do my job. I mean, I want to do my job, but I don't want to do what my job entails when it gets slow like this - like putting on a suit and going out to shake hands and kiss babies and stuff. it makes me want to gag. it's been like that for a while, except I don't notice when it's busier. I get to skate by with a good paycheck and days at the beach in the summertime. I don't have to look at everything I'm not doing to further who I am. and now, with all this time on my hands, it all comes to the surface. there's no monica-style obsessive busy time to keep me from looking at my life.

hi, life. hi, accurate photo of How Things Really Are. you're annoying, but somehow I know you're necessary. therefore I simultaneously love and loathe you.

so I'm not going to get into quite what to do about that yet. it's more about getting a snapshot at this point in the monologue. I think.

category number two is Persistent Things Under The Surface That I Should Know How To Deal WIth By Now. my father's death, my mother's sickness, turning thirty and having to have some sort of accomplishment to show for it, all the stuff about perspectives that I already wrote about. cat lady stuff, the crap that's just not real, but still present. the job. a new relationship. getting rid of the crap in my apartment that I don't need. fear. love. spiders. and again, like it always happens at this point in the emotional vomiting: I know that These Things Really Are Okay. I'm going to be thirty, and have my sixth sober anniversary just before, and I am such an evolved version of Who I Really Am - it's completely unreal. the shift in perspective, the complete disregard for what other people think of who I am and what I should be and what I should like that I always defaulted to, and even carried into my first few years of sobriety. the facts: that I got into a relationship that I had no business being in, and left. I had a bunch of crap and a bunch of money and I still wanted to get drunk and high. I didn't write. I didn't deal. it was a giant game of pretend that I was playing with myself because I didn't know how to get to that painful level of self-honesty and self-awareness that we need if we're really going to get anywhere. more facts: that's it's okay to hurt, endlessly even, over not having my father in my life. it's okay to be afraid that my mom isn't going to be okay, and to hate what the chemo is doing to her, and to want to fix her whole life. I have smoking dreams about her like I have drinking and pot dreams about myself. I am not, nor will I ever be, the cat lady. and if I do, it will be because I'm running a shelter or something.

and the rest? I'll go to the gym when I get sick of feeling like a fat chick. I'll change my job when I don't want to feel the way I feel anymore, or I'll do what I've talked about for so long: use the flexibility and financial advantages of my job to give me the room for classes, travel, whatever I can afford. so now that I feel silly for getting so jammed up about all that - what else... oh, the new relationship. right. character defect central. let's get into that one for a little bit, so I can get it the hell out of my head.

I am hands-down dating the best looking guy I've ever dated. it's intimidating. and it doesn't stop there. I joke about it and call him Captain Testosterone, but in reality I love it that he's a total alpha male. beyond door opening and grocery carrying, it's the good side of all things that the feminist in me screams that I can do for myself. and to have a guy like that in my life, who puts it all down and communicates with me and sees something in me that I can't even always see in myself - it's totally terrifying. I wish I could be the me that he sees in my mind, where I'm too busy getting tangled up with everything I'm not. he's going to keep staying sober and his life will keep getting better and I won't be good enough. I don't know how to dance. I'm not hot enough, if I don't lose weight he's going to leave. I'm too independent, I can't let him help me, I don't think before I speak, he's going to find all my old notebooks and read them and hate me or think I'm certifiable. I don't know how to cook like a girl should cook for a man like him. I have a lot of baggage, et cetera...

or as the song puts it so perfectly: when they really get to know you, they will run. hairy legs and all.

now, this guy has not once, ever, done one single thing to make me feel or think any of this. he's sweet and wonderful and caring and - I mean, seriously, even with everything starting the way it did - who hooks up and spends the next morning talking it out and making sure that everything is okay with the other person? personally I prefer getting in my car, going home, and never talking about it again to dying from embarassment - but that's just me. and after friendshp repairs and heart-to-hearts, he's turned out to be wonderful. passionate and caring and careful and kind. he gives me room to flail around and doesn't think I'm out of my mind. he's even said, with not one shred of provocation, that I could never go to the gym, ever, and he would love my body exactly the way it is. he ate my pork chops and liked them, or at least pretended to. he bought me funny socks for christmas and he listens, unless food or football gets involved and then I have to wait for him to be done. but, he's a guy. that's cool. and, on top of all of it, we're so gentle with each other, being clear about what we mean when we talk and not saying hurtful things and literally giving each other our last twenty dollars if the other person needs it. it's never been like this before. I've never been here before.

so how could I possibly know how to be and how to feel? it's just got to take it's course, like everything else. I tell new girls at meetings the same thing. I usually say something like, look - do you know how to (fill in the blank - golf, make airplanes, etc.)? well, what makes you expect to know how to do all this, and be comfortable with it and yourself, overnight? eight days is not a long time to do something. four months is not a long time to do something. years and years will make you understand, and then eventually become better at something. so why am I putting all of this weight on myself, that I should know better, that I should be better, that I shouldn't say or do or this or that - if I talked to someone who was treating themselves the way I was treating myself, I'd tell them to go easy and get a massage and that everything is right where it's supposed to be. and that her intuitions will know. and when I break it down to that point, I do know. I'm happy. things are as they should be, totally and completely. not just with raf, but with everything.

wow. twenty minutes of writing sure does change things, doesn't it?

do what you love.

:*

~vvb

I like not having to come up with a title if I don't feel like it. and the font is all cute and tight and well placed as I type, apparently from some technicalities that kristin fiddled around with recently. some kind of new something that wasn't even english to me. but apparently it makes things all kinds of better.

so, yeah. so I've been taking some cool pictures lately - posts to follow. most notably of raf, colin meloy and laura viers, and a recent trip to the wadsworth in hartford. which was initially disappointing, but worth the ten bucks to stand next to stuff that was like, ten thousand years old. raf touched one of the lions from like, 300 BC or something. it was cool. luckily they didn't kick us out.

I know I need to be (typing) writing and I don't quite know what it is I need to be saying though - there's that fear of being as open as possible because of who may be reading, but then I remember that there's probably less than a dozen people keeping track of what I'm babbling about on here anyways and the shit really just doesn't matter as much as I think it does. but still.

I've been suffering from exploding head dilemma lately, and it's mostly gone... save for some poorly placed aftershocks. all that other crap I kept re-living seemed to subside, and now it's mostly getting used to a bout of financial insecurity. borrowing from myself on a credit card, temporarily, is still a little nerve-wracking and the combination of that and too much time on my hands at work is making me want to jump out the window some days. not literally, but... the "mental gymnastics" are getting exhausting, as a friend of mine puts it. and when that's feeling like it's manageable, right under the surface is a whole bunch of stuff: my dad, my mom, getting older, wanting to make sure I'm making the most out of my life, fear, falling in love, staying sober, staying healthy...

yep. falling in love. you heard me. that one isn't next to fear by accident, you know?

so valentine's day was so great - I had a meltdown the day before at donna's about all this stuff, getting mad about things that didn't matter, having a skewed perception of what was and wasn't important - most of which had nothing to do with my boyfriend or my friends, yet that's where I find myself taking it out the most - so all of that subsides and I found myself really able to show up the next day. and not just in a fake-it way, but in a very real here-and-now way. we were going to make dinner, but wound up deciding to go to a meeting instead, and it was fine. and I was able to say, you know what? we need to do whatever we need to do, and it's not the end of the world, and we can just make dinner later or not do it at all and just hang out and it's really no big deal. and it was really no big deal. I'm making such a point of this because, if you didn't know me back then, I used to bawl my eyes out over waking up late or not being able to find the perfect thing to wear or someone saying something to me that was even a little bit sideways. I was incapacitated by - well, by me. so this is huge, monumental, stellar, fabulous growth, for me to not only do and say this stuff, but to mean it as well.

and later on in the night found me in tears, not from some fight that I started or some made-up thing I used as an excuse to lose my mind over, but because I was really sitting down with someone I cared about and telling them how I really felt. because I was afraid (see above), because going "all in" and putting your heart on the line isn't necessarily the easiest thing to do when you've been emotionally run over about ten thousand times.

the beatles are on, and suddenly I want to go make mix tapes. which means I'll end up sitting here for hours trying to get things right. I don't know if I really have the energy for that.

yeah. so, it's easier to keep things at arm's length than it is to stand and face your fears in a kitchen on whitney avenue, or in the car late at night, or wherever it takes us. but easy never made me feel better about myself, you know? I always felt like, well, next time, maybe I'll say something. next time that thing comes up, I'll do it differently - and that stops working after a while.

so, valentine's day, work, pictures, making out on the couch during a snowstorm, a cat that snores, super secret double probation goodness that I can't quite talk about yet (hint: I'm getting one of my pictures published somewhere REALLY cool) and an overflowing laundry basket and now, all I can think about is making that damn mix tape. it's early. I'm going to go give it a shot.

with earplugs and perfect edits for all,

~vvb

strange how the vaguely uneasy feeling I've had for a while now is seeming to subside, on the heels of some crazy dreams last night. the pictures and moments from them are so vivid, I wish my head was a camera and that I could project it out onto the page for you...

there was one part that was just totally disturbing, this guy cleaning up a bathroom where something bad had happened. but it was more like there was an accident, I think in the dream we understood that he was taking care of an older man - so there's this bathroom, sliding shower doors and wallpaper that hadn't been updated in years and this guy kneeling in front of the toilet, trying to clean it off, looking back at us standing (in the doorway, or wherever we were, whoever "we" is, I just know I wasn't alone) there - and there was blood all over the place. not like on tv shows where someone gets shot or something, not splattered all over the place, but more like it had been like that and then someone had tried so desperately to clean it but had only succeded in staining everything. like cleaning in a horror movie in a panic, freaking out from all the blood everywhere, so everything had this stain all over it - the walls, the shower door, the wallpaper, and the toilet seat was the worst - just this dark awful red, completely soaked. and the guy's looking up at us, like, I know, it's so awful, and if you can take yourself to that place, if there's ever been a really vivid awful scene in a movie where you were just mortified - it was like that. like everyone knew that something very wrong had just happened.

the rest of the dream is snippets of working (get this) in a dunkin donuts, only it's a big old kitchen with yucky flourescent lights, and everything is painted this flat dark country blue paint - walls, cabinets, counters, everything - and people are coming up to these big windows over the sink, and they've left me alone and I can't find the cups anywhere and I don't know how to make the espresso and it's like, 3 o'clock in the morning. and just a few people are standing, like, in the lawn. up at the window. and all I can do is get three medium cups of coffee but I can't make the redeye part and the guy that's supposed to be helping me isn't answering. a long time goes by but not, like when you're tripping and you think it's been five hours but only about eight minutes have gone by - and by the time I look up to tell them I just can't hack it, they're gone and there's one girl there that helps me close the windows from the outside while I'm inside. then it flashes to different parts of this house and there's just crap all over the place, and I'm trying to smoke tobacco out of a bowl, and this kid I know from meetings is there laughing, and hands me some pot and I freak out about it. magazines and clothes and dishes and just stuff - all this stuff - everywhere you looked and walked.

and today I prayed differently and everything felt a little shifted somehow. I don't know if one has anything to do with the other, but there have been two occasions where I was just completely out of my head and I had these ridiculously vivid dreams that I can still remember. well, one I remember play for play and the other one I just know I had it - and everything changed afterwards.

wow. maybe now is one of those times. whatever it is, I'll take it. I looked some stuff up on a dream site - all I could find was that the blood was about love and passion, and not negative at all. I don't know what the other stuff in the kitchen was though, probably something about needing to know fully I can't do all this stuff by myself. like we talked about last night - the program doesn't teach us how to fix ourselves. it teaches us how to do the next thing that is in front of us to get done and leave the fixing up to fate.

kisses and long dream sequences and me needing to be sitting in coffee shops more scribbling in my notebook, yes...

~vvb

and the cursor just sits there, waiting.

blink. blink. blink. blink.

I broke a mirror today. see you in 2013, right? by then I'll be pushing forty and will probably be complaining anyway. mirror or no mirror.

I just took everything out of my bathroom and spackled all the nail holes and crack spots. except I have to take a shower - whoops. it's the cool kind though, it goes on hot pink and dries white so you know when it's time. I've been all jacked up about painting and making it right and putting up these shelves everywhere. these motherfucking life consuming shelves. sometimes I wish I was just like my cat, napping and coming over to love me when I'm home, eating, shitting, and napping some more. except the prospect of licking my own ass doesn't really work for me. but you know - she doesn't give a fuck about shelves, you know? she tries like hell to find the most comfortable spot in the room, whether it's the corner of the bed or the rug or on my jacket or the little sherpa thing I bought her that she doesn't fit on but she lays on it anyway.

so I'm still all jacked up about these damn shelves. and kristin, in her infinite wisdom today on the phone, says, after I've told her about how they won't go where I wanted them to:

why don't you get rid of the stuff you needed the shelves for?

fucking brilliant. by the way, she's looking for a job. I guarantee she'll be the best employee you'd ever dream of having - she's brilliant and insightful and she knows how to do some seriously complicated internet stuff. that, and she's one of the best writers I know. love her. and give her lots of money while you're at it.

plus, she's my boston wife. and I wouldn't marry just anyone.

the inklings of fall tour approacheth - I've already got plans to go see steve in the city at the end of the month, and tom brosseau at the end of march. keep coming, willya?

~vvb