What it’s like to start over

February 15, 2009 at 2:31 am (Kids, divorce, let me explain, life is short, separation)

To walk with nearly nothing after 16 years of marriage.

To move into my own house with a sofa, my Jeep, my clothes, my laptop and a handful of books.  I still have my Mom’s round mirror, and a set of bowls from my own parents’ wedding.  I didn’t want anything else, and it was made clear to me that asking for anything else was out of the question anyway.  How dare I think that I could take anything else from him?  Any of these “things” that held so much meaning, so many memories for him?  Hadn’t I done enough damage?  How could I be so heartless to not only abandon him, but take his stuff too?

And then to be criticized for not wanting any of it.  How can I be so callous that I don’t care to have this stuff?  How can I throw our past away and not want our things?  It just proves how cold hearted I am that I didn’t try to take the Christmas ornaments, or the family photos on the walls.

Here in this house I slept on that sofa for weeks before I got a new bed of my own.  I had my Mom’s mirror hung on the wall, my daughter had a bed that I bought from my brother in law, and I had a small filing cabinet.  Two boxes of kitchen stuff from my apartment, including one box full of a borrowed set of dishes that I had to give back to him because “dammit, those are mine!”.

I bought a whisk yesterday. Such a little thing, just so it’s easier to whip up an omelette now and again, and it got me thinking about how these little things add up.

A desk, a table, a bed, a bookshelf, some chairs, a shower curtain, a can opener, a whisk.

Each small thing brings a new, small reminder that I’m moving on.  Little pieces of independence, little pieces of my own decisions, little pieces of control over my own life again, little pieces with new memories being made around them.

I don’t want a lot of stuff, and really this place is very minimal, but it feels new, and free, and calm, and mine.  I love when my kids are here with me, and I feel like the parent I intended to be.  I know I’m not always doing it right, and I have such a hard time with parenting them through this tug-of-war, but these little pieces of a new life are still good.  There are so many things that have gotten better.  Layer after layer of the old life peels away every day, and I didn’t even realize how many layers had piled on.

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Today I feel better

February 11, 2009 at 11:58 am (let me explain)

See?

Minimal whining today.

All but two things I planned on doing today got done. One was delayed because of a nasty traffic jam, and will be done first thing tomorrow morning.  The other I have time to do next week.

Tomorrow will be busy, but not that difficult.  I’ll be driving all over town, but that gives me time to play with the GPS, which speaks to me in Portuguese.  I’m knocking on every piece of wood I can find, but I’m hopeful that it will all happen.  Wish me luck.

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Why I’m fighting tears tonight

February 10, 2009 at 11:38 am (let me explain)

I was going to take a day off work tomorrow to get a few things done.  Easy-peasy, I had all my ducks in a row.

I got a ticket a few days ago.  To clear it up I just need some time off work and to bring my proof of insurance and proof of address change to the court house.

Except my printer stopped working and while I have my proof of insurance, I can’t print my proof of address change to bring with me.

So I can’t do that tomorrow.

I need to take paperwork to the consulate to apply for our visas. I got the appropriate permission form signed by their dad, and notarized like a good girl.  I have their passports, their birth certificates, their applications filled out and their extra photos for the permission forms.

Except I failed to notice a hidden line on their website that says both parents need to sign and have notarized not just the permission forms, but the application itself, even though there is no room for more than one signature and no room for a notary stamp.  And I can’t print a new one because my printer is a piece of shit. Also, in scouring their badly written website I noticed they need a third passport style photo, not just the two I have.  So we have to go get another set each, at $20 a pop.

And I have to go begging for another signature and try to arrange another meeting at the bank to notarize it.

So I can’t do that tomorrow either.

Plus, I need another passport photo of me for my own visa application. I forgot about that.  Great.

I need to get a new estimate on the damage to my Jeep from an accident 10 months ago, because the incompetent insurance agency which represents the woman who smashed into me, lost the one they had and won’t pay me.  Still. So I’m driving around in a smashed vehicle for almost a year and I’m pissed off about it.

I was going to get the estimate redone tomorrow too since they’re only open during the week, during my work hours, but since I can’t take more than one day off I can’t do that tomorrow either.

My cable and internet that was supposed to be hooked up today, isn’t. Again.

Things that were supposed to be only a little expensive, came with hidden costs.

My power steering system, which I just paid a few hundred dollars to fix, is making noise again.

I wanted to take a day off tomorrow to take care of all of this and I can’t. I’m stuck.

And I don’t want any of this.

My heart is not in any of this.

I will do it all.  I will take care of it.  I will print things tomorrow, and get photos done tomorrow, and hopefully get things signed and notarized tomorrow, I will make the phone call to the auto shop tomorrow.  I will get it all done and ready so I can go where I need to go on Wednesday.

I will stop whining.

But tonight I am mad. Tonight I am frustrated beyond my tolerance. Tonight I feel alone and overwhelmed and angry. Tonight I just want what I can’t have, and I can’t do anything about it.

So, I’ll cry myself to sleep.

Tomorrow I’ll get up and go to work, and I’ll work my way through my list of things that need doing and I will be one step closer to what I really do want. Tomorrow I will feel better.

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International relationship

January 31, 2009 at 11:54 am (let me explain, life is short)

It’s phone calls, bad connections, juggling time zones, making dates to make those calls.  Cell phone international packages, Skype, text messages, language barriers and dropped calls. It’s my heart jumping every time my phone rings and my smile when I see his name and hear his voice.

It’s three continents, four countries, two and a half languages, passports, visas, airports, paperwork, customs, schedules, 10 days vacation per year, airline miles, 12 hour overnight flights, reunions that are so happy I cry, goodbyes that are so hard I cry.

Conversations through emails, websites, long discussions spread over days, photos and a big dose of imagination and learning to communicate in ways we didn’t know we could.  It’s spending an hour chatting about nothing, or an hour talking about down and deep life. It’s never enough time. It’s patience, worry, distance, silence, trust.  Absolute trust.  It’s hard, and sad and wonderful and happy. It’s figuring out early on that it’s all worth it.  That a few thousand miles and time are nothing if that’s the cost of this.

It’s deliberate care, huge Fedex expense, and mail that gets lost for months. It’s plans and anticipation, excitement and big smiles, and the horrible empty space.  It’s the day we don’t have to say goodbye anymore. It’s what we do because to not do it would be…  No.   Unthinkable.

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Einstein knew

March 31, 2007 at 10:38 am (Just for fun, let me explain)

“Grinds have their place, but unruly geeks change the world.” — Wired Magazine

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More casualties

December 12, 2006 at 6:34 am (Texas, let me explain)

When I went in to the rig job office today to turn in my uniforms and give a letter of explanation to the Human Resources manager I found out more.

My trainer who was fighting off an anxiety attack by the end of the shift lost that fight and had to be taken to the hospital directly from the rig because things got worse after I left.

Another new hire who started her shift an hour before I left has quit also after only 3 days. She was in the office today asking about her pay and returning her uniforms also. She had the exact same problems as I did and refused to work under such a hostile manager. Good for her.

One of the remaining crew members of the original 7 that I worked with also quit the day after I did. Good for him.

I’m glad I went to the office today and heard all of that. Now I know it wasn’t just me who couldn’t (and shouldn’t have to) handle it, and if I have to defend the letter I wrote there are other people who will cover my back. Those managers were scary and I don’t want them coming after me when they get fired.

I’m also glad I got to spend the day today with the kids. We hung out and talked while driving, then we stopped for a smoothie. How glad am I that I’m here with them instead of stuck in the middle of the gulf in Hell without them?

Merry Christmas to all. Even you, crazy managers.

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Total bust

December 7, 2006 at 2:43 pm (Texas, Work, let me explain)

It worked out exactly like it was supposed to. Just not what I expected.

After waking up at 12:30 am, then driving a couple of hours in the dark through a really creepy part of Texas, I got to the rig site just a little after 4am. I was supposed to sign it an 6.

I knew I was going to a shipyard, but I thought I would be staying and working in a dorm type facility. Good thing I didn’t because I found out later that the dorm area has rats. Big ones. Last week’s crew got to sleep with them, and I’m totally not making that up.

Instead, we were staying right on the rig, even though it’s only about 20 feet off-shore while it’s being retrofitted. So, even though it wasn’t far, and it was only for one day, I can say I’ve worked on an oil rig off shore. Do I get points for that?

I don’t know where to begin in telling you how bad it was. Should I talk about the manager who belittled, insulted, badgered and abused her employees all day? Who looked at them like they were dog shit on her shoe? Who accused them of not doing things they had just obviously finished, or of doing things they never did? Who called them stupid? And practically spit on them because they “ruined” her birthday?

Should I talk about her boss who showed up to chastise the whole crew and screamed at them, telling them how worthless and retarded they all were? Then slapped one of them?

Should I talk about the laundry detergent and cleaning solutions that are still burning my eyes and nose almost 5 hours after I left? Or the raw spots I already have on the back of my hands from tearing beds apart?

Should I talk about how after working for 10 hours they told me I wasn’t getting paid for the day because my logistics manager accidentally sent me out one day early and I technically wasn’t supposed to be there yet?

Should I talk about only getting a 20 minute lunch break during a 12 hour shift because we showed up to lunch 40 minutes late? Because we were finishing a project the manager made us do? And how she talked to us like we were thieves and bastards because we wanted the whole hour? Maybe it was the lack of sleep and the cornbread brick that almost made me choke that put me over the edge. It was about the end of lunch time that I started to cry, but I stuck around thinking I was just tired and it would get better. I was still crying when I drove home 5 hours later.

Crying like a little girl. I’m disgusted with myself for that.

Maybe I should talk about my trainer who was just trying to get through her day without quitting herself, and didn’t quite make it. She left at the end of the shift with me. So did one other guy. That’s three employees lost out of seven, on one shift. I guess that’s three less people to play the “Let’s create extra work for the next shift becuase they left extra work for me” game. Three less employees to bicker and back-bite. Three less employees to hate each other. Three less employees to insult each other all day long.

At the beginning of the day I thought my biggest problem was going to be the ongoing conversation my trainer was having with me that I couldn’t understand because she’s from southern Louisiana and has the Cajun accent to prove it. I’m not sure she actually paused for breath. Well, except during the deep breaths she took at the end of the day as she was fighting off the anxiety attack. It started when she was told to work off the clock for an extra hour re-doing stuff the manager decided she hadn’t done the first time, even though I was there when she did it.

Is there good news? Of course there is. You see that ramp in the picture? It’s attached to dirt. Dry land. As in not in the middle of the Gulf. Out of all the rigs I could have been assigned to, this is the only one I could walk off. Otherwise I’d be stuck out on it with those people for two weeks.

Also, I’m proud of myself for not putting up with the shit. I’ve never quit a job on the first day before and I hate that I did. But! There was a long stretch of time when I would have taken the crap and dealt with the abuse because I didn’t think I could do better. I told the manager that I could handle the job if I needed to, but I don’t need to. And I don’t want to. I have better options and deserve better treatment.

I missed my family and I hated every minute of it. I have never had a worse day that I can remember.

I am so glad to be home.

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Confession is good for the ears

July 26, 2006 at 11:59 pm (let me explain)

For some reason, I always cry when I go to the doctor. As soon as they call my name, my lip starts to tremble and I have to control my voice when I explain my problem. Kind of like I’m confessing a horrible deed. Why is that?

As I was telling this unfamiliar doctor, in an unfamiliar town, about my itchy ears and spinning head, I kept having to wipe my eyes. He must have thought I was there for some antidepressants instead of ear drops. What is it about talking to the doc that feels so shameful and guilty? I didn’t stick sharp tools in my ears, and I don’t even own a q-tip, so this double swimmer’s ear is not my fault. I hate that it feels that way. Like I’m defective. Like he’ll think my nasty ears are a reflection of my soul. My soul feels fine, thank you very much.

Here’s your prescription. That’ll be six drops per ear, three times a day, and 15 hail Mary’s.

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Be ye warned.

July 22, 2006 at 4:56 am (let me explain)

I used to have another blog. Sort of a secret blog. I figured I’d write our family stuff here, and use the blog for secrets and harsh words that I didn’t want some family or friends to read.

Turns out I don’t really have that many secrets or harsh words. Go figure.

So, I moved almost all of the old posts from that blog over to this one. If you look at the archives, you’ll see that they have grown quite a bit. I actually started the other blog before this one, so the first couple of months of the archives are all from there, but there are others mixed in all through the whole thing.

Read with caution, I cursed a few times in those old posts. I think you can handle it.

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With arms wide open

May 29, 2006 at 8:25 am (Family, Travel, let me explain)

There was a new church built near our house in California several years ago. The kids begged me to take them when it was done, so I did. During the service at different times, usually when there was music, I remember watching a few people stand up and throw their arms out wide. They would stand there with their heads tipped back and a smile on their faces, hands turned up. I cried because it really bothered me that I didn’t get that feeling from church. I think I was jealous of their happiness. What must it feel like to have that kind of Arms Wide Open joy? Church was not my joy, even though there was a time that I wish it was.

Today in Austin, TX I have just spent the first two of five days with my family on a road trip in our little Moho. We spent those days with new friends. Two families who had that joy on their faces, not just for a little while, but all day long. They had that excitement about life, and family, and love that most people only have during special moments. We all talked for hours about our plans, and our lives, and our families in a way that almost never happens with strangers. We connected. We were feelin’ the love.

At dusk back at the campground, as I was walking back towards the Moho by myself, surrounded by warm air, oak trees and the glow of late sunset, thinking back about these two days, our new friends and looking forward to spending the evening with my family, I smiled and threw my head back and walked with my arms wide open.

This is my church.

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