Moojinorbit

Well, I could’ve asked that my car not be broken into while it sat innocently in the Park n Ride waiting for me to get back. I didn’t notice anything until I’d hauled my fat ass suitcase into the trunk and sat in the driver’s seat, at which point I wondered, “why is there a big pile of glass on the passenger seat and floor? And where in the hell is my ignition?”

I’m grateful that it hasn’t happened before now, as I’ve been driving what I’ve been told is one of the most desirable cars to steal because of the supposed ease of stealing. But I’ve been using this parking lot for a good six years, whenever I have to travel through DIA. These boys were obviously less than skilled because after busting up the steering column and the passenger window they did not manage to actually steal my 1998 Honda Civic and instead just molested her and bailed. And the parking lot armed security didn’t seem to notice anybody attempting to violate my Jezebel.

I know why this happened. It’s because Lucille, the plastic monitor lizard that usually sits in my back window watching out for predators, is currently protecting Andria Marshall and her new VW on her vision quest. (If you look carefully, you can see her on the dashboard in this picture.) This only makes me happier that Lucille’s with Andria, because clearly she’s been scaring off criminals for the last 7 years. A few weeks without her and poor Jezebel was ravaged.

I think this means you need to come home soon, Marshall.

I leave today for Naples, Florida, where I’ll be visiting dear old friends Wendy & Linda. I’m looking forward to it–to lying around, going to the beach, cable surfing, listening to Linda play her fiddle, cocktail hour, witty grousing, and just being around friends for a week. There’s no getting out of the fact that I’ll have to squeeze end-of-quarter grading in between all that, but it’ll be out of my office, and that’s beautiful. I’ll miss family (love you, Sweet Mom), but it’ll also be a nice change of scenery. I haven’t spent much time in Florida, being a California girl.

I’m relieved that classes are over. I’m officially burnt out and desperately needing this break from teaching I’m coming into. I just don’t want to be standing in front of people running the show for awhile. I want to get away from all those pairs of eyes.

I’m going to catch up on the television train wreck that is A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila and then post about it.

I’m also gonna take pictures of the scenery and fill you in.

Hey, did I tell you that a woman asked for my phone number when I was bartending another wedding Friday night? That was interesting.

And when I get back it’s time to pony up and spend the next four months working on book revisions without the distraction of teaching. Whoa.

Okay, well, this was unthemed and incoherent, so there.

There,
through the clear ice:
halted, drowsy, intact
the rainbow trout
simply surrenders,
still moving.

It’s a good thing we didn’t light the hotel on fire with 80 candles on that ginger bread cake.
Good thing all the guests showed up; we were a little worried there for awhile.
Good thing the weather worked out, so there were almost no excuses.
Good thing the folks from Alabama got to Cheyenne safely, and only talked about Jesus for about 15 minutes (straight).
Good thing Bill and Mary and Reilly were there with me. I know it wouldn’t have been nearly as fun for me without them.

Good thing people knew how to make conversation, ‘cuz it was an alcohol-free birthday bash.
Good thing folks at the Ron Paul fundraiser across the hall didn’t crash our party, cuz we ran low on appetizers.
Good thing Reilly could watch Sponge Bob on Bill’s iFone, because 4 hours of old people is a lot for a little guy.

Good thing we followed through and did this, because I think the whole thing had a healing effect on my dad. I got a gushing thank you note in the mail yesterday.
Good thing humans sometimes have the capacity to put the past in the past and find ways to love each other today.
I’m so happy that we pulled off a good thing.

This blog has kept me relatively regular in my non-academic writing, but it’s odd sometimes to turn to a venue with an audience for what basically boils down to journaling. I’m doing a little private journaling on the side right now, and that’s good, but sometimes the blog is a better incentive for putting it all out there, as it were.

Ok, this for Marshall in particular, in reference to the Celebrity Nanalogies post and “the process”. Grandpa, I’ll try to write about Frightmare next.

Facing up to an addictive pattern is a bitch, but it also brings this new, if delicate, feeling of honest dignity. It’s a cleansing. Right now I’m looking back at my life with a new lens, and not only do I more clearly see the intensely regular pattern I was cycling in (a pattern I was already pretty well aware of) but I also, maybe for the first time, feel less bewildered and helpless in the face of it. I see that the pattern has been, for real, a kind of addiction–and suddenly I understand why heroin movies are one of my favorite genres.

I always thought it was the other people in my life with the addictions–to work, pot, alcohol, food, exercise, anger–whatever. I never saw myself as having an addictive personality, but damn if that’s not true. My addiction played out in my choice of partners who wanted (needed) me for a set of qualities and skills I provided (heck, I’d spent my whole life building those skills and qualities), but who were for whatever particular reasons unable to rise to the kind of presence and commitment I needed (or at least when I needed it). I was addicted to people with certain kinds of wounds, addicted to trying to turn inequalties into equality, trying to take what was and turn it into something different, something deeper and higher and, I thought, healing for me. Trying to inspire others to change/grow/heal, while I was not the (main) problem; the classic marker of codependence.

Urp. Just threw up a little.

The good news is that I think I got incrementally closer to what I wanted with each relationship, which has to be an indicator of growth. And I started to learn how to articulate my actual truths, instead of stuffing them away and biding my time while putting someone else’s needs way before my own. I also began to notice and be able to restrain the urge to change/”grow” my partners. I learned a lot about being present, and about love, and about letting go. I thank God for all the lessons, even the ones that broke me in some way. I’m grateful that in this universe the fact is that if we choose the “right” path or the “wrong” path, we’re going to grow either way; it’s just a matter of how long we’re going to let it take and how much damage we’re going to wreak in the process. The good news is also that people, including me, do heal and grow.

But, screw it; this is not just an intellectual exercise. I’m doing the 12 steps. I’m doing it because it helps, and because it’s a concrete path out of unhealthy patterns (not to mention much cheaper than therapy). It helps to have a framework. It helps to hear people talk about their own addictive crap, which, in the meetings I’ve been going to (yes, you heard me right) is mainly about sex, love, relationships, or emotional avoidance. Some of these folks are WAY more f’d up than I am, some of them have done crazy, crazy things, some of them have the same core issues as the people I’ve partnered with, yet despite our differences I can find bits of things they say that I relate to or learn from. And it helps to own up to what’s happened as a product of my life experiences and my attendant choices, rather than feeling like, “why the hell does this hurtful stuff keep happening to me, poor, innocent me?” It’s a whopper of a consciousness raising experience, I’ll tell you what. It’s not inconsistent with the spiritual philosophies I’ve been embracing anyway.

Steps 1-3 are about admitting that whatever it is has become unmanageable and giving it up to a higher power. Step 4 is about taking a fearless inventory of how exactly it has impacted my life. That’s more or less where I am. It’s quite an awakening.

Anyway, little steps, little dignities.