Sometimes I really love google. After I started to get yet another tension headache (and yes, they are called that) I googled it to see if these kinds of headaches were common. I didn’t expect to find much because I’ve been assuming that my headaches are the result of my anxiety and stress. Imagine my surprise when on the first site I found this from Baby Center:

It’s not unusual to get tension headaches when you’re pregnant, especially in the first trimester. Tension headaches — the most common kind of headache — can feel like a squeezing pain or a steady dull ache on both sides of the head or the back of the neck.

Holy crap! That is exactly the kind of headache I’m getting! I don’t know why, but it makes me feel a lot better that these headaches are common during the first trimester (which I’m technically still in for two more weeks). At least I know it’s not just my stress and anxiety run amok!

Other physical things I’ve been thinking of a lot lately are weight gain and “showing”. So far I’ve gained no weight (at least my weight at my 12 week appointment was the same as my weight at my six week appointment, almost exactly) and am not showing at all. I don’t know how to feel about this. I’m obviously not upset that I haven’t gained weight, though I do worry that that means I’m not eating enough. I know when I’m stressed and have a lot of work to do I don’t eat as much as I would otherwise. I had gained three pounds when I was dealing with morning sickness but since it passed I guess I’ve lost all that. I just want to make sure that my baby is getting all the nutrients that s/he needs to grow.

As far as showing, I am a little disappointed it hasn’t happened yet. Maybe I feel like when I start showing people will really think I’m pregnant and I can really, truly abandon the first trimester I’m-pregnant-but-not-in-anyone’s-mind-but-my own head space. Dr. Google (and many, many pregnant women on message boards) inform me that every woman, and pregnancy, is different and I might need maternity pants at 10 weeks (well I know that isn’t the case) or not show until after week 18. I suppose the fact that a program called “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant” (the insanity of which I could write an entire blog about) actually exists, and runs multiple episodes, is proof that some people really never get very big. I have to say, while I have no desire to gain 60+ pounds during this pregnancy I do want to get big and round. I suppose only time will tell, and I certainly don’t want to sound flippant or unappreciative of what I have when I write this, but this is my blog and I’ve vowed to be honest: I really will be sad if I have to wait util 18+ weeks to get my baby bump.

Sometimes I think of how little time there is until June and I know that this is going to happen very, very quickly. When I think of how few weekends I have left to sleep in or opportunities to just see a movie if I so desire, I’m sure it will be over before I know it. But other times, when I think of how slowly the last 8 weeks have passed and how many, many weeks I have left to go, I fear I will never get there. I’m impatient to really start feeling and looking pregnant. To see a baby bump and feel kicking inside of me. I know that once that comes, everything will move more very fast, but I’m still impatient to get there. It’s hard to accept that time will move in the way it will move, despite my every desire otherwise. I’m so glad that the next month will move more quickly than others, because I’m so done with this first trimester. 14 weeks, where are you!?

BUENAS NOTICIAS – I got quite a few wonderful comments of congratulations yesterday, which I really appreciate. Thanks everyone!

It was the Sunday before Thanksgiving. I had just emptied the joint bank account because he had spent all of his own money plus a big chunk of our security deposit check from the last apartment we were thrown out of.

I was sitting on the couch, working but about to go to bed. It was almost midnight. I heard him stomping up the stairs and then straight up into the office once he got in. He then stomped (even harder) downstairs and shouted, “Oh, no, the babies [cats] can’t go to the bathroom because SOMEONE didn’t clean the bathroom and now there’s shit all over the floor!”.  I didn’t say anything, I was just confused, and I didn’t even move from the couch. I watched him go into the downstairs bathroom, scream and slam the cabinet door loudly and hard several times until I heard something smash.

He came out of the bathroom and yelled,  “obviously you haven’t been to the bathroom in a really long time because there’s been a broken lightbulb all over the floor since 6.30pm!”. It didn’t make any sense because he had left around 4.30pm and had only just got back. He reeked of alcohol. He kept telling me to clean it up, insulting me. I didn’t say anything. I just asked him to keep it down.

He lunged at me and crushed me with his body weight a few times, squeezing my arms, and pressing my right eyeball very hard with his long talon-like thumbnail (I had double-vision and my contact almost broke),  even though the entire time I neither touched him nor moved from my position on the couch. He was screaming at me that  people “know” about me, and that when I had my “fit” the previous day (i.e. the incident when I rightfully but rationally yelled at him for stealing money from the joint account), there were witnesses in the room. I told him that no-one was there but he told me that there were “relationship experts on the internet” in a webcam he had set up, even though he was pointing to an empty space on the living room cabinet (there was no webcam). He grabbed my laptop, slamming it shut, and proclaimed he was going to call his boss, then dropped the computer (fairly hard) on the floor. It wouldn’t switch on at all right after that. He had broken it. I couldn’t believe it. I ended up having to send it off to have the hard drive replaced, losing everything I had on there.

He complained about the glass again and inbetween shouting, screaming, crushing me, hitting me and stomping up and down the stairs (each time with a promise that he would leave me alone), he came downstairs to get a tall glass (one of the landlord’s) and hurled it to the floor as hard as he could, sending glass flying everywhere. This was in the living room. He pretended to scream and shout while stepping on the glass, complaining that he was bleeding and that it was my fault because I wasn’t picking up the glass (he tried to insist that I was the one who had broken it). The entire time his volume level was inexplicable. He screamed and shouted so much but all I kept trying to do was beg him to stop shouting. He grabbed me and slammed me into the floorboards, holding my arms behind my back and pressing me down to the floor.

He stood in front of me and asked me if I wanted Christian Day or Laurie Cabot, and then took his flaccid penis out of his trousers and jiggled it in his hand in front of me, saying he had “it” (or them, I forget), “right here”. He then crushed me again and told me that I was Christian Day and Laurie Cabot, and that I was everything that was wrong with this town. He wasn’t making any sense.

Upstairs he grabbed me and threw me to the floor, bruising the small of my back. He again crushed me with his body weight, sitting on my torso, crushing my ribs and making it difficult for me to breathe. He grabbed my arms and forced my hands into fists, and used them to beat both sides of my face (including my temples and my cheeks) as hard as he could, leaving blood, split skin and painful bruising. He told me that I secretly liked white people but that I also hated them, and that I should re-affirm my [apparently horrible] Muslim faith by saying ‘allah akhbar’. He was whispering it into my ear in a maniacal, chilling whisper over and over, trying to get me to say it. I tried stroking his face lovingly to try to snap him out of it, but he ignored it. He kept his face close to mine, the way normal couples do when they’re dancing happily, but instead he was crushing me and whispering to me like a serial killer.

This entire ordeal went on for about an hour and a half. The police finally showed up while I was in tears and visibly bruised. Even though they told me the neighbours could only hear him, they warned the both of us. The next morning he blamed me for it, but he admitted that he was still out of it at that point.

After he had thrown up several times, he remembered that he had gone out drinking with his boss, and that he had only had a couple of drinks (but admittedly little to no food), and that he didn’t remember what happened. He was suddenly very apologetic, and felt ashamed. He told me that the way he “flipped out” on me was the same way that his mother had when she was both bipolar and an alcoholic. He was terrified of himself, and tried to hug me, but I only returned the hug to keep the peace.

He was out of control. And he admitted it. And I was really hoping that this would be a turning point for him, a wake-up call to the things he himself (without any influence from me or any of his blame puppets) is capable of doing. The unstoppable horror he can inflict on me.

But I was wrong.

He was laughing about it with his boss and friends, downplaying the whole thing in front of me with each person he would come across while I sat or stood there, privately humiliated but knowing the truth.

Soon he was back to his usual self, irresponsible, blame-shifting and selfish. Taking out his forgetful, drug-addled, paranoid mess of a personality on me. Reminding me that I [somehow] chased away his friends [even the ones I never met!] and that I like to get hit [hence why I don't shut up when I am told]. Lying to his friends and making it look as though I’m a horrible, controlling person and then slamming the door in my face/hanging up on me before I can explain that this persona he’s carved out to show for his friends is not what they would see if they had bothered to think beyond his controlling, convincing lies. All they see is the irritated me, the leftover carcass of geniality because I don’t know how to act around people who are too stupid to wonder whether or not I’m a balanced, human person who has her own side of the story. From the way he paints things (and on such a consistent, dedicated and spiteful level), it’s no wonder if his friends don’t hang out with him, because they’re sick of hearing him complain, or they just don’t want to walk into the middle of the manic episodes that he only dispenses to me in front of an audience.

Tonight I talked to him on eggshells. I told him I was worried because to make rent, I had to dip into the immigration fund money. AGAIN. I was all set to file the day before he broke the computer. I can’t make rent by myself every month. Not only did he not contribute this month, but he took part of what I was planning to contribute, and he tried to blame me for it, saying that I should have known somehow that he was spending irreplaceable money on unimportant things. I didn’t mention any blame or any of that, just that we were now in a situation where I can’t support myself without stealing from my own immigration fund.

He tried to tell me that it was my fault because I didn’t “visualize” the US as my home and that my parents “bailed us out” too many times. Idiocy, stupidity, moronic bullshit – visualizing does nothing to help a purely practical situation. If my parents hadn’t “bailed us out”, we would have been homeless. I would not have “figured it out” like he said. It’s clear that he’s incapable of having a mature conversation, especially with someone from a completely different country, going through everything he’s never known anyone to go through. He hasn’t even been outside of this tiny cluster of states. He had no idea what he was talking about, and he had drunk almost a whole pint of rum (which he had bought after screaming at me when I told him not to steal any of the landlord’s expensive liquor).

He blew me off, deciding for me that the only reason that I was bringing this up at all was to cause him misery/because I want to “get hit”/because I want to vent/because it’s all about my mother and my father. His pathetic attempts at pop psychology notwithstanding, he seemed incapable of having a mature conversation with me, regardless of the time. He was rude, spiteful, childish and his inexperience completely stank up the conversation. It’s clear – in a situation like this, he would go back to being homeless. He would have been since November 2007 if he hadn’t swept me into a joint lease with him in our first apartment. He was just using me.

Even when he’s nice, I have to remember how quickly he can change. I can’t let my guard down and do any favours for him. I can’t let him think that he can walk all over me. Because then he catches me off-guard by taking control over the conversation, and if I didn’t like it, it meant that I wanted to argue, that I wanted to make him miserable and that I wanted to “get hit”. That mentality – that “she was asking for it” attitude – is now ingrained in his brain for everyday usage, even when psychopaths might think it was a little harsh.

What is it about the holidays that turn people into such unabashed assholes with no care or thought for anyone around them? This is supposed to be the time of year when we all give thanks for our blessings and remember the important things in life: family, honesty, charity, friendship. Yet, everywhere I turn there is another crazy, middle-aged woman in an SUV cussing like a sailor and losing all control of her faculties over the smallest of grievances. This is not to say the problem only exists among women of this age demographic—no this issues spans all ages, races, sexes and denominations.

Why is it so difficult for us all just to be kind to one another? It isn’t as if it’s more painful or even all that difficult to keep your head about you even during the holidays. This anger… frustration… animosity—whatever it is—catches like wildfire. Still, the opposite is true, so shouldn’t we all want our kindness and benevolence toward others to be contagious rather than our general disdain for anyone who even slightly inconveniences us?

Now, don’t get me wrong… I am far from perfect. I think my inner grouch is most often revealed while driving. I can’t stand slow drivers and I’m terribly impatient. Still, I try to recognize when I’m getting frustrated at a driver who has no control over the situation on the road. There is a big difference between getting irritated with a driver who is going 20mph under the speed limit in the fast lane with plenty of room to move over and let other pass and a driver who cannot move because there is a wreck up ahead.

Today I was in line for the ATM at Chase, and the line extended all the way to the entrance of the lot almost into the street. Like most drive-thru teller and ATM areas, there is basically one circular direction you can go in to get where you want to go, and this circle happened to be blocked by the long line of cars waiting for the ATM. So I sat and waited, seeing up ahead that each car had moved up as close as they could to the car in front of them, as a lady in an SUV had an absolute conniption fit because she couldn’t get through the line of cars. There was not a single place for any of those cars to go until the one in front moved through, and yet there she was, banging on the steering wheel, yelling profanities at the stationary cars, and looking like a fool in general. Finally, the car in the very front of the line moved, and SUV lady tried to cut off the car in front of me by getting dangerously close and accelerating inch by inch (still in conniption-fit mode) to show she wanted to get across. The car in front of me, for whatever reason, moved forward in line instead of letting her through. I stayed stationary to let her pass in between our two cars, but by this point she was too busy freaking out to notice that I had extended this courtesy to her, and she began flooring it in reverse through the drive next to the ATM. Now really, lady…. Was that necessary?

This kind of immature, antagonistic behavior is all over this holiday season, and the only remedy is to KILL IT with kindness. It’s difficult to be pissed at someone who is being nice to you… even if you were particularly pissed to begin with and only just came in contact with said nice person. More often than not, that kindness and positive attitude will actually overpower the crabby negative one and leave that jerk with a smirk. So, why not give it a try? Instead of losing your temper and blaming everyone around you for your crappy day, give out the kindness you hope to receive in return.

I realize the Golden Rule is pretty old school, and we should all know it well by now, but maybe we all need a little reminder how well it works… and how much better you feel when you take the high road.

So kill them all with kindness this holiday season.

hello nice reederz its dennis the vizsla dog hay wel it wuz not all fun and games over the thanksgiving holiday their wuz also sum seeryus bizness wot got dun for instanse trixie got a grooming followd by anuther bath!!! the horror!!! now of korse first i had to chek it owt to mayk shoor their wuz no funny bizness going on like sumbuddy handing owt treets withowt letting me no abowt it:

nope no treets gitting handed owt ok kerry on brush brush brush ok thats enuf grooming trixie time to pay attenshun to dennis!!!

oh sorry trixie did i shuv yoo owt of the way and nok yoo down??? that wuz verry rood of me!!! i wil never do it agin!!!

wel yoo no never is a verry verry strong wurd ha ha ok bye

The first day in weeks with absolutely no medication at all; hallelujah, what a milestone! The day also marked my first trip outside the house in weeks, but for the few doctor appointments that I was chauffeured to; there and back.

Today I had to get out. Not because I felt the overwhelming need that had crept up and seized me so many times in the previous weeks, but for sheer necessity alone; proving that I was capable and come Monday, could face the alarm clock, pick myself up, drive myself to the office and get on with my life.

I had a little list; things that I’d been meaning to ask for, but kept putting off. And so I decided a short trip to the drugstore would be a good test; nothing too strenuous, just a few miles from home.

Mind you, I’ve only had to make my way around my house on crutches, so I was thankful for the wheelchair just inside the front doors at Walgreens, and my son had a blast pushing me around with the little blue basket in my lap, filling it as we traversed row after row.

Our errand was accomplished and we even managed a few laughs and giggles in the process. We left the wheelchair at the door and I crutched it back to the van, which was in the front row, just a few spaces from the door. However, I’m not able to drive with the cast, so I have to remove it, which is no small feat let me tell you, even though it’s made to be removable.

So, I’m trying to do all this on my own, even though my son wants to help, because come Monday, I’ll be on my own and need to get the process down. So the cast is off and I’m slipping on a shoe so I could drive, trying to position the cast and crutches between the two front seats for easy access and I hear someone honking their horn.

We turned to look and there’s this woman with who I assume is her daughter, stopped at the end of the car beside us; her blinker is on and clearly she’s wanting my spot, but apparently I’m not moving fast enough for her.

We ignore her and go about our business. He gets in as I’m still messing with the crutches and I start the van and she honks again; this time a little longer, a little more annoying. In much more of a hurry now for me to get the hell out of her way; and I feel my blood pressure begin to rise.

We were putting on our seatbelts just as the driver of the car parked beside us comes out of the store and gets in their car, but not before she honks again! And so I wait.

And while I wait I put the passenger window down, knowing she’s about to pull in beside us, just as Cole puts the hood of his sweatshirt up and slowly eases his seat back out of the line of fire.

She whips her car in, looks at me with a scowl on her face and throws her hands up as if to say, “What the Fuck.” I’m leaning over toward the window now waiting for her to emerge, and I saw the scowl disappear when looked over and saw my position at the ready, then turned back and fumbled with her bag. Her teenage daughter got out before her and gave me an apologetic look which I completely ignored.

The moment her head cleared the door I pounced….

“Excuse me, ma’am,” I said a little louder than probably necessary, but wanting to be certain not to miss this opportunity, lest I would be forced to cast back up and follow her into the store. She looked at me and cocked her head, as I was continuing to infringe on her precious time.

“ I’m sorry I wasn’t moving fast enough for you; I was busy adjusting my crutches and fixing my leg before I could pull out and drive off”, and picked up my crutches from between the seats for affect, which caused her face to pale and eyes to widen just enough to be noticeable. She stood there for a moment looking at me, but still said nothing. My point was made, but I wasn’t quite done.

“Perhaps if you weren’t in such a fucking hurry and obviously too lazy to walk a few extra steps, you might have noticed the row of empty parking spaces right behind us!” She slammed her door and mumbled something under her breath then yelled at her daughter who was lingering at the front of the car, craning her neck so as not to miss a thing.

I calmly pulled out of my spot as she walked toward the door. I then backed up so that I was even with where she was on the sidewalk and blared my horn long and loud, refrained from telling her she was a stupid bitch, and then calmly drove off.

I apologized to Cole for my ugly behavior and foul mouth. It’s alright,” he said as he pulled his hood down and put his seat back up.” I just wanted to get out of your way because I had a feeling what was coming.” I smiled at him, not knowing if that was a good thing or not.

“She just messed with the wrong person who doesn’t take any crap,” he said. “Besides, maybe it was a good lesson for her. Maybe that’ll make her stop and think twice, the next time she’s in a big hurry.”

Maybe it will…

Hasty and adventurous schemes are at first view flattering, in execution difficult, and in the issue disastrous.

"The Cyclopaedia of Practical Quotations, English and Latin: With an Appendix Containing Proverbs …"

foto – izzy foreal with a box of vegies at murwillumbah 2008

Voilà, demain je sors de l’hôpital… En attendant ce moment avec impatience, je regarde Ratatouille.

Encore merci à vous tous pour vos chaleureux messages de soutien et d’accompagnement… J’en ai bien besoin car mon combat va me prendre encore bien trois ans alors… Continuez!

In a sense I suppose.

I am engaging in some good, old-fashioned procrastination: an essay to write that I can’t be bothered to start but once I have it should be all fine!

I started back at uni today after two weeks on placement in school. Before I started my placement I was in a deep well of despair. I was centimetres away from quitting the whole damn thing – never quite felt so desperate. I had said to myself that I would finish my two weeks in school and if I’d not had a change of heart by the point it was time to do some serious thinking about a ‘plan B’. I don’t see myself as a quitter, I’m pretty stubborn when it comes to most things and the idea of giving up on something usually makes me wrinkle my nose in distain but this was something different, I wasn’t coping and more to the point I couldn’t see the point.
The two weeks didn’t start well in that the school wasn’t expect myself or my school partner (who is lovely and really helped me enjoy my time there), so that didn’t kick-start everything in the most positive of ways. Secondly, our PST (personal school tutor/class teacher) doesn’t teach on Mondays so we were flung into the classroom and left to mooch around, I suppose. Not the best Monday I’ve ever had but we soldiered on and, it was worth it. Our class teacher is the most lovely person I could have wished for and completely reinstalled my desire to teach…along with a little help from the children, too. The school is small; a smidge under 100 children with 3.5 classrooms (a Foundation unit is in the middle of being built hence the .5) there is such a community spirit it’s quite enlightening and we both felt part of it from the second day onwards.
It was brilliant taking Phonics lessons; or reading a story about a boy who flies his aeroplane to the moon and meets a martian who crash landed there; or taking a P.E. lesson where the children were aliens and had to move around at different speeds and in different directions according to how they felt an alien might. I felt entirely in my element.

Monday 23rd November 2009 and all aboard the university train once more. Boo.
As I sat in a lecture this afternoon I felt all the enthusiasm drain out of me and run, screaming for the door. But I wasn’t about to follow it. These last two weeks have taught me, if nothing else, that this is where I want to be and I’ll just have to take the rough with the smooth – however mind-numbingly dull and awful it may be.

So back to the essay train I shall take myself, dragging my heels as I go – but hey, no pain no gain, right?

Listening to: Marina and the Diamonds – I Am Not A Robot

Life is simple today, of all days.

She skips jauntily into the darkness with her friends

With his arm around her shoulder.

They leave the light, the music,

The people who babble and converse

Like a massive intersection of so many brooks.

They leave the world behind

They enter the theatre.

They all talk quietly amongst themselves

Like a secret group

Secretly meeting

Secretly.

They toss around lighthearted jokes

And “That’s What She Saids”

Like any high schoolers would.

Laughing

Like most high schoolers would.

She sits in a chair, as he does

Facing him, talking to the group

His arm still around her shoulder.

He is her leg rest today

Like most days.

Today, he lightly strokes her calf

Today, he sends shivers up her spine

And back down again.

He is gentle unlike most high school boys

He respects her.

Unlike most high school boys.

And she can’t stand it

Because she can’t have him.

Not yet.

Not until January.

And it kills her.

Later, she sits in his lap in the passenger seat of his brother’s car

Laughing with him

His brother sits in the driver’s seat.

His brother is not amused.

She and his brother are a story that was never written,

Mainly because she didn’t want it to be written.

So it wasn’t written.

His brothers words echo in her mind:

“You stay away from my brother,

You hear?”

And she heard.

But that doesn’t mean she plans to obey.

Instead, she talks to him

She walks with him,

his arm around her shoulder

She sits in his lap

She sits by him and laughs with him.

It pisses his brother off

But it doesn’t matter.

She can’t have him anyways.

But is this infatuation different from

All those other infatuated moments;

Does it set itself apart?

She doesn’t know.

She can’t know.

All she knows is the thought of him sends shivers up her spine

And back down again.

alice.

While it’s true that Life has a way of throwing unwanted curve balls sometimes, the pleasant curve balls come flying through sometimes as well. I spent one hard core week pouring over GRE math books. Working really hard and applying myself. I also have been spending quality time testing out gym classes to give myself a necessary alternative to jarring cardio machines that break body and mind. My impatience battled my spirit with both projects. But I’m equally determined to win over that flaw in both scenarios. 

Shahaf came to the states to play poker for a good month, and stopped in NY for a bit before heading to Vegas. He told me that if he does well he would fly me out to be his break because he tends to spend too much time in the hotel and not enjoy anything while there. I laughed and said I could totally drop what I’m doing and come over if that turned out to be the case. I didn’t really expect it though. 

But sure enough, most of the way through that intense GRE week, he FB chatted me one night saying I should purchase a ticket. It took me a good 24 hours to complete that task due to my disbelief, and slight guilt accepting. But he was serious and even got a bit pissed at my lingering, so I bought a ticket to Vegas on Thursday night for Sunday morning. I was going to Rosi for Shabbat dinner with Bess & Deb, and then lunch at Dov & Aura. I couldn’t think of a more perfect way to spend a weekend. And even better- when I got to D&A I found out that Lady would be there too! Much Red was drunk, (or dranken?) much conversation, gossip, and love spread around. And I was happy.

The curmudgeon types have been bemoaning the “need it now” attitude of today’s society.  Thanks to computers and a general loss of patience, people expect stuff right away.  Three day delivery isn’t good enough, it has to be overnighted.  If someone doesn’t answer an e-mail within five minutes, they are lazy or an a-hole.  Girlfriend doesn’t answer a text message in one minute, she must be cheating.  Everyone expects immediate results, and people get downright surly when things don’t go their way.

This morning I heard a discussion of the New Moon movie on the radio.  That was the first I had ever heard of this series.  I had heard of Twilight, but didn’t know this was all based on a series of books.  I also had no idea it was so popular with tweens, and as I found out during World News Tonight, popular with moms.  They showed scenes of people waiting in line for the film.  Some folks had been waiting over 24 hours.

On Good Morning America, there were scenes of dozens (maybe hundreds) of people waiting in line at an Indiana Meijer store to get their books autographed by Sarah Palin.  CompUSA had pizza parties for people waiting until midnight for the release of Windows 7 a few weeks ago.  There were lines outside Apple Stores when the new iPhone 3GS came out.  Last year, I myself stood in line outside a TigerDirect store for a little while.  Next week, people will be camping outside of big box stores for Black Friday sales.

What gives?  I’m sure there is general agreement with me about my first paragraph.  People are just so gosh-darned impatient these days.  Yet they will stand in line for movies and electronics.

The purpose of this blog to chronicle the good and bad things I did
during the day. This is an introspective blog where I learn about
myself and what things I do well and not so well. This is my story, feel
free to learn as I learn and hopefully I will inspire you in some small
way.

The Good:
Today I challenged myself to improve something for at least one
person today.

How I did it:
Yesterday I read about how to manage email overload.
It was a collection of tips from the Harvard Business Review
(http://hbswk.hbs.edu/archive/4438.html). A practice I chose to
enact involved the frequency of emailing. The author suggested
disabling automaticsending and receiving of email. This way you can
sit down at a set period of time and plow through your emails. After
your done, youcan send a batch of emails out and focus on other tasks.

This alone is interesting; but I felt it would be particularly rewarding
for a colleague of mine. She and I have shared similar issues with
sending email in haste. Often times we try to recall the message, only
to find it’s too late.

I suggested she disable automatic sending this morning.
As luck would have it, later that afternoon she had a mistaken email
she sent. She immediately called the client and asked for him to
disregard the email, but it was never sent! Turns out she set her
Outlook to send emails every 5 minutes, and it hadn’t been sent yet.
The tip saved her reputation and helped her feel more confident in
her job.

SUCCESS!

–

The Bad:
Today I took something too personally and got upset.

How I did it:
A client was having a particularly rough time getting feedback from
our company. On occasion this client tends to get upset when things
are not going well. This time the email sent by the client made me feel
terrible.

How I reacted was inappropriate for the work place.

Instead of staying calm and collected, I felt attacked; as if i did not do
a good enough job. In my haste to respond I made a mistake in my
information (it was not updated). This compounded my feelings of
failure and led me to feel very irate.

After that things settled down and I felt emotionally drained.
The problem would not have been so terrible had I taken a moment
to step back. A growth point for me is to stay un-emotional when
things go wrong.

Positive Ideas:
I found a good WikiHow on patience. Will try to use the tips in
the third piece of advice: “Overcome bouts of impatience”
(http://www.wikihow.com/Be-Patient).

3. Overcome bouts of impatience. In the long run,
developing patience requires a change in your attitude
about life, but you can immediately make progress by
learning to relax whenever you feel impatient. Take a
few deep breaths and just try to clear your mind.
Concentrate on breathing and you’ll be able to get
your bearings.

We live in an age of instant gratification. And the more technologically advanced our world becomes the more impatient we will likely become. We are accustomed to information at our fingertips in seconds, microwave food, drive-thru windows, and next-day shipping. We want it all, and we want it right now.

I admit I struggle with patience. It is not one of my strong points. I simply don’t like to wait. But I’m not talking about a grocery store line type of waiting. It’s deeper than that. When I was single, I hated waiting to meet someone worth marrying. When I face marital challenges, I want instant resolution. When I see character flaws or sin in my life, I desire instant transformation. And so I fuss and fight and try to have things my way and in my timing.

Want the rest of the story? I am writing at Exemplify Online today.

My grandmother told me a story once: when she was little, she used to travel with her father from Florida, to her grandparents in North Carolina.  By car, of course.  Five little girls in one car.  Over and over again, she asked her father:  “What time is it?“  And every time, he would pull out his pocket watch from his pocket and tell her what time it was.  She said that he never grew impatient, and never said a harsh word.

This short film, titled “What is That?”  reminded me of that story.  An article in the NY Times recently wondered if Shouting is the New Spanking.   Like the man in this film (and the parents in that article), I am acquainted with both impatience and shouting.  When I do begin to lose impatience, sometimes I think about the story my grandmother told me, and I try to take a deep breath and regain my composure.  (Deep breathing — so simple, so effective).

My grandmother also told me that during that trip she hounded and hounded her father for a beer.  She was only seven years old at the time, but she had somehow got it into her head that a beer was just the thing to quench her thirst.  Finally, my great-grandfather acquiesced.  He gave her a beer.  She took a great big gulp and found it extremely distasteful.  And she never asked him for a beer again.

The night before my children and I moved out of Lo Debar, I dreamt that I was in the apartment, but it looked different and there was darkness about. A female tried to come in the front door and she had a baby with her. I blocked her way and shouted that she can’t come in because we hadn’t even left yet. Then I started talking to a couple who are friends with GH. I told them that some woman tried to come in the apartment and I knew she was going to move in. I also told them GH was dishonoring us because he could at least wait for the children and me to move out before he started living as if he had no children. Then I was in another room and saw GH walk out the room. He had grown his hair out, but it looked wild and he had bald patches. Then I walked into another room, the only one that had the lights on, and it was a church, my church. I saw some of the members and they turned and smiled at me. Then I walked into the hallway and saw GH coming towards me. I yelled at him saying, “Satan leave me alone! You have no more power over me! In the name of Jesus! Thank you Lord!” In the dream, I expected to see an evil spirit leave GH’s body, but GH walked backwards instead. So, the following poem was inspired by my dream and some ‘conversations’ I’ve had.

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

Can’t Even Wait

It is so sad that you can’t even wait
For us to leave so you can do your dirt
Don’t even want to spend time with you own children
Running off to be with your “friend”
Going on a date, a hay ride
And we ain’t even left yet!
And you trying to rationalize things
Saying that you were not able to do what
you wanted to do for the last three years
Said you wanted to go on a hay ride with me last year
That I was too worried about spending money
HA!
But you forgot that you were fired from your job
That I was the only one working
That we had a baby on the way

It is such a shame that you can’t even wait
For us to leave so you can do your thang
Didn’t even return my calls
When our baby was sick with fever and
I needed your help because I was tired and sick myself
And you trying to explain things
Said you met “a friend” and went over to their house
Said you didn’t mean to stay over there the whole night
HA!
But you forgot that you have children
That we’re still “legally” married
That we haven’t even left yet

Your selfishness repulses me
It’s so pitiful,
the “man” you have become
It just infuriates me because
You can’t even wait.

 ~crystal awkward 2009

He repeated his personal philosophy from last night – that he didn’t care how many apartments we got kicked out of. He has it in his head that it’s I who’s abusing him, and not the other way around. He would rather erase any possibility of getting our security deposit back (and getting kicked out another place) rather than apologise for upsetting me last night and trying to start a fight again this morning.

I heard children come to visit the elderly neighbours next door. Clearly it’s a family gathering, and that level of noise he’s producing is unacceptable, even in the middle of the day (well, 11am). For all I know that poor little girl is probably crying from the sound of his terrorising voice.

He subjected me to his usual morning routine – rolls out of bed just moments after me, spends an hour on the toilet, then tells me he “just woke up” and that by asking him to help me move things out of/clean the old apartment, it’s a way to start a fight so that I can get out of helping “again” (I’ve been helping him this whole time). What was actually happening was that he found a way to sneak in his morning freak-out, but take out his anger on me for having to move on Halloween instead of enjoy it like actual civilised humanity.

He screamed insults as loud as he could for quite a long time, lying that I had manic depression and that I “promised” I wouldn’t have any “freak-outs” today, even deliberately screaming at the door that so that the neighbours could hear. The funny thing is that it just made him look like an idiot. I’m not manic-depressive, and it’s a label I’ve been fighting, and a label he’s consistently tried to impose on me to deflect from his own FAMILY HISTORY of manic-depression. It made him look stupid because everybody knows that anyone who IS manic-depressive (such as, I don’t know…my husband) isn’t capable of “promising” or “controlling” a “freak-out”, because it’s all about moods and compulsion. If one were able to control it, then they wouldn’t be suffering from the condition. They would be faking it. And, to be honest, I wouldn’t put that past him.

He just barged out of the bathroom after another long session, and continued to shout at me. His voice was breaking up. He pet my shoulders and stroked my arm condescendingly (he’s hit me hard when I’ve done that), saying that he “realised” that all I needed was attention, “like the cats”, but that “it didn’t matter whether it was positive or negative”. Again, trying to control me by imposing definitions, needs, wants and emotions on me. Like I’m the impressionable little woman he’d been waiting/hoping for.

I try to stand up to him. I try to tell him that I’m not taking his crap anymore. But even if I was to just ask him to drop an argument, he concedes it as a “win” for him because he sees it as me admitting I’m wrong/not making sense/etc. If I just don’t have the energy for another argument, it really just means that I’m a big fat failure at arguing.

We can recap. So far I’m a failure at:

- sewing

- talking

- learning

- arguing

- emotional stability

- intellect

- logic

- tolerance

And I’m sure there are more, but this is just off the top of my head. Despite his racist comments towards my family, and constant, constant insistence that my family are rich (even though he has zero understanding of the class system in the UK), he is somehow infallible, incontrovertibly correct, the epitome of the Gospel Truth of All Things, practically perfect in every way.

I should feel so lucky to have him and be with him.

After some back and forth he finally agreed to help me with the costume, but zoomed back and forth from either doing the whole thing for me or not at all. He didn’t understand the basic request that I needed help starting each stage (measuring, cutting, preparing the sewing machine and then the actual sewing part), because I had never, ever, ever, ever, ever done anything like this before. I had never even seen a sewing machine before in real life. But, much like the “my first winter” series of incidents, he proved just how little patience, tolerance and understanding he had.

He had been talking with me to a friend of his last night and mentioning that he thought about being a teacher. I could never imagine someone like him trying to teach. How could he expect anyone to learn from him when he expects people to know how to do things already? It seems to me the only thing he can do is LECTURE people. That is why he realised he’d be better off teaching history, because all he has to do is parrot back facts from a textbook. Not science or maths, which involve interaction and problem-solving, or art or literature, which requires subjective and objective interpretation, and room for creative growth. Definitely not practical skills, like driving, cooking or drama, because then he would have to take other people’s needs and skill levels into account. No, the best thing he can do is to take his tour guide act to an educational level. He spouts historical facts, without any need for interpretation/actual work. Just things he memorises, repeats, and then other people memorise them. That’s the best that he can do.

I asked him what he was doing when he was loading the sewing machine. He just looked at me with a massively patronising look. I said it was just a question and he said he wasn’t going to answer it, and called me “DeeDee” (from Dexter’s lab). Later on I asked him what the random fabric attached to the sewing machine was for (it looked like it maybe came with it?). He repeated the same thing as before, adding, “I’m not a fucking sewing teacher”. I told him with that approach he wasn’t a very good teacher, and that he can’t expect me to learn anything. He shot back with, “and you’re a bad fucking student”. Considering I’ve been through three levels of education and he didn’t even get through one, his opinion means nothing.

He requested we drop arguing and that I was only allowed to observe if I remained silent. Then, less than 2 minutes later, he informed me that the relationship was over and that he couldn’t continue. I reminded him that he wanted silence, and that bringing up something this serious at almost 1am wasn’t conducive to getting me to stay silent. I told him if he didn’t like me, he could leave. He told me I “hadn’t been listening” (???) and that he didn’t need to elaborate, other than repeating himself.

I asked a question about the seam/stitch (about whether one row was enough), but he mocked my phrasing of the question and said that it “wasn’t even a real sewing question”. He stopped short of basically admitting I knew nothing about sewing, which I had already told him. I noticed that hairspray had spilled on the couch, and excused myself to try to find the cleaning wipes I’d brought over.

Earlier that day he’d mentioned that we needed a screwdriver to fix the towel rack in the downstairs bathroom. We’d actually had conversations about eventually fixing it a few times. He had got mad a bit later on and had told me that “everyone” knows that there are “two types of screwdrivers” (??? I had let that go because I know it’s just about the sizes, of which there are more than just two). When looking for the wipes, I noticed a screwdriver in a drawer and asked him if it was ours. He didn’t say anything. I noticed another in a second drawer, and noted that maybe one of them might be able to fix the rack.

He started to laugh in an exasperated way, and I asked him what was up. He then revealed his foul mood (I thought he really was just joking), by informing me that I just didn’t “stop”. That I “always” talk and that I had been “talking all night”. I tried to counter with the fact that human beings talk, and that maybe he was talking as much as me, but apparently he must have been keeping tabs on my conversation level so that he could use it as fight fodder later on. He yelled at me saying I had been going “on and on” while thumping the desk loudly (yay, neighbours) with each “on”. He told me I shouldn’t try to “turn this around” by saying that I was upset, and mocked me by mimicking me in a melodramatic way. I couldn’t take it anymore and just walked upstairs.

So here I sit on this bed, crying, trying to articulate the fact that I just can’t seem to do anything right in his eyes, and later on he will just tell me that he wasn’t as angry as he seemed, and it was my fault for making myself upset because I couldn’t see it/understand it.

He just walked in and informed me in his post-argument little-boy-”I’m not mad anymore”-mumble that I “shouldn’t get [my] hopes up” about the costume and that “it didn’t work out”. Another great reason to stay home all day. I can’t wait until Halloween is over. I hate this holiday now. My whole life, since I was 9, it was all about family and friends for me, the way Christmas is for most people (well, as well as me). But this year, I have no-one to share it with. Not a single, solitary soul.

dear robin,

i am impatient. i want to acquire the goods i desire. but more importantly i dont want to be in illinois. i dont want to be in the united states. i want to be traveling, seeing the world, working on my spanish, storytelling transnationally. i want to be in a thousand places at once and see a thousand things, wrap them up tightly inside myself (and final cut pro) and be part of the change i wish to see in the world. be part of this generation of ours that believes in the possibilities of social justice, the realities that can solidify from sharing the lived experience (and a certain level of dirt).

i write this letter to you because you did it. you knew your dream and you went after it. dreams are never the same once they become real, are they? having done traveling, having accepted my whitegirl-ness (and my Chileanisma) and having had meaningful conversations with fabulous people despite the limits of language, i know journalism is what i want to be doing. it’s what i have to be doing. i guess i just wish i were doing more of it. the lesson here is we have to start somewhere. but the other lesson is if i wait any longer, i might not have the vigor to see them through.

it could be argued that graduate school is a step toward those dreams. granted, i am doing the kind of work i want to be doing and working in the subjectmatter accordingly. but something about this last week in october, the 5th time in a row i’ve seen this town turn for the winter, i can’t help but feel antsy. impatient. longing. want.

i guess the point is that there’s something to be said for waiting. and while our good friend JFarr once told me that i was an old soul, way ahead of my time, the truth of the matter is that im here. in the now. and that’s what i have to work with. perhaps this letter wasn’t about being impatient so much as a refocusing. good things come to those who wait, right?

miss you lots best friend.

a

then again, the thought is tantalizing…

              God is just another word for Love, and our Higher Power is just something greater than ourselves to give our life over to.  Hopefully the HP we are giving ourselves to is Love (with a capital L), and not that which is selfish, self-serving love, (or love with a small l). 

              Love (with a capital L), is …patient, accepting, kind, judgement free, honest, true beauty, humble, wise and grateful, to name a few. 

              The only responsiblility/job I have is releasing all that is not God/Love within me.  Releasing all that is selfish love; all that separates, hides, masks the Love within ( all my smoke and mirrors); such as… impatience, agitation, irritation, aggression, meanness, frustration, superficiality, judgement, degradation, fear, shame and pride.

               I cannot take credit for who I am, I can only take credit for what I’ve let go of to let God’s Love shine through.  And even that I cannot take full credit, since I could not go through the letting go process without God’s love and grace.  He/She initiates healing and directs my path every step of the way.  This means picking me up and getting me back on track when I’ve fallen.  My free will is in choosing how many times I will fall, or rather deny the awareness’ I have been graced with having thus far.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    

                   I am amazed by God’s loving expressions moving through me.  By being able to clearly look upon the beauty of God’s expression within, without pride, shame or fear, I can release needing, depending, and counting on someone else to tell me I’m OK.  God is good.  I am Love, as we all are.

I’m becoming a waiting pro.  I’ve had much experience, especially in the last 3 years of my life: waiting on answers to prayers, waiting on direction, waiting to become more like Jesus (I’m pretty sure that’s gonna last my whole life), waiting to see the plans God has for my daughters.  Waiting is a big part of everyday life anyway:  waiting at the doctor’s office, standing in line at the grocery, in traffic, on friends who are meeting us for lunch or coffee, for fun holiday family get-togethers, for vacations, on test results, for news from a job interview, for a newborn baby to arrive…it goes on and on.

Since it is such a part of life why do I become irritated when I have to wait?  I think partly because it is a time when I have no control over the situation or the outcome.  I feel I should be doing something to help the process along, whatever that may be.  There are many things I can’t make happen any quicker than they are already happening.  It is out of my hands.

I got to see first-hand the beginnings of a house being built on Extreme Makeover Home Edition this week.  Scads of workers were busy night and day to build that house.  In reality, most houses take weeks or months to build.  The owners must wait for everything to be completed and done well if they want a house that will last, one they can enjoy living in.  Impatiently moving in before the roof was complete or windows installed would be silly.  Even worse, deciding to take over because the builders are taking too long and do it yourself, when you are not skilled, would probably end in a shoddy mess of a place to live.

The smell of baking bread when I’m hungry is just about enough to do me in.  I can’t wait to taste the crispy crust and soft inside of a thick slice when it’s done.  Pulling it out of the oven before it’s finished baking would make all the waiting I’d done to that point useless.  The dough would be gooey and wasted.  I’d have to start all over again.

I remember how excited I was when I became pregnant for the first time.  The thought of nine months of waiting for my baby seemed like it would take forever to pass.  There’s no rushing that little baby, though.  If it comes too early it will have problems and may even die.  My job was to eat well, get rest, and stay healthy and just wait while my little one developed and grew at the pace God determined.   When Kimmi finally showed her sweet, little face the joy was indescribable.  How completely worth the wait!

I can find things to do while I wait to make myself ready for whatever is ahead.  God does the rest.  I tend to want to “help” God with His part but that only leads to unnecessary stress and frustration.   He reminds me that sometimes there is simply nothing I can do but pray and wait.   I can’t solve the problem at hand, I can’t fix everything for everyone I love, I can’t heal people, I can’t orchestrate the interaction of many lives the way God does to bring about amazing, beautiful results.  He’s the Savior and CEO of the Universe, not me.

This actually has brought me relief lately.  My heart becomes weighed down when I think I’m not doing enough to help hurting people around me find answers.  In those moments I realize I’ve taken that mantle of responsibility and foolishly draped it across my own shoulders.  I want to wrap my arms around so many, draw them in, heal their hearts, give them hope, sustain them, build them up, and more…but that’s what God will do in His way and time.  I can help, I can pray, I can listen, I can encourage but then I am choosing to keep my hands off and wait on God.

He ALONE has the answers.  He alone will make a way, not me.  He will sustain people who call on Him with his grace and love.  He can give them peace that is beyond their understanding.  He is there for them 24/7, no matter where they are or what they’re doing.  He is the one that can forgive and restore.  He alone.  Only God.

Whew.  Thank you, God.  I’m so, so thankful that You are God and I am not.  I’m so thankful that oftentimes all you expect of me is to patiently wait on You.  I thank you for it and won’t complain. If there’s anything you want me to do in the meantime just say it.  Otherwise, I’ll be over here waiting.

I love You.  I trust You.  YOU are God.

Listen to my voice in the morning, Lord.
Each morning I bring my requests to you and wait expectantly.  Psalm 5:3  NLT

…be strong and take heart
and wait for the LORD.  Psalm 27:14  NIV

Have you never heard?
Have you never understood?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
the Creator of all the earth.
He never grows weak or weary.
No one can measure the depths of his understanding.
He gives power to the weak
and strength to the powerless.
Even youths will become weak and tired,
and young men will fall in exhaustion.
But those who trust in the Lord will find new strength.
They will soar high on wings like eagles.
They will run and not grow weary.
They will walk and not faint.    Isaiah 40:28-31  NLT