Harvesting Love Advice

IMG_6701                                   I went to my garden today, which is in a community-garden, where the majority of my “dirt-neighbors” are from old countries- Russia, China, Vietnam. The sky was gray, and the autumn leaves had lost their primary color and were no longer brilliant, just sad. A patient today who suffers from depression told me that “in the winter, depression is better, because i know everyone else too is also suffering.” In the garden, it may have been this way too. Mandated to clear all structure, fencing and other manmade influence from the garden before the annual tilling, we were all there to strip to the bones all of our humanly efforts. The place that brought me the most peace would now only live on in my heart. And on Instagram. Until next spring.

I located my closest garden-plot neighbor, a 68 year old fine Russian man, who was skillfully uprooting parsley from another neighbor’s plot. Crouching down next to him, I told him about my latest adventures in love. He has told me about his lapsing and remitting adventures in sobriety, and his interest in museum and ballet, and of his former mistress dying before he had a chance to say goodbye on the phone in Russia. He tells me that he is not my very good friend and does not know me so well, but he knows me very well and is one of my best friends. I do not know his last name.

He tells me that I am no longer 18. That I have to be very careful, so careful. That I have a very big weapon against men, my beauty, and that all men, therefore, will be attracted to me.

I blush obligingly, but nod for him to continue.

The gardening is where I harvest all of my fatherly advice. It is the place where I feel the most fathered in the entire world.

He tells me that passion will fade, and I need to find someone with an extremely high intellect. He tells me I am an unusual woman, and that to get one touch of me takes some years off a man’s life.

He says that in Russia, for a man and woman to truly know each other, together they must eat 40 lbs of salt. That is a lot of time.

He tells me to be careful, very careful. I tell him many great things about the current love interest. He tells me to be careful.

He also tells me to find someone who is slightly more intelligent than I am, someone that I respect for their opinion and to always express great interest in their opinion. For after beauty and passion fade, this is what men will desire.

He said all this to me, while digging out arugula and leeks, snipping off the roots and putting them in a bag for me, while we squat conspiratorially in the garden.

We hug goodbye, and he kisses my hand. I can’t believe he is 68. He tells me, if he were 30 years younger, even he would be asking me to “spend time with him”. I tell him that in a parallel universe we certainly would. This is the letting go of a relationship in a proper way. We are burying our roots and covering them with much straw, and in the spring, we will be young again and continue these conversations.

My Thin Ghost

Does anyone have a similar story? They once were very thin and are not so thin anymore?

I have a Thin Ghost. She is 7 years old. She only lived in me for a year or two and was my best friend while I was in nursing school, drinking heavily, raising a child in poverty, and meeting and losing my greatest (yet tickets…) love.

The pressure on me was very high. I was working in a school for mentally disturbed elementary kids, which was, disturbingly, the same building as the high school I finished up in, as a rather crazy teenager with a phobia of regular school, regular people, and real life. I had to restrain kids who had a variety of mental illness, and be their “in school suspension monitor”, which was fitting as I had sat in similar seats in regular ed. At about this time, I started dating for the first time since I had broken up with an abusive “Papa” (just using his pet-name so you can feel me cringe), and moved back towards “home” with a preschooler in tow.

I met this guy on an online dating service which I hadn’t quite signed up for fully yet-as in paid for- and so I could not respond to his messages. He found me by a stroke of genius, or biological mating instinct, on Facebook, and we started dating exclusively as soon as we started fucking, which was, passionately and after our first date (sushi). I had no idea what sushi was, other than it was something my sister ate and she had a very decent job so I took it as a sign that this guy was thus well-off.

Soon after we started dating, I got into nursing school, which meant I had a 6 month period to do all my scientific pre-reqs. These were the most callenging science classes I have ever taken. And they were all housed innocently in a 2-year college setting. But every class felt like my entire future rode on it and it was very difficult to hang on.

About this time, I noticed how handsome and perfect my man was, and how vulnerable and alcoholic I was (OkI didn’t  notice that specifically but I did notice that I felt very unworthy of dating someone with a good career. My baby’s father had’ graduated high school…).

I focused all of my energy into controlling who I was, and turning myself into who I could be I could be a hot, rich nurse in just 2 years…Naturally, I needed to lose weight. I started off at about 145lbs, and through a process that included a snowballing exercise regime and calorie restriction, I whitted myself down to 112-115 lbs, for a year, on a 5’7 inch frame. I was finally hot! Maybe now I’d be able to keep a decent man, I hoped. (I still think this is rather accurate).

As the school year progressed at my job as a school aide, I took great pleasure when my favorite teacher, Mr. Mack (really actually name, and he WAS a Mack), pulled me to the side in the hall and said, “I think you’ve just gotten too thin. Don’t lose any more weight.”

That was the first time anyone had ever said that to me, and it touched me on many levels. Firstly, any time I can receive guidance and advice and attention from an older (and hot, helps), male, I am just instantly craving MORE. Yes,I do believe in Daddy-Issues. I believe i have a category all laid out for them, and this applies.

Though the year, I found myself unable to consider certain food groups, mainly starches and fruits and fats.

Jello became an essential.

I did so many sit ups and creates that I wore a little “rug-burn tear in my but crack because my  primitive tail  sorta poled out my ass was so thin.

I would rather drink low-carb beer than eat.

It was hard to be around people because food would be involved. My boyfriend was sometimes the exception…I channeled all my hunger into sex.

I think this is all in my mind now because I think about my thin ghost, and my old boyfriend, whoI basically refer to as “The Big Ex”, often. He himself is a story for another day, but today, I heard the refrain from an old 80’s song that went like this:
“every time you go away, you take a peice of me with you”…and that is how I continue toffee about this man, who has gone away and come back so many times, that he has most all of my pieces.

I thought for a while, last month, that we were going to have our occasional-once every 2-years, fuck-meet-up.I was so excited that he still missed me and desired me…and even though he is completely unavailable physically (MARRIED), I fretted about how I would look to him, would I be good-looking enough compared to that bone-hipped girl with the abs and the legs and the slender slender face? I think I enjoy that panic-burst, because just the thought of reconnecting with the Big Ex makes me want to get skinny again. And my Thin Ghost really wants some time embodied.

Coffee Dates

Is it just me, or is the concept of a coffee date as a first-date a very asexual one? I don’t drink alcohol, so I wonder if that edges people to invite me to coffee-as though the first date simply MUST incorporate drinking a beverage as the highlite.

regardless of the fact hat drinking alcohol and drinking coffee are likely to lead to altogether different possibilities.

Am I not “dinner-date material”…or is everyone on Match.com etc getting caffeinated on their first dates?

if I have to bother getting dressed up and finding a babysitter, or more likely-feeling guilty and leaving my kid home while I have a run out-shouldn’t I get a bit of dinner for it? The stakes are the same!

Until this resolves, I may have to resort to buying the top most expensive scone concoction on the bakers menu…and of course, eat nothing but a crumb!

How I will lose the last 15 pounds. (a meditation)

I will lose the last 15lbs by:
*Sitting down to eat.

Even if it meant sitting on the kitchen floor, goddammit, sitting down to eat is crucial. Note: This is not to be confused with sitting down driving and eating, or, technically, leaning over a table or island. Very specific and crucial here.

*Self-soothing with my blog when I have scary/gross thoughts, rather than with greek yogurt (don’t judge).

In vulnerable moments, I would have, say, a very creepy FaceTime with a strange man I met on the internet, and then come to the overwhelming realization that I was absolutely horrid  in mate-choice, and decide that the safest thing to do would consume a large amount of something technically healthy, in such a way that it was actually unhealthy. For example, you can take greek yogurt and add nuts and fruit and protein powder and of course, 2-3 times too many servings of it, and basically turn yourself into a very comforted, food-opiated female Hulk.  It is absolutely fat-free (and more importantly, carb-free) to vent about online creepsters ON the internet, rather than to the bottom of a yogurt cup. This has also let to the sad realization that I cannot be safe around basically any of my comfort foods, unless I really take care of myself emotionally. Because comfort foods DO COMFORT. I might not have found a specific person who can take comfort food’s place, but I do think that writing about both the feelings and the food have been a good tool. In fact, the more I have been writing, the more often I will find myself craving to write, to find my voice, to figure out why I am in the mood that I am.

*Writing out my meals for the day in my food diary.

This is an interesting one. I have found that if I weigh and calorie count all my protein for the day, I get a great visual of how much I can have at a time. We love to live from one moment to the next, and eat from one meal to the next with the same passion. If we actually know that we are robbing Peter to pay for Paul, (or, robbing dinner to eat bigger at lunch), we probably won’t make then deal go down. The next thing I will need to do is measure and calorie count all my bullshit smoothie ingredients, which get pretty hefty if I am having a mentally fat day.

Chia seeds. Flax meal. Almonds, or cashews, sunflower seeds, or walnuts. There is simply too much variety. If you know about the buffet effect, which showed that everyone at a buffet consumes a whole lot more than if “confronted” with only a few meal choices, you can see how this is a dangerous thing. What I NEED to start doing, is make little pre-mixed sandwich baggies that have all the dry ingredients for a shake in them, and have them all be the same amount of calories, that way, if I consume one or 2 of them for meal replacements, I can effectively write down the calories in my journal.

* Getting enough sleep. Insomnia is fattening. That is one of my all-time favorite quotes. I make the best decisions when I get enough sleep. That usually means going to bed between 9 and 10 but by 9:30 is ideal.

*Cutting milk/cream out of my drinks. I have had several blood transfusions, quit drinking, been homeless, had an abortion, and I am very confident that my suffering from want of milk/cream in my coffee/tea/shakes has at times, felt comparable. To manage this, I have completely quit coffee. Unless my boss buys it for me because I am so ghetto that I will drink something that’s free, which is also why I was very problematic at bars…

So, no coffee and a whole lot more green tea. And black tea, earl gray and my fruity favs. I still miss milk/cream in the black teas, so I think I will have to replace my “Eggnog tea”(Which is soo good), with a Gingersnap, this holiday season. I just know I can lose weight by figuring out all the trivial and unconscious things I do and reprogramming them.

As I say at work: YOU CAN’T ERASE A HABIT, BUT YOU CAN REPLACE A HABIT!!!!!

I think this is a post I could revisit and add to every day. If anyone has tips or battles they want to share, I’m all ears!

Abortion

She wanted to tell her Facebook friends how old her aborted baby would be, when she saw the sad-haunting-love post where moms she knew wrote down how old their miscarried babies would be…but she knew it would be impolite.

13, she believes. There are not many memories left of the man who created that abortion with her, mostly rides on the red line, walking near train tracks, sneaking into his room when his grandparents when to a 5pm Saturday Mass, and they could finally fuck.

She was still young enough, sexually, that she really took measures to fuck in the dark.  There was a pimple-scar on her ass from middle school that she worried might be noticible from behind. There were yards of slash mark scars on her arms, but wait-she dos not mind them anymore. Sex was always dark and often outdoors.

13 years later, her memories of the pregnancy test are absent. She was a freshman in college, and this was months after the 9/11 terror attacks and very quickly she had told her mom and her boyfriend and nobody at all wanted to have a baby.

Though she was college-age, she still had a withering relationship with her DSS worker, Amy, who seemed to have a 6 month grace period to care for her clients once they turned 18. And this pregnancy was within that window. It was the classic mistake, getting pregnant as a freshman in college. And Amy, a gentle giant from Wisconsin where all people are nice and have the patience and brown eyes of cows, offered to chauffeur the abortion service.

People only write about their abortion stories when they regret them. People who don’t regret them may get a chance to admit to them, but rarely. Where is the audience to read a “feel-good” abortion story?…

Rest assured, this was not a feel good abortion, and all abortion memories are tinged with a rust-stained fantasy of what might have been…

At the last minute, she knocked on her mother’s door, and said she thought she Could have the baby and would it really be so awful? Her mother brushed the idea away like it was absurd. Feeling rebuked, she met with her boyfriend, an electrician, a recovering heroin addict well before the current epidemic, and he said no as well. His mom thought it was a bad idea. There might have been some cloying sad sex but it was still a No.

immediately, then, the next memory is of being lain on a gurney and wheeled into surgery. Was it really a surgery or a suction? What did the D and C stand for? She didn’t have a lot of info, but she knew Amy, her social work turned Good Samaritan, would be there to pick her up and drive her home. She did not have her own car, but you can’t drive after an abortion anyways.

The drugs leading to an abortion felt so good. Euphoria dripped into her veins. The bright surgical light above felt warm and secured her, like she was at the beach, and the medications dripping into her veins made her begin to laugh…

She remembered laughing, later.

when she woke up, she cried. The nurse assured her that this was a reaction to the “waking up medication”. She wasn’t so sure. “I’m so sad, I’m so sad”, she cried. Where was that euphoric feeling? How long would this crushing sadness last?

Was this how  abortions were supposed to feel?  Was she feeling it right? Was she supposed to our or grieve, or would that be an infidelity to her decision, now made, and never to take back?

She then looked at her boyfriend as the father-who-wouldn’t-be, and this filled her with disgust. Him not magically providing her with the resources or false hope, passion needed to carry a baby cast him as impotent in her eyes. Just another man who’d failed her.

Soon, before the winter was over, their relationship was over.

Her relationship with her social worker, also over. The abortion ride seemed like a last-gift, a deeply painful memory among many Amy had witnessed, and in her absence, she gave her a charm necklace, a lovely gained glass, flower-filled circle, that she said was made in Italy.

She still has that necklace, each flower is like a tiny painful secret that no-one knows, now.

Nightmares

Hey-I know how boring it is to listen to other people describe their nightmares…so I promise I will write something else more appealing ASAP.

I had a dream 2 nights ago that woke me up feeling terrified and sad.

I dreamed that I was a person who had been told that they were going to die soon, in a couple days. I was to have a surgery in  a couple days and either I would live or die but probably die.

Everyone I met in my dream knew…but none would tell me what was wrong with me. Initially, I believed I was simply going to die in a few days but after meeting a lot of dream people, I learned that there was a chance I wouldn’t die…but it was slim.

I finally got the doctor to tell me what I had, before I woke up: It was called Cellular Polio, I think its a metaphor for spending too much of my life online. Between Facebook, twitter, instagram and now TWO Dating Websites (Ambitious woman in thirties, here!), I spend a lot of time everyday in a virtual reality. Like, I might get frozen into space and virtual time and never escape back into the physical world…

That dream had a really scary death-vibe, and the suspense vibe was also high, as was the guilt vice. I think I am still a single-mom cawing at stability even in my god-damn dreams…

The Creepiest Match Profile Award (of the Day)…

Ladies, we have a real winner today. I do not know why the below-quoted man bothered to email me, because I would not respond to someone who’d write THIS in a million years:

“I’m hoping that by posting a sincere and brutally honest profile maybe, just maybe I will be rewarded by a few sincere honest replies by women who have at least taken the time to read it through. Be careful you may be a bit SHOCKED, this is uncensored material…! Online dating seems like an interesting study in contrasts and incorrect assumptions; however, I am curious as to what part of my profile content would make a woman interested. Talking to some here has been curiously confusing! Women who think “average” is 60-100lbs overweight, women searching for a mate, by looks, based on a character from the movie Twilight, those who think men are a means to further their future monetarily or women looking for a father figure for their tribe of horrible children they created with the first 3 husbands. So for those of you who fit the criteria of that listed above please hire a nanny, join a sugar daddy website, take off your vampire makeup and turn the TV to “The Doctors” instead of “Ophra” I’m uninterested. I am not bitter or angry with women, quite the contrary, I am simply sick of the idiotic childish tactics “SOME” women here on sites like these “and I mean SOME women” do to attract a mate and what they sacrifice to get one…”

BYE Felicio!!!

Firstly, I think this is such a rancid attitude and I have read enough profiles to conclude that the more bitter towards women you are in your opening “About Me” paragragh…the more fucked up you are and you’ll probably not be getting OFF the website-world anytime soon. How repulsive.

Secondly, my strategy IS to find a replacement dad for my tribe. Although its just one kid and she is not horrible. But, what is actually wrong with that? It’s one of my top 3 reasons to get my ass on dates right now…to see what my chances are of having a “NORMAL LIFE” for what remains of my fertile timespan. I am 32, so I am putting a lot of though (but, no “vampire makeup”) into this.

We shall see.

Next?!

Weightloss

Cookie pounds

Cookie pounds

we are all in the spirit of “blogtober”, so you’ll pardon my hasty post via iPhone, won’t you?

i work in the Weightloss field and had a shitty week myself in terms of food choices. I made cookies, knowing I’d eat them. I ate too many nuts, and drank some super shakes that trembled under the weight of their secretly massive caloric loads. It was rainy and blah and I felt gross after the nasty male interface I had last week. (See Dating Issue(s)…

so im doing what Catholics do best-telling a perfect stranger my nutritional sins, AND, playing the part of the dietetic priestess, telling you how I will atone for my carbimal sins.

im going to eat 900  protein calories tomorrow and 200 fat/carb calories max. I’m going to journal it all. And I’m avoiding all nuts. I will be eating like an “anti-squirrel”.

My innate desire to get fat in the winter is so laughable. Do any of you get like this in the fall? It’s so seasonal….

i am uploading today’s weight measurements in case anyone wants to see how serious I am in terms of being on the real.

Peace!

So that happened:

I just got completely pissed on by a guy on Match. Oh, and he was one of the one’s who’s profile says “Im just nice. I just wanna nice girl. Nice nice nice nice bars, bars, friends, nice, snuggle”. That was his profile when broken down to the bare syllables.

Well, he messaged me in the most annoying frame possible, with “How is Match treating ya?”….which I don’t have to explain, do I? I mean, how is this electronic love portal itself, this box of sparks, this computer conglom????treating me???

Um, the same as my oven and toilet. Like its my BITCH!

jk I don’t talk like that. But still…

I read the above mentioned profile and wrote back “I don’t think we’d be a very good match, given the amount of times you referenced bars in your profile, as I am an alcoholic.”

Well, he just gets all offended, and the wind-up took a good 2 hours (Men are notoriously stupid, and bad at typing)…

He wrote: and I quote:

“You are right – those whopping two times the word “bar” appears, including in the paragraph where I blatently explain how I don’t miss going to them much anymore, is definitely an indictment of my lifestyle. I must clearly be some party-fiend booze-bag with no maturity or responsibility. Thanks for the insulting insinuation and being completely judgmental and putting me into a box, even though you have never even met me. How would you like it if a guy said something like “considering you let yourself get knocked up out of wedlock at 20 years old, I doubt we’d be a good match”?

Good luck in your search.”

Oh the smackdown!!!! It’s pretty sad and funny to me. I guess some people don’t realize that when I come out as a recovering alcoholic, and suggest they might be too much of a drinker for me, that I  am standing up for myself and sparing myself the hassle of dealing with a drinker. I NEED to meet a guy who does NOT have 4 of his 5 pictures on Match featuring him, on a boat with a beer, or on a beach with a beer, or at a bar with a beer. Or, additionally, standing not with a beer, but with a dead fish in his hands by the gill.

That is all.

Paper Trigger

You know what is triggering for me? It’s when my daughter comes home from school with her binder chock full of papers, that “legally” are supposed to be organized into different sections of different binders. And they are crumpled.

The more crumpled the paper, the more likely it is a currently due homework assignment.

The more papers are crammed in there, the more likely I am to hyperventilate and overreact and think “God-damnit. I am practically a Stay At Home Mom…Why Can’t I HANDLE this shit? At least, more better for more longer???”

I am not a very consistently organized person. It’s not one of my best skills. But I have earned a master’s degree so I must be some-what capable of it. But it really flips me out and it takes “us” 20 minutes to sort “the shit from the sheet”.

Today I actually had to give myself a timeout, because my daughter was giving me some teenage sass about the looks of her binder, and I just COULDN”T.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?

Well…Lying defeatedly on my bed for a few minutes just made me remember my parenting slogan, “Don’t turning your mom”. Because my mom, in my “wacky” as she calls it-memmory, might have stayed depressed in bed the rest of the night. That image-that FEELING of being abandoned really comes to me sometimes.  Sometimes I feel like I am a lonely kid myself.

Like, sometimes, I AM the parent, and I am doing something that then reminds me of how I felt as the CHILD when something similar happened to me.  #parentified.