Sometimes life takes funny turns. Not "ha, ha" funny, but "unexpected" funny. I guess that's what makes life the wild ride that it is...you really never know what's coming around the corner. Sometimes someone you hardly know impacts you, and helps to direct your life in ways you would never have anticipated.
Today I had a play date with my new friend, "V". V is a 6 year old boy with Autism...he is actually my friend's son...but from the moment we laid eyes on each other today, V and I became fast friends. He seemed instantly enamored with my gorgeousness, and I with his adorable sweetness.
I am now into the sixth week of my self imposed sabattical. While I'm enjoying my time off...in the ways that I, of course, would...sleeping late, staying up late, laying at the pool, thinking about going to the beach, searching for new boyfriends, attempting to (and occassionally succeeding at) working out and, of course, sleeping late...I am also thinking about what's next....what is my game plan? ...since, of course, I am aware that my much needed and well deserved sabattical can not, in fact, last forever. I have to outline the next chapter. However, as is often the case in life, it seems the next chapter has already been laid out before me.
I haven't seen V since he was probably a year old. It's been quite a while. I see his mother pretty frequently, however, and I always ask about V and how he's doing. His mother happens to be one of the best women I know...she's strong and steady and good and kind. She has very excitedly been telling me about a new school that is being built for these special children, and invited me to take a tour of V's present school, which I eagerly did a few weeks ago. It left an impression on me. I wanted to work there. With the kids. To help them achieve their daily smiles. And so the wheels were set in motion.
As I've continued to sleep late, stay up late, lay by the pool and attempt to exercise over the last few weeks, my next chapter has been ruminating in the back of my mind. Today sealed the deal.
He's blonde and sweet and smart, and he wanted to go swimming. So, after we had lunch and chocolate chip cookies we headed over to the pool. Who says you have to wait 30 minutes after eating to get into the pool?! Not us! He was eager and excited to get into the water. And, as he was showing me his swimming skills, which seemed to wholly consist of him putting his face underwater, he clung to me like a jellyfish. We "swam" and played and smiled and had fun, although he couldn't seem to get his mind off of his persistent cravings for cheez-itz and green apple lollipops. After tiring ourselves out (or, perhaps more accurately, after he tired me out), we dried off and headed home, as V happily recounted the memory of him and I in the pool. And for that short time, for me, it was all about him...his day...how he was doing....his happiness...and helping him to achieve his smile. It was one of the best times I've had in a really long time. It was special. It was meaningful. It was important. Hopefully, as much for V as for me. And so, this little blonde angel boy illuminated for me what has been ruminating in the back of my mind, and has brought to the forefront the details of my next chapter.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Ravdin #645
What is it about hospitals that makes everyone lose all their inhibitions as soon as they put on a plastic bracelet with their name and birth date typed on it? Is there anywhere else where you'd suddenly strip down to nakedness, put on a gown made of cotton so thin you can practically see through it, the design of which seems more suited to expose rather than to cover, and then voluntarily relinquish your body to be poked, prodded, invaded and manipulated by the hands of multiple strangers? Well, Hedonism in Jamaica, maybe?...Or spring break anywhere.
The phonomenon of the hospital is quite fascinating. You give yourself over to the care of complete and total strangers. Granted, these strangers are highly trained and educated experts in various specializations of poking and prodding, but it's interesting how...when it comes down to it and your life is potentially on the line, it's in the hands of strangers.
What's also interesting about the hospital experience is that, in addition to inhibitions, all vanity goes right out the window. I just spent 48 hours in Ravdin Rm. #645...where my brother was recovering from surgery and I was there for support and company. As a very single and perfectly healthy 37 year old woman, you would think I would have made more of an effort. After all, everywhere I turned I saw handsome doctors! But, I was in hospital mode...in sweats, sleeping intermittently in a recliner in between intrusive visits during all hours of the night, and laying around in a second-hand morphene daze, getting vertical only to make the trek down to the cafeteria to purchase my next heart attack on a plate or, as they called it, hospital cafeteria food. Don't get me wrong, it all looked quite tasty, but you'd think these white coats would be a little more health conscious than to be subsisting on pepperoni pizza, cheeseburgers, cheesesteaks and onion rings.
I guess when you're in the hospital the last thing you care about is how you look or what's hanging out of your paper thin gown. You have more important things on your mind...like survival.
As soon as we got home from the hospital today, I took a much needed shower, put on some make-up and went shopping while my brother napped. He is fine, just needs R&R. After a few hours of meaningless retail therapy I returned to his apartment, where he was resting comfortably in bed. A friend of his asked if I wanted to go out on the town with her and check out the scene in Philly. As much as I would have loved to go to a place called Swanky Bubbles (I mean, the place could only be more aptly named for me if it were called "Swanky Bubbles Dipped In Chocolate With A French Pedicure") to see and be seen while drinking champagne and eating decadent food, I knew it wouldn't compare to sitting on the couch all night writing and listening to my brother snore next to me as he somehow managed to watch the baseball game with his eyes closed. Six hours later, as I sit here in the dark, listening to him alternately snore, momentarily talk to me from his Percocet fog, roll over and go back to snoring, I was right.
Maybe if we always wore plastic bracelets with our names and birthdays typed on them we could keep a clearer perspective on things...what's important, what's not, where we really want to be, where we probably shouldn't be.
Maybe when you're in the position of relying on the kindness, and the expertise, of strangers it makes what's really important all the more clear. Health and Time.
The phonomenon of the hospital is quite fascinating. You give yourself over to the care of complete and total strangers. Granted, these strangers are highly trained and educated experts in various specializations of poking and prodding, but it's interesting how...when it comes down to it and your life is potentially on the line, it's in the hands of strangers.
What's also interesting about the hospital experience is that, in addition to inhibitions, all vanity goes right out the window. I just spent 48 hours in Ravdin Rm. #645...where my brother was recovering from surgery and I was there for support and company. As a very single and perfectly healthy 37 year old woman, you would think I would have made more of an effort. After all, everywhere I turned I saw handsome doctors! But, I was in hospital mode...in sweats, sleeping intermittently in a recliner in between intrusive visits during all hours of the night, and laying around in a second-hand morphene daze, getting vertical only to make the trek down to the cafeteria to purchase my next heart attack on a plate or, as they called it, hospital cafeteria food. Don't get me wrong, it all looked quite tasty, but you'd think these white coats would be a little more health conscious than to be subsisting on pepperoni pizza, cheeseburgers, cheesesteaks and onion rings.
I guess when you're in the hospital the last thing you care about is how you look or what's hanging out of your paper thin gown. You have more important things on your mind...like survival.
As soon as we got home from the hospital today, I took a much needed shower, put on some make-up and went shopping while my brother napped. He is fine, just needs R&R. After a few hours of meaningless retail therapy I returned to his apartment, where he was resting comfortably in bed. A friend of his asked if I wanted to go out on the town with her and check out the scene in Philly. As much as I would have loved to go to a place called Swanky Bubbles (I mean, the place could only be more aptly named for me if it were called "Swanky Bubbles Dipped In Chocolate With A French Pedicure") to see and be seen while drinking champagne and eating decadent food, I knew it wouldn't compare to sitting on the couch all night writing and listening to my brother snore next to me as he somehow managed to watch the baseball game with his eyes closed. Six hours later, as I sit here in the dark, listening to him alternately snore, momentarily talk to me from his Percocet fog, roll over and go back to snoring, I was right.
Maybe if we always wore plastic bracelets with our names and birthdays typed on them we could keep a clearer perspective on things...what's important, what's not, where we really want to be, where we probably shouldn't be.
Maybe when you're in the position of relying on the kindness, and the expertise, of strangers it makes what's really important all the more clear. Health and Time.
The Ties That Bond
There are only a few people...in any one of our lives...that we would do anything for. Very few. Maybe one, perhaps two, possibly three. My brother is one of my few people.
I've spent the last few days in Philly...to be with my brother while he had surgery for the first time. I'm happy to be able to be here for him...no one should have to go through surgery without having a family member by their side...but it sure was a scary day. We stayed in a state of denial for as long as possible...basically until we walked into the hospital the morning of the surgery, at which point there was no more denying it.
It's a strange thing...you try to pretend that all the thoughts that are instinctively and naturally at the forefront of your mind aren't there. In order to get through it, you have to tell yourself that there's nothing to worry about, that everything will be fine. You have to tell yourself these things precisely because there IS something to worry about and everything may NOT be fine. So, what you're really thinking while you're telling yourself that everything will be okay is, "What if?"
The surgery was considered somewhat minor, as far as surgeries go, but it was still on his back, and it still involved general anesthesia, and surgery always has a risk...of complications, of infections... of death. Scary thoughts. My brother happens to be a doctor...an anesthesiologist, in fact. So, he does this everyday...makes people go to sleep, and then makes them wake up. He's got people's lives in his hands every time he goes to work. But this time, he was the one in the hospital gown, laying in the bed, vulnerable, putting his life in someone else's hands.
When I spoke to my sister, who happens to be one of my other "very few people", to give her the update on our brother...that the surgery was a success, he was doing well and we were relaxin' in his hospital room in a morphene haze...she mentioned that he and I must have bonded. When she said those words I recalled her having said them to me before...maybe a few months ago, maybe a few years ago...I don't remember the when or even the why of her previous declaration of our presumed increased closeness. What I do remember is that my response was the same. I told her we didn't bond. I told her we can't bond anymore. Our bonding is done. It was done a very long time ago. We'd already bonded to the Nth degree, hence, there can be no further bonding. We're bonded to the max.
I know what she meant. She meant that my being there with him during this trying, scary time must have made us closer. But it didn't. Just as me being her maid of honor a few months ago didn't make her and I closer. Just like her planning a special birthday weekend for me after yet another guy let me down didn't make me any closer with her either. The closeness was established long ago.
I realize not all siblings have each other as their "few people". I've always known this was a very special blessing that was bestowed upon the three of us...always knowing that I could never have made it through without them...always knowing that life could never have been as good without them.
I've spent the last few days in Philly...to be with my brother while he had surgery for the first time. I'm happy to be able to be here for him...no one should have to go through surgery without having a family member by their side...but it sure was a scary day. We stayed in a state of denial for as long as possible...basically until we walked into the hospital the morning of the surgery, at which point there was no more denying it.
It's a strange thing...you try to pretend that all the thoughts that are instinctively and naturally at the forefront of your mind aren't there. In order to get through it, you have to tell yourself that there's nothing to worry about, that everything will be fine. You have to tell yourself these things precisely because there IS something to worry about and everything may NOT be fine. So, what you're really thinking while you're telling yourself that everything will be okay is, "What if?"
The surgery was considered somewhat minor, as far as surgeries go, but it was still on his back, and it still involved general anesthesia, and surgery always has a risk...of complications, of infections... of death. Scary thoughts. My brother happens to be a doctor...an anesthesiologist, in fact. So, he does this everyday...makes people go to sleep, and then makes them wake up. He's got people's lives in his hands every time he goes to work. But this time, he was the one in the hospital gown, laying in the bed, vulnerable, putting his life in someone else's hands.
When I spoke to my sister, who happens to be one of my other "very few people", to give her the update on our brother...that the surgery was a success, he was doing well and we were relaxin' in his hospital room in a morphene haze...she mentioned that he and I must have bonded. When she said those words I recalled her having said them to me before...maybe a few months ago, maybe a few years ago...I don't remember the when or even the why of her previous declaration of our presumed increased closeness. What I do remember is that my response was the same. I told her we didn't bond. I told her we can't bond anymore. Our bonding is done. It was done a very long time ago. We'd already bonded to the Nth degree, hence, there can be no further bonding. We're bonded to the max.
I know what she meant. She meant that my being there with him during this trying, scary time must have made us closer. But it didn't. Just as me being her maid of honor a few months ago didn't make her and I closer. Just like her planning a special birthday weekend for me after yet another guy let me down didn't make me any closer with her either. The closeness was established long ago.
I realize not all siblings have each other as their "few people". I've always known this was a very special blessing that was bestowed upon the three of us...always knowing that I could never have made it through without them...always knowing that life could never have been as good without them.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Good Fortune
I should not have eaten the ridiculous amount of Chinese food that I just inhaled but, as they say, everything happens for a reason. The reason, apparently, was my fortune cookie...well, both of them. The first one I cracked suggested that I, "Seek out the significance of your problem at this time. Try to understand." As if that wasn't direct enough, the next one was kind enough to remind me, "Time heals all wounds. Keep your chin up".
Quite apropos, considering I just let some schmuck burn me for the third time because I was too weak, desperate and stupid to do the right thing for myself. So instead, I hung myself out there, at his mercy, for the third time. Pathetic. I didn't do the right thing for myself. My heart knew it. My gut knew it. Hell, even my brain knew it. But I ignored all of my instincts. I broke my own rules. Loneliness and desperation can make a girl do really stupid things. They've been making me do stupid things for a really long time.
This could be my new credo...which I should utter upon waking every morning, as a reminder to set the tone for the day, and as I get into bed at night, to keep my mind focused on my daily purpose...to do the right thing for myself. Sometimes, this is easier said than done. Sometimes we don't realize, at the moment, that we're not doing the right thing for ourselves. But, there are other times, there are many times that it is so blatantly obvious that you are not doing the right thing for yourself...okay, I'll speak for myself....it is so obvious that I am not doing the right thing for MYSELF, that it's really cause for me to pause, step back and ask myself: WHY? Of course, I already know the answer. I'm afraid. I feel undeserving. I'm angry. I don't value myself enough. I need to focus on these feelings, and treat myself with more respect...respect myself enough to NOT give a guy a third chance when he's already fucked up royally twice, knowing full well that the only possible outcome is that he will surely only disappoint me a third time. No more second chances.
Quite apropos, considering I just let some schmuck burn me for the third time because I was too weak, desperate and stupid to do the right thing for myself. So instead, I hung myself out there, at his mercy, for the third time. Pathetic. I didn't do the right thing for myself. My heart knew it. My gut knew it. Hell, even my brain knew it. But I ignored all of my instincts. I broke my own rules. Loneliness and desperation can make a girl do really stupid things. They've been making me do stupid things for a really long time.
This could be my new credo...which I should utter upon waking every morning, as a reminder to set the tone for the day, and as I get into bed at night, to keep my mind focused on my daily purpose...to do the right thing for myself. Sometimes, this is easier said than done. Sometimes we don't realize, at the moment, that we're not doing the right thing for ourselves. But, there are other times, there are many times that it is so blatantly obvious that you are not doing the right thing for yourself...okay, I'll speak for myself....it is so obvious that I am not doing the right thing for MYSELF, that it's really cause for me to pause, step back and ask myself: WHY? Of course, I already know the answer. I'm afraid. I feel undeserving. I'm angry. I don't value myself enough. I need to focus on these feelings, and treat myself with more respect...respect myself enough to NOT give a guy a third chance when he's already fucked up royally twice, knowing full well that the only possible outcome is that he will surely only disappoint me a third time. No more second chances.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
You Gotta Know When To Fold 'Em
The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. Guess I should have known better than to give the Southern Gentleman a third chance. We had a great two weeks together...although I could never really shake the feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop...again...for the third time. Well, my wait is now over. Today, the shoe dropped.
After two weeks of his calling and texting almost daily, buying me a birthday card, even...and having what seemed to be a great date Friday night... he called me Saturday morning...and asked me when we were going to work out together. We made plans to do so Sunday at 4, after he took his "little brother" bowling.
He knew I had plans to go out with my old work friends Saturday night...I told him I didn't know how late the night would go, he said he didn't have anything planned, so I told him I'd call him later and see what he was up to. After texting him at about 10:15 to let him know I was still out and I'd call him the next day, he texted me at 2:45am saying, "U home yet, vampire? I can't sleep." I texted him back a little after 3 saying I wasn't home yet, with an unhappy face. He then texted me this morning at 9:30 asking, "Did you ever make it home last night?". I said yes, and that I was never going out there again! Then he said, "Ok, 'lady of the night', did we win the lotto?" (which we played together on our date Friday night)....told him I didn't know, I was still in bed and my feet hurt and could use a massage. No response. Unusual, considering he seems to like to massage my feet. I texted him at about 12:30, letting him know no one won the lotto, but now there's more for us to win on Wednesday. And I asked if he was out with his "little brother". No response.
I made my way over to the pool to recouperate from my 4am bedtime and try to get ready for our 4pm gym time. When I didn't hear from him by 3:15, like an asshole I called him and left a message, since he didn't answer my call, asking if we were on to go work out. Then I called my best friend, who has been warning me for the last two weeks that SG is an asshole con artist piece of shit and I should NOT be seeing him, and went to dinner and a movie with him. It's now just after midnite and, uh, SG still hasn't gotten around to calling me to confirm our gym date for 8 hours ago. So, sadly, but after all, not surprisingly, it's over...for the last time. I knew I was on borrowed time with him from the moment we reconnected...what else could it possibly have been? A zebra does not change his stripes...which SG has proven to me YET AGAIN. Strange, strange man.
Was it because I was out until all hours of the night? Why should that have anything to do with anything? I can go out for 72 hours straight if I damn well please! Who knows what the reason is? Why ask why? Does it really matter at this point? It was my fault for continuing to play the game with a bad hand. Time to fold 'em. I'm out.
After two weeks of his calling and texting almost daily, buying me a birthday card, even...and having what seemed to be a great date Friday night... he called me Saturday morning...and asked me when we were going to work out together. We made plans to do so Sunday at 4, after he took his "little brother" bowling.
He knew I had plans to go out with my old work friends Saturday night...I told him I didn't know how late the night would go, he said he didn't have anything planned, so I told him I'd call him later and see what he was up to. After texting him at about 10:15 to let him know I was still out and I'd call him the next day, he texted me at 2:45am saying, "U home yet, vampire? I can't sleep." I texted him back a little after 3 saying I wasn't home yet, with an unhappy face. He then texted me this morning at 9:30 asking, "Did you ever make it home last night?". I said yes, and that I was never going out there again! Then he said, "Ok, 'lady of the night', did we win the lotto?" (which we played together on our date Friday night)....told him I didn't know, I was still in bed and my feet hurt and could use a massage. No response. Unusual, considering he seems to like to massage my feet. I texted him at about 12:30, letting him know no one won the lotto, but now there's more for us to win on Wednesday. And I asked if he was out with his "little brother". No response.
I made my way over to the pool to recouperate from my 4am bedtime and try to get ready for our 4pm gym time. When I didn't hear from him by 3:15, like an asshole I called him and left a message, since he didn't answer my call, asking if we were on to go work out. Then I called my best friend, who has been warning me for the last two weeks that SG is an asshole con artist piece of shit and I should NOT be seeing him, and went to dinner and a movie with him. It's now just after midnite and, uh, SG still hasn't gotten around to calling me to confirm our gym date for 8 hours ago. So, sadly, but after all, not surprisingly, it's over...for the last time. I knew I was on borrowed time with him from the moment we reconnected...what else could it possibly have been? A zebra does not change his stripes...which SG has proven to me YET AGAIN. Strange, strange man.
Was it because I was out until all hours of the night? Why should that have anything to do with anything? I can go out for 72 hours straight if I damn well please! Who knows what the reason is? Why ask why? Does it really matter at this point? It was my fault for continuing to play the game with a bad hand. Time to fold 'em. I'm out.
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