In this exhausting, cathartic, havoc-wreaking, daily-self-inventory-and-renovation I’ve been undertaking since I actively started working on recovery a few years ago (I might’ve mentioned it here… a few times…) I’ve had to dig out a lot of personal muck (usually of the self-induced variety), filter it, clean it and then put it back in my foundation where it belongs. It’s been pretty taxing and has lead to what seems to be an unending series of epiphanies about me as a person but, for the most part, I’ve been able to look at it all, deal with it accordingly and then move on when the time is right.

As it should be, I think.

But in the last couple years, it has become more and more obvious that I wasn’t just a terrible person when I was drinking or in my throes of depression or even when I started adolescence, as I’d first suspected when coming out of my drink-driven stupor. In fact, in the last six or so months, I slowly became aware that there might not’ve been a time in my life before a few years ago when I wasn’t completely self-involved, malicious, spiteful, wrathful, jealous, insecure and pathologically dishonest. And that stings way worse than the thought that I had an illness or even an addiction to hide behind.

I’ve discussed this ad nauseum (so if you’ve read anything on this blog before now, feel free to skip this paragraph because you’ve probably heard me talk about this ten times minimum) but, basically, I sobered up and started trying to figure out this whole mental illness-cum-self loathing lifestyle I’d clung to for the better part of a decade because I realized that I sucked to be around to everyone, especially myself. And I kinda went about all the follow-up work (making amends, identifying my flaws, addressing my insecurities, avoiding the catalysts/antagonists) in hopes that, eventually, it would chip away at this character my addiction and illness had created and reveal the bright, polished, pure person I used to be way back in the life I could no longer remember, mentally or emotionally. That was kind of the end goal- I wash away all the muck so I could get back down to basics and start rebuilding from there.

But what really happened was that I started making amends and looking at my flaws objectively and doing the really embarrassing/humbling work of raking myself over the coals to find out what the hell I was doing and try to fix it all, only to realize that my original foundation was made of crap to begin with.

I know that sounds really harsh because, for Christ’s sake, I was just a kid when the depression really started setting in. (I can remember my first episodes at 11, which is still “childhood” for me, I guess.) But even before that, I was never a nurturing, compassionate child. I was bossy and domineering and totally self-centered and brutal and meeeaaaan. Good Lord, I was mean.

Don’t think this is me just feeling sorry for myself or blowing typical childhood cruelty out of proportion; when I had this epiphany, I spent a good while going “No, that can’t be right. You’ve had friends since you were a kid; surely you didn’t suck that much. You’re just in a funk. Go walk it off and come back and look at this more objectively.” And, after a ton of deliberation it seems that this isn’t just a fluke.

I was manipulative and dishonest for as far back as I can remember. I can remember bullying other kids and enjoying taunting people who made me feel weak and imperfect as early as preschool. I can remember saying horrible things to and about other people at every age. I can’t remember doing selfless or unprompted kind things for those around me at all… not even once. And what’s worse is that I can’t remember doing anything really kind or selfless for my siblings at any time during my childhood, which is something that really tears me up to think about, to be honest. I could go on but, truthfully it hurts a bit too much. The point is that the evidence is present and clear. These are the things that were only magnified once the hormones and disease kicked in later on.

And, yes, okay, I’ve realized and explained where all my chronic meanness came from before now. I totally get it. I was so insecure and was so certain that someone was going to jump out and mentally assault me (which, incidentally, happened a number of times) that I preemptively did it to as many people as I could in hopes that… ::sigh:: it would make me feel better? I could beat everyone to the punch? Who even fucking knows? It’s all very textbook. It’s all very pathetic. I know. I get it.  And, as aforementioned, the worst part was that I honestly thought I was so insignificant that the awful things I said and did to people couldn’t possibly have any sort of repercussions because who the hell cared what I had to say? I didn’t. And, as blathered about for a few years now via this blog, this is what I’ve had the privilege of wading through and sorting out in my search for sanity and a better, cleaner, lighter soul. So far, it’s been working.

But now, at the bottom of all of it, when I make deliberate actions and I’m fully accountable and responsible for everysinglething that I do or say or think and I don’t do anything or say anything I don’t mean, I find that there’s not anything else that’s left for me to work with. There’s no real memory of anything likeable about me from before I was some sort of monster and I feel like I’m sort of grappling at straws while having to deal with this awful realization that the reason I was so eager to escape my reality to begin with was that I’d always just sucked to be around since I was like, 3.

Ouch. Didn’t see that coming.

Now my personal recovery is not just about knocking down all the rubble and shaking it off my limbs but it’s also trying to figure out likable aspects of myself as a base skeleton.

Shit. I don’t have the energy for all this. Wouldn’t it be easier just to do an Etch-A-Sketch restart where we shake it clear, pretend it never happened and start over?

And, of course, more than half of my problem with this realization is the utter grief and remorse I have for being that person and not realizing it up until now. Naturally, this is the part that I’m honestly trying not to assault myself with the hardest but it’s proving to be nearly impossible - seriously, who wants to think that they were never a genuinely nice person at any point in their youth? I just have to keep reminding myself that rolling around in the muck isn’t going to help me get clean. (I love cliches. Thanks, Aldous Huxley!)

But still, there’s a level of defeat and frustration to this huge realization that I’ve been working to fend off in order to keep moving forward. I guess I had always figured that, if nothing else, I had a real pure Self under there that I was hoping to recover and reconnect with once I got my Demon Era properly handled and filed away. Problem is, it looks like this going to be more of a discovery/construction mission than a reconnaissance one and I’m not sure I packed the right tools.

NOTE: I was going to do one on a monthly “Unhappy Hour” in which I rant and complain about everything that’s bugging me about my life but really? I’m feeling too good to bring down my mood by focusing on the small things that are going wrong. I’m saving that one for a rainy day, but it made me feel good that I didn’t even want to complain about anything today. I’d say that’s a small victory.

ANOTHER NOTE: I’m so glad I didn’t commit to doing one of these daily or I’d be looking pretty weak right now. There seems to be plenty of intent and not as much time. Maybe I’ll make this The Pronoiac Months.

Dream Pronoia Therapy pg. 34:
Write your own “I have a Dream” poem, story, essay or manifesto here:

I have a dream that one day women and men will no longer be susceptible to loathing their bodies, characters, minds, ideals or selves in the wake of others’ hatred.

I have a dream that one day every man and woman will give everything he or she can to help improve others’ quality of life without desiring something in return.

I have a dream that someone will invent a luxurious chocolate with no calories.

I have a dream that no person will be persecuted, ostracized or ridiculed for his or her beliefs, creed, gender, race, nationality, family history, intellect, financial status, marital status, sexuality or lifestyle.

I have a dream that our society will accept mental illness as a legitimate disease and will discuss symptoms, prevention, understanding and treatment within every school’s curriculum.

I have a dream that the cast of “Sesame Street” makes as much per episode as those morons from “Jersey Shore”.

I have a dream that children will no longer have to work in sweat shops for American companies to feed their families on pennies a day.

I have a dream that we will return to nature, learn how to fertilize the earth and reap the benefits of it’s fruits and joys.

I have a dream we will peel ourselves from our televisions and computers and create revolutions.

I have a dream that people stop keeping secrets from each other and learn to communicate their hopes, fears, vulnerabilities and hardships openly and frankly. I have a dream that this will allow us to see each other as united equals.

I have a dream that every woman will be allowed and encouraged to explore her sexuality without fear of external stigma or abuse.

I have a dream that religions will stop convincing people to hate and judge themselves and each other.

I have a dream that no human settles on a life less than ideal and continues to make changes to improve his or her personal well-being.

I have a dream in which we televise chemical (of the acid variety) castrations of rapists and sex offenders on Pay Per View and use the money earned to pay for our nation’s education.

I have a dream that teachers are considered to be of the highest profession and are paid comparable salaries to doctors and lawyers.

I have a dream that we use the taxes from legalized marijuana to help fund our national education system.

I have a dream that every person gets to visit every country in the world, in some massive Citizen Exchange Program.

I have a dream that the mentally ill receive just as many cards, prayers and flowers as a cancer patient when they are hospitalized for their disease.

I have a dream that every town will engage in one childhood game every month, like Red Rover or Duck, Duck Goose.

I have a dream that every American will learn how to be self-sustaining and survive off the land.

I have a dream that we will revert to a barter system that will include deeds as well as goods.

I have a dream that there were no dress codes.

I have a dream in which prostitution is legalized to protect and screen the sex workers who otherwise will be beaten, raped, murdered and subject to STDs and drug addiction.

I have a dream in which people see the horror of surgically altering one’s body instead of finding inner peace and acceptance.

I have a dream in which two people of different races or of the same sex can hold hands or kiss in public without anyone around them feeling or expressing disgust or disapproval.

I have a dream that everyone has the option to have a public voice that will be recognized, respected and considered.

I have a dream that nudity doesn’t terrify anyone anymore.

I have a dream that we can write letters to friends and family who have passed away and can receive them in turn.

I have a dream that people never stopped asking questions.

I have a dream in which nobody has to bury their children.

I have a dream that cars could run on baby giggles…

Okay now I’m just getting ridiculous. I mean, they’re all true, but there are only about 15 in here that I really honestly would die to have become a reality.

I love those moments in my marriage when I can honestly say “This one is going to last a while.” And this sort of thing is always borne of evidence with absolutely no romantic merit whatsoever.

I’ve kinda always (or, since I was 18-ish) believed that Valentine’s Day was honestly a bullshit Hallmark branded holiday but, as I’ve gotten to be in a marriage that includes a child, I’ve realized the importance of taking advantage of and ignoring the whole overcommercialization of it. While we make it a point to say “I love you” every day and give each other a meaningful “Goodnight Hug-n-Kiss” we don’t nearly put as much focused, streamlined energy into “us” as we would if we had less stress and a little more time. (I know, a pathetic excuse but a reality I’m accepting and working with.) So, for V-Day this year, I found an overnight babysitter for the Bear and spent all day cleaning the house and making it look like a cozy romantic bungalow with candles and white Christmas lights and massage oil and wine and no evidence that there is a screaming, dependent toddler wrecking the sanctuary of the space on a moment-to-moment basis… (I even bought spring water, chilled it and put it in a glass bottle by the bed for um… late night refreshment. And I laid out a palette and fancy massage tools for a full-body experience. And I laid out pajama bottoms and a comfy t-shirt for the minute he came through the door. I was thorough!) I splurged on a fancy steak that I marinated and made a big fancy adult dinner for two and surprised my husband with a quiet, slow-paced evening when he got home from work. (The gently-falling snow outside was just a happy coicidence.) While images of lustful, sweaty lovemaking may immediately spring to mind, the best part of the evening was the couple hours we sat in front of the fire and just talked about nothing but ourselves and each other and what we wanted to do with our lives. I know that sounds ridiculous and somewhere my inner 15-year-old-romantic is snoring but there was something in the comfortable security of the moment that I really cherished and appreciated. Sure, torrid, dramatic relationships always have incredible highs but there’s so much more to be gleaned from a solid, trustworthy relationship with someone in which you’re allowed to be comfortable enough to grow and flourish. I much prefer the latter, to be honest.

Anyway, it wasn’t so much the boring things we talked about that I enjoyed but what those particular topics meant. For example, for a while now it has become apparent that we rely entirely too much on the television to fill our time. It’s not like we’re one of those couples who has “Our Show” every night of the week but, too often, we’ll turn it on just because we’re tired and we’ll watch whatever crap is on just because it’s on instead of going out and doing all those things on our “To Do List” that we’ve been meaning to get to for forever. It’s just too easy for us, at the end of a long day, to say “Schmeh, let’s watch this crappy, pointless, self-indulgent reality show to get our minds off our stressors for the next hour and then go to bed.” instead of challenging ourselves to get off our asses and do something productive. I’ve been battling this notion for a long long time now but, often, I find myself just hopping on board with the same routine at the end of the day out of habit and exhaustion. So, when the hubs suggested that we cancel our cable subscription I was elated for a number of reasons - primarily the realization that there’s someone else on my side who wants to change our family and the way we’ve been conducting our day-to-day. I know, it’s something tiny and it’s not really a sacrifice to be honest, but it will create a change in our personal habits and cause a chain reaction as to how we spend our time and where we invest our energies. Knowing that he wants to enrich our family time as much as I do is huge to me and gives me a renewed energy to keep making positive changes.

Additionally, we started talking about the new house that we’re in the market for. To my joy, he reiterated (without prompting) that he wanted a large piece of land, preferably outside a subdivision with a HOA and he wants to use the land for mini-camping trips with the Bear, building our varied art and science projects, holding Christmas-caroling bonfires in December and moving our lifestyle to one of a more self-sustaining style. A lot of times I feel like my crazy ideas for an off-center, bohemian-esque homestead is one that I’m just sort of forcing on him, so when he excitedly talks about wanting to build solar panels for our roof or finally starting a composting cycle in the backyard, I get relieved and happy that I’m in good company. I know it’s wrong to rely on someone else to fuel my energy for change but there is a great amount of energy generated when the other person in my marriage is as excited about moving forward and upward as I am. It makes me feel more confident in the things I want for my life and our family and gives me excitement about the fact that I get to share all that with someone else, even if everyone else in our lives thinks we’re nutty hippie freaks.

So yeah. New house and no cable. Step one.

Oh, and I’m getting back to this Pronoiac Month thing later on. It’s been busy ’round here.

I honestly haven’t forgotten; I’ve just been out of time in the last couple days and, when I do have a moment, I don’t have it in me to do some sort of writing “assignment”. Plus, I’m finding that I’m enjoying the physical Pronoiac exercises more than the written ones.

And also also, I’m bummed because I just found out that Breszny reissued a new and improved (how can it be both? honestly…) “Pronoia” last year with 55% more material and, while I want it, I know that that’s just silly because I have the original and it can’t be that much different and I don’t really have money to spare on something so silly… So I’ll just live with the one I’ve got.

So yeah, I’m getting back to this. Just not today. Because I baked and wrote and cleaned house and played with a fidgety, antsy Bear all day and I’m tired and just want to go meditate and sleep. Probably at the same time.

Pronoia pg.234, #18 “Anyone who says he knows what God is or isn’t, doesn’t. Confess what you don’t know about God.”

Note: In this case, I’m just going to use the word “God” instead of the Universe or the Divine Presence or the Booming Ha-Ha, just because that’s how Breszny phrased it.

I don’t know if God has created a third or twelfth or 7,005th gender. I don’t know if God toys with people just for fun. I don’t know what my purpose is in God’s immediate equation. I don’t know if God thinks any religion has gotten it “right”. I don’t know if God is capable of more emotions than the ones humans are limited to. I don’t know if God has put life on other planets. I don’t know if God has ever had the need to do some soul searching. I don’t know if God has more notes or more colors or more verbal sounds or more temperatures than humans have discovered. I don’t know if God has ever tried to explain Everything to any one being and given that being the capability to understand It All. I don’t know if God had a number of blueprints for humans before he created us. I don’t know what other life forms he/she’s capable of. I don’t know if God is angry and damning of some people and compassionate and forgiving of others. I don’t know if God has any more of a tangible form than what I see before me in everyone. I don’t know if God has clearly, audibly spoken to anyone. I don’t know if God arrives in human form just to mingle and hang out on a daily basis. I don’t know what or who God thinks is stupid or pointless. I don’t know how many levels of consciousness God is capable of. I don’t know if God has preferences of any sort. I don’t know whether or not God plays favorites. I don’t know if God gets lonely being the only being who is all-powerful, all-knowing, ever-present. I don’t if God laughs at the times humans try to argue or personify him/her/it. I don’t know if God is sentient or somehow even more omniscient than that. I don’t know how much God orchestrates and how much he/she allows humans to conduct. I don’t know how many other options God has other than “Good” or “Evil.” I don’t know how God possibly concocted the notion of time or space or infinity. I don’t know if God is actually affected personally by the things that happen in this world/reality. I don’t know if God minds being simplified into various forms so we can communicate and try to understand him/her better. I don’t know any more about God than he/she/it wants me to. I don’t know if humanity and this world and this universe is just another file in God’s massive workload. I don’t know what God’s favorite song-of-praise is. I don’t know where God is the most present in my day-to-day. I don’t know how to find and totally vibe with God’s intended rhythm. I don’t know what other things about God I don’t or won’t know.

Look, I fully realize and accept that everyone has character flaws and that part of life is learning to accept each other (and ourselves) despite them. I’m okay with that. What I’m not okay with is when people are dominated by those faults and see no need to change their terrible demeanors/dysfunctions. And this is why I hate Winnie the Pooh’s friends.

I know that they’re supposed to be caricatures of personalities and perhaps there’s supposed to be some underlying message about learning to love each other, but, frankly I think that that whole moral is missed on the audience that the Disney cartoon version of A. A. Milne’s work was targeting.

Let’s look at the group:
Rabbit is a staunch traditionalist micromanager and misanthrope who borderlines on OCD and manipulates those around him through the implementation of guilt.
Owl is a pompous windbag who pays no attention to the needs of others and, instead, dominates all his relationships by rambling about himself and the lifestyle that he no longer has with people he no longer sees.
Tigger is ruled by his out-of-control ADHD and his overwhelming insecurities, which lead him to grandstanding, invading others’ personal space violently and rarely accepting humility and responsibility for the completely self-centered lifestyle he leads. (Also, he’s a bit of a pathological liar.)
Piglet is a wimpering coward who hides behind his feeble excuses (”I’m a small animal.. waahh.”) and general fear to prevent himself from having a life of his own. Instead, he has committed himself to a completely codependent relationship with Pooh, relying on the bear to provide him protection and to think and perceive the world for him, instead.
Gopher is an annihilistic workaholic with no regard to anyone around him.
Eeyore is just a fucking drag who has resolved himself to the lazy comfort of being miserable and whining about how horrible his life is when he does nothing to make it better or to turn his mentality around.
And Pooh, while sweet and genuinely good-hearted, suffers from an overwhelming eating disorder that he refuses to treat even after his actions have had negative repercussions on his friendships. (Getting trapped in Rabbit’s doorway for a few days after inviting himself over to eat all of Rabbit’s honey, for example.) He steals from his friends, he cannot function without turning to honey as a source of comfort and his every action is driven by his desire for food. Gross.

The only tolerable one of the whole group is Kanga (and Roo) who is having to do the single-parent thing and has nobody to hang out with but this group of self-absorbed idiots. She either has a raging drinking problem she keeps in secret or has found zen.

All of them have their moments of hope. They have moments of peace and compassion and genuine care and joy for each other, but most of their interactions are dictated by their utter dysfunctions and it is EXHAUSTING to watch.

I’m glad I was never one of those kids who identified with any of the characters, although I’m sure the things I hate about their respective personalities somehow reflect things I don’t like about myself or some psychoanalytical crap along those lines. But when I take the time to invite fictitious characters into my life, I like to find people and personalities that I can relate to, whose quirks and flaws seem real and ever-evolving, whom I would enjoy hanging out with in real life. Because, if you think about it, that’s really what you’re doing anyway by taking the time to get invested with their personal stories. And, just like the characters from ‘Sex and the City’, I find the inhabitants of the Hundred Acre Woods to be insufferable and annoying.

Recently I’ve gotten a little gross and self-pitying and borderline obsessive about the things I don’t have or can’t do or whathaveyou instead of my usual focusing-on-all-the-good-things-going-on-and-that-I’m-lucky-to-have mode that I’ve learned to rely on. With frustrations of money and time and having a sick child at home for 3/4 of January, it’s been easy to get a little wrapped up in the “poor me”s and general martyrdom that always seems to set in during this time of year. (And ALWAYS makes me feel worse and even stupider for subscribing to it in the first place.)

Something has to change [or I'll keep doing it until March and, by then, it will have become more of a lifestyle than a habit and we all know what that's a gateway for.]

So I thought I’d spend this month revisiting Rob Breszny’s Pronoia, as it always gives me incredible insight into my current realities and it challenges me to push myself creatively and spiritually. Don’t hold me to this [because we all know how well I do with long-term commitments] but I’d like to do one of the exercises recommended in the book for every day in February… or at least 4 times every week. I think it’ll help me flush some things out and help with this whole rewiring-of-my-brain thing I’m in the throes of.

So here’s #1:

Pg. 194, Exercise #9 “I was never the class clown. I am not a troubled but devilishly handsome wastrel living on a trust fund. I’ve never beaten up anyone, have steadfastly not aspired to write like Raymond Carver, and have never played strip Scrabble with a junkie violinist on a leaky waterbed in a Key West penthouse. There are so many things I am not and will never be and I’m glad I know about them. It helps me stay focused on exactly who I am.

What about you? Who aren’t you? Fantasize about all the things you never were and all the paths you will never take. Put it in writing.”

I never aspired to be a mathematician, a paleontologist or an orthopedic surgeon. I’ve never hustled anyone at billiards. I’ve never deliberately killed an animal. I’ve never made out with anyone (male or female) at a frat party. I was never given limitless money to spend on name brand clothing/vehicles/cosmetics/etc and I was never left home alone for the weekend in high school. I was never a coke whore living on the streets. I will never be a teenage bride or teenage mother. I was never a bigot and have never hated someone based on their creed, sexuality, race, nationality or general demographic. I will never be a prom queen. I will never be a sweater-set-and-pearls-wearing soccer mom. I have never knocked anyone unconscious. I’ve never attended a professional wrestling match and will never attend a professional boxing match. I have never had the desire to climb Mt. Everest. I’ve never been in a bitch-fight with anyone’s ex-spouse. I’ll never burn a cross while wearing a white hood in a field with a bunch of other dudes. I’ve never been a cartoonist for an animated series. I’ve never taught an aerobics class to senior citizens. I’ve never wanted to drive a pick-up truck. I’ve never apologized for saying things that I genuinely meant. I’ve never built a house of cards. I’ve never been valedictorian, student body president or spelling bee champion. I’ve never and will never made/make a solemn pledge to marry Jesus and live in a nunnery. I have never and will never stop overanalyzing the meaning of life, the meaning of my life, my purpose and the basis of reality. I’ll never be a workaholic. I’ll never pay to attend a NASCAR event. I have never been the subject of tabloid ridicule. I have never plowed a field only using an ox and a homemade plow. I’ll never have Tweety bird tattooed to my body. I’ll never attend a Motley Crue concert. I was never on a boat with a band of pirates. I’ll never and have never obsessed about my wedding day. I will never have any form of plastic surgery unless it is imperative to my health to do so (post-wreck/fire reconstruction, mammography, etc.) I will never allow my family to keep me on life-support longer than two weeks. I will never settle for mediocrity. I have never had a perm. I have never won a DDR tournament. I will never take fertility drugs. I will never play WoW. I have never tasted toe fungus. I will never work as a greeter at Wal-Mart. I will never major in philosophy and I will never listen to and believe anyone who believes he or she knows the absolute Truth. I will never be trendy enough to be incessantly angry/offended/argumentative. I have never had the desire to buzz-and-bleach my hair. I will never get a tattoo in a language that isn’t my native tongue. I will never refuse to learn from anyone, no matter how much I hate their personal beliefs or lifestyle. I have never worked as an indentured servant. I was never drafted. I was never a guest on the “Jerry Springer Show”. I’ve never been launched out of a catapult. I wasn’t conceived at a ren faire, a music festival, a car wash, a demolition derby, a public bathroom or while either partner was on the clock. I have never attended a dog fight or a dog race. I will never join a police force, a military service, or the SWAT team. I will never convert to any religion for the societal benefit of someone else. I never attended the Royal Academy of Ballet. I never hunted wild boar. I’ve never amputated someone’s arm after sedating them with brandy. I never installed a gunrack in my car. I’ve never dated a quarterback (nor have I ever had the inclination to.) I never smeared fireflies all over myself to make me glow in the dark. I’ve never had an illicit affair with a college professor. I’ve never watched an episode of any daytime soap opera. I will never be a contestant on a reality TV show. I’ve never thrown a Molotov cocktail. I’ll never voluntarily get a tongue, back, bellybutton or nether-regions piercing. I’ve never had the desire to board a submarine. I’ll never get cornrows. I never smoked a cigarette in the bathroom at school. I never travelled to Mexico to get a sketchy medical procedure from a doctor I found on the internet. I never collected farts in a jar. I’ve never played an electric banjo solo with Carlos Santana. I’ve never been attracted to “a man in uniform.” I’ll never stay in an unhappy/unhealthy relationship again. I’ve never painted the outside of my house yellow or pink. I’ve never worn khaki capri pants in public. I never dropped anything off a skyscraper. I’ll never serve as Prime Minister of anywhere. I’ve never swallowed a sword or breathed fire. I’ve never attended an execution. I’ve never mined for coal. I’ve never cleaned a septic tank. I’ve never hurled myself off a national landmark. I’ve never mauled a grizzly bear. I’ve never been to a sperm bank. I’ve never spoken in rhyme for a day. I’ll never have my own ventriloquist act. I’ve never owned a pair of clear heels. I’m never going to be a pop superstar.

I feel like these could go on forever and I’m starting to get to menial, obvious things. Maybe I’ll revisit it later. For now, this is what I’m not.

I mentioned in my last post that I was doing a full-body-and-mind rehab of sorts to hit the reset button on pretty much everything that has to do with my life, my mentality, my habits, my productivity, etc. (I have a real problem doing things Day by Day, apparently.) And I made the declaration that I was going to do a Master Cleanse. And I realized I was just setting myself up for failure.

So, under the advisement of a couple friends I am, instead, doing a 30-day raw foods/vegan cleanse. Not only do I think this has a far better chance of success on my part (I do love veggies. And fruit! Whee!) but, ultimately, it’ll give me a good foundation for healthy eating habits in general, which is something I’ve let drop by the wayside as of late.

And I realize that those crazy hippies out there will insist that I go organic but it costs an arm and a leg to do so and, frankly, we’re cutting pennies where we can so I’m just going with raw fruits and veggies where I can and not tacking on another thing to stress about like money.

So yes! 30 days of yummy instead of 7-10 days of psychotic misery. Yes, please!

The Bear has gotten to the age where she’s no longer speaking gibberish, which makes communicating with her a completely different experience. Now I actually have to listen to what it is that she’s saying, translate it into an entire sentence, and respond accordingly. (This is important if I want to encourage her language skills. Which, um, I definitely do.) Often, there are times that she’s been saying something for a very long time that I simply cannot understand until she has the opportunity to physically demonstrate it, which has the potential for hours of frustration when she wants so desperately to get her point across and cannot enunciate whatever it is she desires.

So anyway, I thought I’d include a short list of her most frequent vocabulary uses. Many of these she has been using for about 6 months, but about 60% of them were just developed in the last couple months. Also, when the definition has slashes, it means that this word has multiple definitions that are used contextually. Reeeally keeps me on my toes.

Here are the words that actually mean whole sentences:

“Dosdos” ~ I’d like to go upstairs/downstairs now.
“Ewwwwww!” ~ Someone pooted!/I just pooped!/One of the cats just barfed!
(My hubs had an incident where he was just out of the room a couple days ago and heard one of our cats making the “Guh, guh, guh” pre-vomiting noise. There was a moment of silence and then he heard, “EEEEwwwww!”)
“Sjoos?” ~ May I have some juice?
“Muck” ~ May I have some milk?
“Chose?” ~ May I have some Cheerios?
“Kek!” ~ Someone is having a birthday so there must be cake! (She says this during birthday parties even if there is no cake in view.)
“Tekyu!” ~ Thank you! (I have to brag about this one for a minute because she always says it anytime anyone gives her something. The other day I went in to check on her in bed and I pulled the covers up over her while she was sleeping. Barely conscious, she said, “Tekyuuu.” I was so proud.)
“Bye Bye!” ~ This one seems self-explanatory, but she says this when she wants someone to go away, like a needle-wielding nurse.
“Co! Co!” ~ It’s cold! (She always says this while wrapping her arms around herself and making her jaw chatter, even if she’s just describing ice cream. It’s hilarious.)
“Deddee buck!” ~ I want to look at the wedding-photos book you gave Daddy for your anniversary.
“Waigo?” ~ Where did it go? (This is almost always prefaced with a gasp and a palms-up shrug.)
“Cuws” ~ I want to color now.
“Seet seet!” ~ Have a seat next to me.
“Huuuuug.” ~ Pick me up and hold me. I don’t feel well or am tired but won’t admit that. I just want mommy. (Admittedly my favorite.)

Because we’ve been stuck in the house battling bronchitis and lethargy-inducing fevers for the last week, we’ve been subjecting ourselves to a lot of movies. She only has about five she wants to watch ::sigh:: ad naaauseum. Here’s the list:

“Teek!” ~ The Tinkerbell movie or its sequel. She MUST wear her wings (”Weegs!” or “Veegs!” or “Sfy”) and skirt every time we run these movies.
“Pooh” or “Piggit” or “Teega” or “Rabbie” ~ The Pooh Movie
“Doggies” ~ Lady and the Tramp
“Muwmuw” ~ The Little Mermaid (although this isn’t her favorite, much to my chagrin)
“RAAAR!” ~ Monsters, Inc.
“Sessie” ~ Sesame Street OR the “Bare Necessities” Sing Along Songs DVD
“Miggie” ~ The godawful “Disneyland Fun” Sing Along Songs DVD featuring Mickey Mouse
“Piggie” ~ The Muppet Show. I’ll discuss it more later, but “piggie” actually has multiple meanings, which I think is pretty cool.

And then here are just the basics:

“RAAR!” ~ Monster/dragon/dinosaur. (She’s not afraid of any of these. Also, when little boys have tried to jump out and scare her with roars on playdates she giggles at them and then runs after them, doing the same. Awe. Some.)
“Ticky ticky!” ~ Tickles
“Achoos” ~ Tissues (this is one we didn’t teach her but she just started identifying on her own.)
“Cowds” ~ Clouds. (Another we didn’t teach her.)
“Ah-pay” ~ Airplane
“Hawsie” ~ Horsie(s)
“Cows” ~ Cow(s)
“Buds” ~ Bird(s)
“Caw” ~ Car
“Tuck” ~ Truck
“Piggies” ~ Toes/Pigs/Miss Piggy.
“Toes” ~ Toes (she actually recognizes that there are two words for toes and that one is a colloquialism! Coool!)
“POOPP!” ~ Poop. (This is the one word she overenunciates every time. Loudly.)
“Cowck” ~ Clock. (It sounds filthy when she says it out loud. We must remedy this.)
“Cackee”/”Gaggee” ~ Cookie
“Schoo-choo” ~ train
“Kack! Kack!” or “Dack!” ~ duck/goose/swan
“Uggut” ~ yogurt
“Chickychicky”/”Bok!Bok!” ~ Chickens (this is always accompanied with bent-elbow flapping gestures)

I could ramble on for a while about basic vocab, but I think after a while it starts to get mundane (”Doew” = “door”, etc.) But that’s what I have for now. And that’s pretty much all the language I get on an average day. I wish there was a device that people could wear that would translate everything everyone else said into basic toddler language so I could see how they’d do after a week of that. I’m sure their nerves would be as frayed and their sanity as wrecked as mine after just a couple days.

Recently, I gathered all the mix CD’s and tapes I’d been given since 1999-ish just to see what sort of crazy compilation I could throw together from them. Standing in mesmerized awe, I realized that I own more than 40 customized mixes, not even including the dozen-or-so I’ve collected from significant others. (I’ve tossed most of them but still have a few CD’s I keep meaning to transfer to MP3’s so I can be rid of the tangible reminder.) That’s roughly four every year! For a decade!

A little less recently, I whittled down my Facebook Friends List from 900-ish “friends” to [an ever-increasing] 350-ish friends I find worthwhile enough to keep up with. (Once I achieved my petty quota of validation from learning that the douchenozzles who tormented me in jr. high grew up to be bloated, drunken, bigoted trust-fund kids, there was really no need to keep them anywhere close to my present life.) I took that time to look at the people I’ve been lucky enough to know personally and then back up and look at the whole motley crew objectively. I found myself laughing out loud at the absurd joy of my life as evidenced solely in the company I keep.

One of my friends is a singer/songwriter/siren who dominates rooms, disables jawhinges and makes people feel validated as humans simply by looking in their general direction. I have a friend who is an artist/performer/genius who lives in an old post office that he’s converted into a palace where he throws lavish, bohemian parties and plays his musical suitcase. One of my friends is an international celebrity who’s televised in dozens of countries on a daily basis to the amusement of 3-6 year-olds who cheer wildly as he steps off private planes. Two of my friends are writers who legitimately have the potential to revolutionize modern literature. One of my oldest friends is a gorgeous chemical engineer who listens to punk rock and plays alongside guys in male-dominated sports. A friend I’m sure I’ve known for a couple lives is an empath/healer with a cutting, brash tongue, a vast, uncompromising soul and a giggling mischief that pulls the disguise off his undeniable compassion.

Ooo! And I know an enigma! A real one! She’s beautiful beyond reason and quirky and complicated and when she laughs she opens the soul of the room she’s in and turns it over in her palms and hands it back to us. And she’s wild with passion and love that’s infectious and controversial and makes people love her emphatically [unless they’re scared of that sort of person and then they often choose to hate her for no reason.] I can remember a point in my life when she had three suitors who were all close friends and who lived for her every word and she knew it but she didn’t realize it and she held it all in a way that you couldn’t really envy her as much as share in her giddy, confused, confident laughter. And for God-only-knows what reason, she loves me and when she goes out of her way to let me know it I smile for weeks and feel unique and safe and special, unlike with anyone else.

I have an ever-self-sufficient friend who is a Republican bellydancer with a laugh that’s infectious and a rapid wit that is hilarious to watch [but hell to suffer] when in “Attack Mode.” (Despite her political leanings, we have yet to have a conversation where we don’t agree with 90% of what the other is saying… so she still has a perfectly-intact soul.) I have a wildly-creative, artist friend who is an effortless medium and who was everywhere that was awesome in the 1960’s (except Woodstock; she was in Daytona that weekend) and loves and knows me better than I know myself most of the time. I have three friends who look like tall, curvy, dark, bold-faced goddesses and would be terrifyingly powerful/dangerous to men and women alike should they ever meet. (Two of them live in NYC and I’m positive they should become besties, like, immediately.) I know world-travelers and political aides and a pure-hearted genius/prodigy who cleaned dishes with me with the same intensity that he implemented while working in international think tanks.

I know brilliant musicians and gorgeous models and driven geniuses (with souls! Those are the best kind of geniuses!) and revolutionary comics/playwrights and refreshingly unique entertainers and groundbreaking visionaries and neo-feminist SAHmothers and fucking phenomenal chefs (two are quite successful and both are female! score!) and recovering addicts/alcoholics with the craziest stories I’ve ever heard and bohemian artists who’ll never be understood but don’t seem to mind and incarcerated convicts who send me the condescending Christmas cards their relatives send them every year, marked with hilarious commentary and a stripper who is now teaching home ec in a schwanky jr. high and daring, colorful Burners (oh, how I long to be one of those) and crossdressers of both genders (both non-professional and professional) and founders of incredible non-profit movements and Broadway singer/dancer/actors and farmers/hardcore gardeners who make me want to sell everything and live off the grid starting tomorrow and the male, punk rock version of Mama Cass and feminista bloggers and quite possibly one of the greatest actors on the planet at the moment and two aerialists and a documentarian (who’s putting together a project that’s just going to be epic once released internationally) and the guy who was ranked one of the top trumpet players in the nation and a female bodybuilder and a powerhouse editor who fights for small businesses with a daily news syndication she runs by herself and young, rad, relatable missionaries who are going to revolutionize how the world sees American Christians and DIY crafters who are going to clothe the world, one hand-knit sweater at a time and people with the balls to immigrate to where they dream of living and a sweet Muslim model who very patiently answers all my idiotic questions about Islamic holidays and schoolteachers who are going out of their way to challenge the status quo (and call attention to the rampant apathy that rules our public school system) and freaking triathlon addicts and a designer whose stuff is now sold at Nordstrom and opera singers and a gorgeous, free-spirited woman who has been inadvertently and gradually coaxing me out of my shell by her inspirational lifestyle and mindset and…

And I get to be in the middle of it.

I honestly always thought that I’d have to be wildly famous or insanely wealthy to know as many uniquely radiant people as I do. And if I were ever to be surrounded by so many unnaturally dazzling characters I would never have assumed that they’d be the types to call themselves my friends.

And I’m not saying all the above-mentioned are in the “Nearest and Dearest Pile”. In fact, only about 3/4 of those could be considered “friends closer than acquaintances”, but I’m glad to be important enough to these busy people to have garnered at least one greeting in the last year from each of them.

However, I’m still unbelievably humbled when I review the list and realize how many I can call honest-to-God “close friends”. (You know. The ones who don’t ever judge and will take a phonecall from me at 2 a.m. and will blatantly tell me when I’m being an a-hole but don’t use that as a means of flat-out rejection and who’re happy for me and my little accomplishments.) So, it looks like my mom was wrong about that whole “You’ll only be able to count your close friends on one hand.” by at least a couple hands.

Anyway, To Whom It Concerns: Thank you so so very much. I hope I’ve let you know how much I appreciate you being in my life.