Earth Day 2017

I’m really loving Earth Day today because something really surprising has happened. My guy suddenly is exhibiting symptoms of actually being ON THE PLANET, here and now!

It’s only taken 32 years of complete crucifixion on my part for this to happen, along with some GABA, a week of   no alcohol and a year and a half of him drinking so much beer that his torso has puffed out into a swollen mess and he’s been shitting stinking sulfur. The constant nightmares on alcohol might have finally been a factor for him to try quitting drinking for the gazillionth time, but there is no way of knowing.

He’s taken to standing up to things, like bearding his smart phone server last night for turning off his phone and the guys at the Taco Stand for not putting guac and sour cream on his super quesadilla two days in a row. He’s actually telling me his intentions and leaving the house to go DO stuff without ME and I don’t have to pay for everything. He’s making decisions, doing the math, setting goal. WTF God!  IS THIS ACTUALLY IT?

He’s begun paying attention to his Netflix and Sirius FM accounts, has cut some things off, altered, done some negotiation. Holy Crap Batman, are we seeing FOCUS and FOLLOW THRU here or what?

He’s figured out how many union job hours it will take to vest and get a pension in three years! He never believed it could happen before now, though he’s gone to a big conference, and taken courses with the union.

I’m certainly glad that now when I do daily house maintenance chores I don’t get bitched at and treated like I’m crazy for trying to keep our house from becoming  a  filthy mess. He’s still OCD as hell,  and negative, fixated on doom and  punishment, grasping control and perfectionism, it’s just reduced to the power of about 3.

Crazy Guy is suddenly acting saner, getting things done. Could he actually be growing a functional, mammalian brain? I’m sure I don’t know how to take this in, can’t feel it. I’m beyond being able to feel anything after standing against the endless, corrosive expletive deleted life of chronic abuse, chaos and dependency. I’m not sure I can trust my eyes, and it’s going to take a lot of time in not having to bear everything and hold things together to bring back most of me, which feels like a nearly complete stranger to me at this point.

I know I am really numb and the hypothyroidism, tachycardia, high blood pressure, grotesque edema, shitty skin and bloat don’t feel that great. I can’t imagine feeling in my body and good at this time, but I am grateful I am not a) dead b) had a stroke or heart attack c) am hospitalized and d) in excrutiating pain.

 

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Just Another Day at Distraction Central

It’s a lovely day, I’m home,  the sun is shining. I can hear the whooshing of the washing machine. I’m listening to an archived audio broadcast, trying to get some exact notes on stuff I know I need to pay attention to. Today has already been terrific because I was able to get up, get dressed, talk to the guy, who is shockingly 6 days without alcohol, and go out. The mission was mundane: obtaining wet  catfood and turning in videos.

I managed to get rid of some packaging material, turn in the videos, buy stuff we needed, dump some brand new hardware at the hardware store which they will probably repackage, use or put in the bolt and screw bins. I love recycling at stores who could never dream you’d return something brand new to them without telling them and leave it for them to sell. Big Score for me. I also took out my conga, which I had failed to unload last night after drum class pulled up a chair, and practiced patterns we learned at drum class yesterday in the parking lot of the food market which is the unofficial social center of our town. I did really good, worked slowly, switched hands, timed myself on my wonderfully primitive cell phone.

I’ve been home now for a while and done chores. The guy is off on his motorcycle, and while I could speculate on where he is, why and how come he has not come back yet, I’d rather not.

This morning I looked up Jeff Goins’ 12 steps to Making a Living Writing”, and reviewed his steps. The first was defining a world view, the second deciding on a Platform Personality. My world view, on reflection is that Everyone should have what they need so they can choose/create  a terrific, happy, powerful life and save the fucking planet, especially and in particular me.  The Platform Personality that I choose is the very first one, Journalist. It’s simple. The journalist has curiosity and asks questions. The other personalities are all derivatives of that, the more complicated form of the journalist being the Professor, who does extensive research and presents complex data. The other three, Artist, Prophet, and Star seem superfluous to me, possible aspects of any writer or journalist that get a popular following.

I am starting to focus on my curiosity over how other people out there are handling stuff I have never been able to handle well or change in my life. Last night I tried filling out pages in my Alida Birch Co-creating handbook around what I want to create in major areas of my life, and was not surprised to churn out a bunch of unclear, uninspired, disconnected word goo. I’m so tired of being millimeters from the “IT” which has always been there within me but somehow eludes me because I haven’t been able to get a clear grip on how to be in relation to it on a get-a-life level. It’s not for lack of trying, I’m here to tell anyone, though I know no one reads this blog. I’m glad right now, because personal journaling takes too much time and energy, is just another groundless time taker upper along with so many other things I have filled up my lost life with that aren’t focusing on finding meaningful and gainful work.

We won’t get into how shitty I feel about losing my determination, which was fierce from the age of 14, to get meaningful and gainful work and not being able to get it  together so long that I finally just  gave up and caved into my life of care giving slavery. I’m still angry at my blood family for not giving enough of a fuck about me to support me in finding out  about that in my formative years. Most of it can be toted up to the fact I am female, and it’s still an unwritten law in the collective unconscious that girls and the young are social prey, deserve anything that our culture cares to serve up to them as scapegoats if they are not cared for by someone strong and effectively protective enough. The guy is not capable of caring because he was traumatized so early and so severely that he unconsciously hates anything that smacks of vulnerability which would be all feeling and all things associated with the feminine.

Besides that endless mystery and confusion, there is the obstacle of the guy’s existence.  He has kept me from so much. I know I took refuge in defying the atrocity that created his disconnection from all gain in his life because it mirrored mine. Now I am thinking that finding answers around what would counter the endless chaos around how he and I live might be the most fascinating and powerful thing I could discover. For example; how do all the guys I know in program who are contractors, do construction or in the trades keep their tools organized? How do they make money? How do they get along with other guys? What are the features of a good work environment, not ideal but not hell, where they can get a job done, get paid, have some satisfaction and be productive?

The hard thing for me now, having made some choices in defining what I want to do and be, is wondering how I will be able to get and stay clear on what I am after to find out,  have the right focus and be able to interview the people I want to. Where is the way into finding out what I need to know? I’ve heard more than once a lot of things are about asking the right questions and getting useful information.  There must be a way. As the McDonald brothers found out what will work best, so will I.

Holy crap! The guy came back on his motorcycle, still sober. He did some errands, attended a meeting, visited with his restaurant friend, intermittent fasted for the second day, is actually off getting and BUYING his own lunch. Be Still, my heart. Naturally some jamoke at the hall told him to fast until noon, and suddenly he’s doing it. Never mind the years of trauma induced starvation, malnutrition, the meth, marijuana, alcohol abuse, and the insane OCD I’ve been living with. I don’t care about the food war anymore, just as long as he doesn’t drink or do all the other shit he’s done instead of feeding himself.

 

 

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Good & Plenty

I was pretty fed up last night with the raving lunacy of drunk guy last night. He was fussing and yakking about the cat, I’d endured it all day and beyound, and I said  that he needs to stop drinking. He didn’t take this well, went right into attack on how I eat and my weight.  He actually said he doesn’t say anything about my eating habits, weight and health problems, and I blew that bullshit to smithereens  point blank, saying he abuses me when ever he feels like it, which  is true., and then I left and went to an Al Anon meeting. He had made having a peaceful, video watching evening impossible by constantly interupting it with drunk blabbering nonsense and emotional garbage.

I was annoyed and not particularly trusting of Al Anon, feel like it’s practically useless, though I wrote and shared and actually paid some attention to feeling my  frustration and distress. It has occurred to me lately that if I just got a decent paying job I could stand and keep, a great deal of shit in my life would improve.  This year has been the first in more than 30 that the guy has actually paid attention, voiced that, that I  “SHOULD” get a job.   And after all the failure at doing that thing, it feels absolutely not possible, has been the biggest source of shame and terror all my life, though living with an abusive, suicidal drunk who hates living has been a close second.

When I got home after the meeting, a rainstorm was winding itself up, and the guy was still up in front of the screen and snarkily fussing about the cat. I noticed I couldn’t find my wallet, realized I might of left it earlier in a shopping cart, and left to see if I could get it back. Sure enough, it was at the market I frequent, and they happily got it for me and I drove home in the rain.  When I got home, the guy was firmly  passed out in the back,the rainstorm was raging full bore,  and there was no sign of  the cat. FINALLY!

I was able to  recognize this gift, turned on the computer, and listened to an audio program with earphones and come out of my feeling of paralysis .  The program is about making a fundamental choice to be happy, focusing on flow, and creating an inner enironment of happines. I reasoned as I was going to bed that I could do this by trying something I have long heard Jim Carrey used to become a success in his own life: He wrote himself a check for 10 million dollars, carried it in his wallet for years until it fell apart, and wrote another he put in his father’s pocket when he died.

It instantly brightened me up. It ook away all my fears and doubts about everything.  I don’t even want an actual 10 Million, though I would take it if I could have it. My 10 Million is just for me. If I had it , I would start out by keeping it completely secret from everyone and everything.  I began by thinking about what I would do if I had it and how it would feel to be completely beyond all my insecurites. It was  wonderful, very empowering. I tried some ideas on for size: I’d do all my health stuff: my teeth, my heart, my thyroid, my hormones. I’d go to massage school and get certified, for sure. I’d start some accounts for my neice and grand nieces on the sly.  I’d  take Target Focus Training before it ends in July, and go to that Scott Sonnon N map thing in October. These are things I’m fairly sure I want.

Then I began reviewing options for finally dealing with drunk guy. I wasn’t surprised, having mentally traveled those roads for so many years, that it was easy to get lost. I imagined leaving and taking the cat. I imagined leaving and not taking the cat. I imagined having someone move in and be there to make him get sober and deal for some big time definite way. I also imagined being able to get a job from a place of fearlessness because I didn’t hae to worry about money, making fatal mistakes, and being stuck with something that was fucked up. I imagined also, researching an environment and/or job for him like a true investigative journalist, and then arranging for him to wake up somewhere out of a black out that would put him a position where real transformation would be inevitible. I imagined what it would be like to have him gone for 3- 6 months and actually have my home be MY home at last without him,  what I would do with my home. I dutifully thought about all the things that ought to be done, or pay to have someone else do. Clearing, Cleaning, replacing. Sorting, discarding, the BIG LIFE getting it together. It  seemed like a lot of work, not sure I wantedt to bother at all, but I stayed in my happy space of inner freedom and fell asleep. I imagined not fixing anything, just getting all my stuff out of there and being somewhere else.

This morning I felt somewhat grounded, was on time to setup chairs before a meeting, listen and play piano. I’ve had a vision of making a container of many beautiful hearts, and I envisioned making drawings and effigies of all the men I know in the rooms who have hearts and have gotten sober and real against big time odds after long term slow ruination by drugs and alcohol.  I want them all to weep along with my guy when he starts feeling what he’s been running from all his life; the horrible grief over the traumatic abuse, shame and abandoment he experienced around the age of 4. I have imagined placing vibracional magnets on my guy, to draw him into the inner circle of places where men who are sober weep with and for men who are not because they have been so overwhelmed and shut down all their lives, as they tell their story and FEEL, visible at last to other males who will not hate, hit, denegrate and crush them. I reason that IT HAS TO EXIST, or the men I see and feel and hear in the rooms would not be who they are.

When I’m in my 10 Million Dollar Space  and feeling free, I ask myself what I want to create the most, and it’s not easy to answer. Yet it is SO different to be free of all the endless anxiety I spend most of my time escaping. It seemed apparent this morning I am not my confusion, my despair and lostness, and I began to see perhaps a great deal of it is living with someone else who is so deeply PTSD and compromised, that has clouded my world for far too long. I am wondering what I would be like if I could go do something in nature for several weeks or more, how I would feel and be. And I am determined not to forget this creating my inner environment stuff, continue to work it. How wonderful to be worth 10 Million Dollars just for existing and because the Universe happens to love me.

Fear, shame, and doubt has warped my life continuously for far too long. I see people all around me, working and living and having jobs and despite, everything, being OK and even GOOD. THERE HAS TO BE A WAY I can succeed and have satisfaction at last.

 

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Doctor Dearest

Hi Doc. It’s confession time.  Today I am sitting in front of a computer writing to you with low level, chronic pain. I’m lucky it’s as low as it is, know perfectly well I could be a hundred times worse, trapped in a hospital bed somewhere, dead of a stroke, or generally just incapacitated. I just want to tell you I’d love to be that perfect client, the “Good Girl” who does everything you say and tells the truth, nothing but the truth, so help me God.  I have found I just can’t. I’ve tried, and whole journey is showing me an enormous Grand Canyon sized abyss between what my mind’s reality wants me to be and the reality of what the rest of me is.

I hired you in September of last year, finally tired of trying to deal with my high blood pressure, tachycardia, chronic edema, fatigue, insomnia, and weight gain that suddenly got worse in March of 2016.  I had had the typical experience of hypothyroidism: going to a regular doctor for a physical, and then being told my labs “were fine”, despite my extremely uncomfortable, now chronic symptoms of non well being. I began floundering though enormous amounts of complex, often contradictory, information on the web, confused and overwhelmed. I lost a summer job I managed to get because I was late too many times to the week long daily training for it by the county, and I was passing out during part of each day when I was supposed to be present and participating in being trained.

I have wanted to depend on you, on doctors, on someone, but this road has been a lone one with almost  no one I can discuss the real truth with, including you. My symptoms have been terrifying and painful. I may have already irreparably damaged my heart, blood vessels, kidneys, eyesight, or you name it.  I have also ran into a learning curve of DIY stuff that requires a great deal of initiative and will to do things that are difficult if you are normal and healthy, and seemingly impossible if you are suffering from brain fog and chronic illness. Those include sticking to a special diet, ordering tons of supplements and other stuff that is totally OFF THE RESERVATION of mainstream medical practice; practicing intermittent fasting, stabbing my hands with a lancet to take blood sugar and blood ketone measurements, and using basal temperature and pulse readings to see how diet, timing of eating, medications, supplements or whatever is affecting  me. The latter I have not done or mastered, and it’s going to take weeks of effort to do.

Frankly my dear Scarlett, it’s really WAY TOO  MUCH. Too much time, too much money, too much inconclusive results.  No matter how you do, you don’t have all the answers, yet I am paying and treating you as though you do. Granted,  I have now seen that you personally, along with many other “biohackers” actually have done much of this stuff, are in a new universe of profit and well being, where the fantastic is now the mundane. You have weathered change which I have not been able to at a pace I can’t begin to imagine. while I can mentally grasp it, I’ve had to fight hard to “make it so” even partially. There is  huge canyon between what I’m trying to do and what I am actually doing. I’m clear on one thing: You and the others trade on our desperation, make big bucks on it. I can’t blame you for this, it’s just how things are, but I don’t like you for it.

You’ve seen fit to call me a “lying bitch” obliquely, in a sidelong manner, which I admit I set up by being confessional about it before I brazenly tried to lie about ketone blood values to you.  Here’s what I didn’t sign on for: I didn’t start all this so I could reveal painful, potentially shameful things about my current life to you.  I’d love to be entirely transparent about everything that is happening to me, but I would not be able, if I did that, to not reveal WHY I  have done, and not done, many of the things you’ve told me to do. I simply can’t be that vulnerable to you and all those involved with your enterprise. The quote “discretion is the better part of valor” has always rung true to me, and is something I have had to do all my life in order to survive. There was no way I could foresee how difficult and compromising this whole process would be for me.

It’s taken me a very long time to find out that what I don’t feel in my body I can’t really sustain awareness of or relate to.  And lately my heart related chronic pain is becoming a gateway to something entirely new and completely unexpected:  A dimension of emotional vulnerability which I had previously not been able to imagine or allow.  The extreme swelling all over my body, screaming white noise in my left ear, heat in my hands, legs and feet, angina, hypertension, ulcerated sores below my knees, spiking tachycardia,  unpredictable pain, and the periodic energy blackouts I experience on an almost daily basis  have been terrifying and uncomfortable, to say the least. It’s like a slow crucifixion, day by day.

I now must mediate between you, the unconventional heart doctor, and the SMART trained dentist. By not taking insulin, blood thinners, ACE inhibitor, and thyroid, desicated or otherwise,  I’m taking tremendous risks, but I am beginning to FEEL with a capital F. Your pre phase  detoxification train of things to take I have done for maybe two weeks, then discarded because I can’t tell if it’s helping me, and my symptoms have made me more interested in trying to find any kind of stasis without suppressing them. I’m gratified to have survived any of this.

 

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My Shouting Piano Practice

Recently this year,  just before my birthday, I was offered a free piano by a piano playing friend. People he knew who had the piano were moving, and needed the piano to have a new home. I managed to get some movers, pay them, and get the piano moved to my house.  It’s been almost a month since I got it, and I haven’t had the time or were withal to clean the piano, spiritually clear it, and make a space for it in my not that big home. The piano I got is a used, somewhat worn, upright with easy to press keys. You can see the wear on it on it’s outside.

I’ve continued using clandestine opportunities to use a nice piano in a church to continue my musical career, (Ha Ha), or what I like to call my Ragtime Gal life.  I used to rent a piano in a back studio monthly and play on that. Today I went back to that studio and piano, and played for over an hour.  The studio piano is a grand piano with relatively deep keys, one that takes some strength and takes more “oomph” to play. They keys are also wider, something I know because I have small hands with short fingers, and I am sensitive to differences in pianos.

I have been trying to “get on” with a bunch of stuff around my health and getting an actual income, so I haven’t been playing or practicing regularly.  I’ve also been sick and experiencing extreme hypoglycemia and hypothyroid symptoms that really SUCK. I’m starting to see a dentist who will hopefully successfully remove the mercury out of my teeth. If you don’t practice regularly, you start losing skill and memory of your music.

So today I went back to the studio. When I first start playing THAT piano after not for some time, it seems loud and heavy and hard to play compared to the the smoother one at the church.  I have to ramp up the volume at first to get used to pressing harder and slowly regain both my rhythm and usual speed when I am practicing. I now accept that as part of the endless process of RE- breaking myself in to piano, and I call it the “Shouting” practice.  This frees me from wasting time feeling foolish or not with it

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Dear Donald

Yesterday you sworn in as President of the United States. I walked outside with a friend during the rainstorm and saw a rainbow.  Later in the day, I was home when my guy came home from work at a big mansion in Woodside.  He is a talented and hardworking finish carpenter, but his job has been made difficult by coworkers who have not treated him and his work with respect. Understandably, he’s been upset and told me about how much he’s hated an Asian man he’s had to work with.

But you, Mr Trump, came traveling through the astral plane, and possessed my guy, who first treated the hot fresh food I had brought home as though it was inferior because his paycheck had come and he was feeling like a Big Shot. Drinking the beer he had brought home, he began spouting racist hate about the asian coworker whom he’d had to put up with at work. I didn’t let that go by, saying that his his racist rant was off track from the real issue of the man’s incompetence and lousy, obstructive, rude  behavior on the job.

He fell right into the trap of doing what he’s been complaining about the coworkers of doing to him:  he can’t stand anything which challenges his attitude of contempt. I told him I was just a person with a different opinion, despite his contention I wasn’t qualified to judge because I haven’t had  an official paying Job for years. I capped that by saying, ” so, because of that, I’m not a good enough person to have an opinion which does not match yours.”  He started calling me names. I left and came back after an Al Anon meeting.

When I came back, I was told repeatedly  that I  was “A Stupid Bitch”. I was told I was “Worthless, ” because I never “DO” anything, and don’t have a job.  He moved onto to a Major, Inflated, and incorrect state of Braggadocio about how he pays for everything. This all happened after he called his phone company and paid his bill over the phone an yelled at them because  he was intoxicated, angry he’d received text  messages saying they would turn off his phone if he didn’t pay his bill by tomorrow.  I did not lie down for this verbal assault, gave most of it right back to him. He was relentlessly nasty and said tons of really awful, untrue, hateful things to me. I spent several hours sitting in my car, and not being in the house with him.

It has now become apparent I am suffering from Post Truamatic Slave Syndrome. It’s time for me to stop all my Slave Services to him, to you and just about everyone and everything who behaves like you. You are NOT my president.

 

 

 

 

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The Biggest ACA Catch 22: A Life Sentence

I’ve come to know something about myself and many other people who are, in the 12 Step parlance, “ACA”,( Adult Children of Alcoholics)  or raised in a dysfunctional family. I have yet to meet anyone who wasn’t. We all want to be happy, healthy, wealthy enough, loved, you know, the usual stuff ,along with those who aspire for larger things like  fame and fortune.

YET there is this HUGE Catch 22: What we want and what we are patterned to create over and over again are two DIFFERENT things.  Lately I’ve been eying the ACA red book on how “We” don’t ask for help, because our cries for help when we were young were mocked, ignored, or even punished.  That’s the gist of it, not a direct quote, and it makes sense that “We” continue on in our lives  not trusting that “We can actually get any help or are worthy of it, though oh the surface we got through the motions of it and other seemingly “normal” behaviors.

But there is another ironic thing that I see happening in my own life and others which is hard to wrap the mind around. It hides right out there  in the open, evades detection and awareness.  When things go good for us, when they seem to be going the way we desperately need and want, that is the very time we get the most afraid and often go to great lengths to sabotage and stop whatever is happening.

When we were young there was a lot going on that we could not control. Much of our hopes, our dreams, our needs and our wants were just not on the table of family doings, even if our parents worked hard to try and create a future for and with us. Mine did, and they succeeded in many ways which are still sustaining me today.  What we learned early on was that our desire to be truly accepted and  loved, so strong and unrelenting along the winding path to adulthood, did not much  matter to our family and culture.

This was, most certainly,  not intended, but it was the message we got. We learned to suppress our desire for love, truth, and a fully feeling life. We learned  to put it off, to escape, and adjust as best we could short term in order to get along, get by and through with our deficiency. We lost ourselves long before we really knew much about who we were and felt.  Besides, other people were suffering around us, so why should we expect to be happy? Our lack of importance was the price we paid to belong to our family and gender.

And in that loss, we became dependent on what was a fragmented, default pattern of continuing to continue, to try and get something of what we were continually missing. And then there is the biggest BUTT in the world: We learned to never trust feeling good, or receive for long any kind of good coming our way, earned or unearned. We learned to fear  feeling good, knowing from our early experiences on some level that it could and probably would end, stop, be taken away. And then we would feel that devastation  of a Life Sentence of failure and inferiority, a feeling we never wanted to feel again: THAT SOMEHOW WE JUST WEREN’T WORTHY OF HAVING A SUCCESSFUL AND HAPPY LIFE.

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On Being Left Unprotected

Today I was in a yoga class and the teacher was talking about the Winter Solstice being the shortest and darkest night of the year, but also being the time when the light is called for and comes back to lengthen the days and be brighter.  She asked us to think about what the thought or feeling would be for our inner darkness with new light shining into it.

It suddenly struck me that I have been living in deep rage  and trauma over being left unprotected. UNPROTECTED, what a concept. It felt right on the mark. I’ve been lucky enough in my life to never break a bone and have little harm come to me physically, but I have always felt unprotected emotionally. I am unprotected because that is the state of my culture and the world.  It is a mindset of the ignorant and hypnotized, of which everyone I know is, including me.

I didn’t spend a second blaming my actual parents,  family or friends. They busted their asses to do everything they could to provide a start for me, and I’m still reaping the benefits of their efforts. And when I try to wrap my limited, patriarchaly warped, monkey  mind around it the issue of protection, it goes comic book/movie/TV stupid and starts churning out all kinds of doubts, fears, attachments, obsessions and hackneyed, cliche nonsense about what protection would look, be or feel like.

I can’t go there and not be massively, cognitively  dissonanced, because the idea I am “unprotected” goes against my embedded status quo, no matter how true I know it is. It’s a disruptive threat to everything comfortable and ingrained inside of me. And yet it makes perfect sense to a young part of me that’s been locked away in a vault of disassociative  compliance with the way things seem to be and have been all my life. The hypnosis continues, though now I’m a little bit aware of it. There is SO MUCH DENIAL, and it feels so much more real than the truth, so impossibly unchangeable, though I know deep down it is not.

Since then I have asked myself what would it be like to actually know, feel and experience being able to protect myself effectively? I could spend the rest of my life researching that. And I’m sure others already have spent their lives finding answers to that, have seen website after website. And I know it will come down to training and weaponry, making choices about what to pursue, but the biggest work and questions are going to be around mindset. How does one transform the deeply ingrained mindset planted by centuries of extreme oppression so penetrating and long lived that nothing but being prey seems possible. If we work hard enough to deny what we don’t know how to deal with, and we don’t have to for long enough,  it eventually becomes a rooted denial that seems so right that it can never be wrong. All of which could be shattered in a hot second.

And I know that human behavior is ruled more by pattern than we could ever allow ourselves to admit. We will often do what is wrong just because not doing it requires a great deal of focus and energy.

 

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The Supplement Liberation Front is Born

Yesterday I started clearing out a top cupboard in my kitchen of canned fruit, fruit cocktail,  green beans, applesauce, stewed tomatoes, and one lone can of artichoke hearts. These cans were from my guy’s union, which, disperses them with bags of spaghetti pasta, beans, (very) generic cereal, and rice.  I never wanted them, all too aware for many years of them being laden with  pesticides, GMOs, bisphenol ingredients in the can lining and god knows what else toxins.  A few groceries do not make up for lack of work, period the end.

Periodically for the last 5 years, the guy would arrive from his hall with heavy bags of this stuff, put them on the kitchen table, and leave them sitting there. After a momentary mention of plans to cook the beans, rice or pasta, that would be  IT.  I would have to make room for them and get them stowed on the high shelves over the fridge and stove.  Granted, the fruit and sweet corn was easy to open and eat, but nothing else was  consumed. We had a collection of canned green beans that I finally had to thin because the guy would not eat them and I got tired of them quickly.

Recently a dark brown streak of goo on the south wall appeared, which turned out to be leaking pear juice from the can supply. I was given permission by the guy to get rid of “all that stuff”. I was like “Yippee” and immediately took a couple bags to a local place where they distribute free food to people in need in the community.

Yesterday, when I started taking out what was left, I ended up clearing out and resorting the entire 7 cupboards on my south wall. We have  a line of freeze dried food we bought for the “End of the
World”, one of the guy’s favorite sources of obsession. I sorted and rearranged all of it and the things we actually use often in the cupboards. I cleaned, I wiped off grease and swept out termite dust. To my credit, I put some good stuff in the bags with the cans, which were things I’m unlikely to ever actually cook or use again  like the chicken broth packets, an organic spaghetti squash, cupcake tins, cayenne pepper, little bags of “Cal” or slaked lime for nixtamalizing corn.

But even more profound was confronting the copious amounts of cleansing stuff and supplements I have wasted tons of money and time researching, obsessing about, buying, using briefly if at all, and NEVER discarding or throwing away.  The amount of that stuff, stashed in cupboards hard to reach where the guy and I never tread, was insane.

I have cleaned houses and helped friends deal with clutter occasionally, and often I will note how one certain kind of thing dominates a house. For some it is clothing, others stationary supplies. The thing that dominates is usually something they buy a ton of, over and over again, and though they have a lot of it, they don’t keep track and it accumulates. The thing that dominates is always connected to some need, coupled with an obsession attached to it. I certainly got a look at one of mine yesterday.

Yesterday the Supplement Liberation Front was born. I took out everything, opened up bottle after bottle of stuff. I  dumped the pills and capsules into a paper bag, and threw the empty bottles, into the recycling bucket. Lots were long beyond their expiration dates, had spoiled, and the contents were swollen and stuck inside the bottle. I likewise had powders of all sorts, in particular cleansing things like psycillium and fibrous concoctions of all sorts. These now await their release back into the world in bags in my car. It was hard work, but really liberating.

The mission is not complete. I have more to sort and and discard.There’s a dish tub of stuff and a counter on the other wall of supps that need to go. And there is a bag of “Thrift” which needs to make it to the local Thrift Store. How I LOVE Thrift Stores!

I keep saying to myself: “EVERYTHING NOT CONDUSIVE WITH WHERE I AM NOW MUST GO”. I have always had the hardest time with getting rid of stuff. At last I am starting to get the hang of it.  I’m finally able and willing to just fageddabout what something costs, it’s meaning to me vs someone else, and finding the perfect home for everything.  Almost anything that is not being used is a literal and energetic albatross about my neck, a ball and chain. It takes up space, time, thought, gathers dust and mold and spores and insects and regret. I’m also aware I don’t seem to have any trouble getting new and more stuff. I’ve been restraining myself a lot, but it’s the new challenge. In the meantime, EVERYTHING MUST GO.

 

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The EVIL She Beast That Never Uses Enough Soap

Good Morning, Guy.  Thank you for getting up and going to work. I know it was hard for you. It was hard because you are no longer living at Beer O’Clock and have finally  seceded from the United States of The  Eternally Stoned, Home of the Paranoid, and Land of the Weed.  You are starting to live in the that thing called your body and you feel WEIRD. Quel Horrors…you have a beer belly and your clothes don’t fit.

It’s easy for me after living with you for 31 years to know just how uncomfortable you are when you get up and growse about how you don’t have any long sleeved shirts that fit your belly  and then irritably “correct” me if I say anything in response. The good news now is that, irritable or not, you are able to eventually get down  somewhere in the vicinity of what  is bothering you  and express it  so something can actually be done to about  the  situation.

This morning’s Moody Bastard lecture did inform: I learned that you “sweat like a pig” in cotton, though your motorcycle jerseys work OK. It was unknown as to why you did not choose to wear one this morning, but I knew better than to impertinently ask why not. And yes, I know we got you underwear that is too small. I was there when I asked you what size to get and I’ve been there every time you complain about it but don’t wanna go shopping. You don’t understand that  I’m not going to go  pick you up the right size, because unless you go with me and pick out the replacements,  you’ll find something else wrong with them and I ain’t takin that heat.

I’m crystal clear for the hundred thousandth time you cannot wear an un laundered shirt from yesterday because it “stinks like  ass crack” if you wear it more than one day on a jobsite, and am quite familiar with your belief that washing it in lots of toxic blue TIDE is the only solution. Never mind that baking soda and hot water  actually works better in deodorizing your shirts.  I’m resigned to being thought of by you as the EVIL She Beast Who Never Uses Enough Soap to our graves.

 

 

 

 

 

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