Self realization. It takes me a while to figure out some things. I’m not saying that I’m dull-witted all the time, it’s just that about certain things I take a while to figure out. Fixing certain things takes a while too. But I solidified something in my mind this past weekend. I’ll warn the sensible readers who like actual talent to stay away, because this shit is going to ramble on like Led Zeppelin. (Sorry, to at least one reader who doesn’t like the music, but for some reason keeps reading. You know who you are, and I love you.)
I’m not sure what to do with the information, or if the realization will actually bring any change. (in large denominations of currency, he jokes) But it’s information, it’s logical, and I do plan to point out the trend when I observe it, for the purpose of letting people know how I feel. When it’s not a huge risk, or when I decide it’s something really really important.
What I’ve learned is that when I do things, when I say things, when I cook things, whatever it is, and I’m not even sure if it’s random or if it’s a trend to observe, but for some reason Mrs M is pushing the buttons and making me defend myself verbally. She asks a question about cooking, I give the answer I know is right, and she questions it. Yesterday it was Greek cooking. She wanted to know how to give chicken a uniquely Greek flavor, and I told her that Greek cooking would add a surprise- cinnamon and nutmeg and marjoram for a trace of sweetness- to a spartan Italian mix (garlic, salt, pepper, oregano, thyme, onion). Damned if she didn’t reject the suggestion and then bitch that something was missing. Well, if you didn’t want my suggestion, why the fuck did you ask? What’s missing from the tzatziki sauce? Well, um, plain yogurt where you used sour cream, more lemon, and you totally left out garlic. Not essential but it does add something. Same with my dear daughter and her music and the rest of her education. Why the fuck do you ask for help and then tell me how I can’t be right and you’ll just do it on your own?
My dear daughter has learned that sometimes I’m right, even though she’s hit that sixteen and opinionated as a fucking 89 year old stage. Two years ago, she didn’t listen to anything I said, rejected my offer to help her with a piece of music, and we play the same instrument. It’s just that I’ve played the same pieces before, maybe 35 years before her, I still practice, and I know technical things. She similarly rejected my help with math. So, two years ago she went to the music contest and got a bronze medal. I’ve been working on this one. Last year I fought with her but insisted on coaching, by making her listen to me play and add instruction, and she got a gold. So this year, she picked a contest piece and under duress of too many other things going on in her life, accepted my help- with practicing, technique, understanding the history, tempo, style and ornamentation of the piece. And guess what? She got a gold medal. But, I felt pretty good when she got out of the performance room and then went to find out her scores, because I damn well knew it was a gold medal.
We have somewhat differing opinions about social issues, but basically we want people to do good and we want people to get help when they need it. Here, I’m proud of her for pushing back. I’d rather she have strong, and self-educated, opinions she can back up with research data than be a zombie idiot sheep who follows whatever the herd does and says whatever is popular. While I am still concerned that the press tells people what and how to think, I’m proud of her for researching multiple sides of a question before making up her mind-that I’m wrong. HA! It’s fine, honey, be right and prove I’m wrong. But in 30 to years, I’ll be right about this too.
My kids’ taste in music is fucking awesome. I don’t like all of it, but I’m really happy it’s an eclectic mix and not all the same bubblegum bullshit the rest of the herd is listening to. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve listened to, and, I confess, enjoyed, my share of bubblegum music. But mostly I liked classical, what they now call “easy listening” like James Taylor and Jim Croce, and a lot of classic rock and early metal. But bubblegum, sure. Girl bands. Girl lead singers, I confess, it’s a trend I still follow. Madonna. Did you SEE the cheesy movie they made out of Dick Tracy? But I bought the soundtrack. That is still awesome music. J. Lo. Mmmhmm, her ex is an idiot. And while we’re on the subject of idiot ex-es, why the fuck did Mr. Mariah Carey let THAT jewel slip through his fingers? Um…no. Not Jewel. She didn’t do anything for me at all. When I was very young, there was this gem, resurrected by Shrek as a testament to its’ lasting popularity:
and then there was this:
Oh, whatever. Wordpress, or my laptop, is tinkering with the links so I don’t know what the fuck you’ll be seeing when you read this. (Both of you.) When I was older the good bubblegum was Brittany Spears, PCD, Spice Girls (if only for Scary Spice, she is still worth the whole rest of the band), and Christina. Girl bands. Girl singers. All right, enough rambling on about that.
Not all the time, but a lot of the damned time, I feel like quitting. The fight isn’t worth the cost. I hurt myself, I hurt other people, I fight to keep on trying at life and work and family and marriage and church and friends and emails and housework and writing.
Lately all my writing is on stolen time, and I have to not take it very often, or life makes me give it back or puts me through more bullshit until I surrender.
If I could change something that sounds like something that could be changed, it would be the whole self-defense thing.
The one person that I should be able to trust NOT to attack me is the person who does it the “best.” But she questions me on time management, on focus to tasks, on cooking, and is never quite satisfied with anything I do. It’s not fair. I don’t want to feel the need to defend myself from the one person on the earth I should never have to be defensive around. The family learns this. She got it from my in-laws, and her children got it from her, so yeah, I have to sometimes defend myself around them too. It’s not fair, and yes, I would love some cheese with my whine. Got any extra sharp cheddar? The other day I made dinner and they all started in with the criticisms, and I think it shocked them into silence when I softly retorted to my teen children that “If you want it different, or better, you can cook it your damned selves.” And I left the kitchen.
I don’t want to defend myself at work either. I want a job that doesn’t harness me on the basis of fear, but rather, on the basis of reward. I want a boss that doesn’t harass me to exert and display her power over me on the basis of intimidation, wanting to keep me under her control, but a boss that sets me free to work hard and succeed. And gives me tools that work to help me succeed instead of crippling me with shitty tools that don’t work like they should, and telling me that I need to not be upset or disappointed because if they work the third or fourth time I try to make them do what they’re supposed to do the first time, they’re “working.” For fucks sake, if your hammer handle is broken you buy a new fucking hammer.
I don’t want to defend myself against random people. Don’t fucking call me, you asshole telemarketers. My long distance service is better than yours in the long run, no matter how free yours is in the short run. Plus, don’t you realize I hate change AND ringing phones?! Don’t ring my doorbell, traveling salesmen/women, unless you’re bringing girl scout cookies or boy scout popcorn, which I could take or leave because that’s what MY kids are selling. I don’t want a $50,000 vacuum cleaner even if you vacuum my carpets and show me it’s really worth every penny. Fuck off. You know who you are. You were suckered into a sales job by a deceptive classified ad, and you have to do the fucking presentations and then you pray someone buys that shit because your life now depends on it. I don’t want to name any names or confess to anything in my bitter past, but I answered the ad and attended days of allegedly paid training and they didn’t confess it was fucking door-to-door fucking VACUUM cleaner sales until the fourth FUCKING day. And the name rhymes with, um, “Derby.” And doesn’t start with “DE.” “Let him (or her) who has ears to hear understand,” it started with the exact same first two letters of the precise thing I wanted to do to the people who wrote the advertisement and led the training, for suckers to quit their day jobs to answer, and desperate people to sign up because they’re desperate. I don’t want to ever have to carry sacks of shit. They need to be put down. I mean every kind of sack of shit, including those who lie around; “let him (or her) who has ears to hear understand.”
And thank fuck there aren’t any trolls on this thing who bother to read my blog and know how to push the buttons. Thank fuck I’ve been sensible enough to decide who can follow and comment and I can decide from the list of things to do with trolls:
D o not allow them to post their bullshit comments;
A llow them to post their bullshit comments just to show how stupid they are;
E mail the sender and tell them to fuck off and report it to WordPress;
M odify the comment before posting so they sound even dumber than their
O riginal comment was, and make everyone see what a worthless shit they are;
N icely respond to all the mean shit, and agree that their point was more valid than mine
S end them a fucking love poem, or eroticism, or traumatize them with something
like a picture of a cute cat, or a dog, or a bag of burning shit, every day so they
realize it’s pointless and they fuck off on their own accord. “Bite me… gently…”
Ooh, look, it’s a fucking ACROSTIC! Who knew?! Oh, and, sorry for the turn-on if you get turned on reading such things. I can’t help myself, this devout and very married introvert is a steamy, sexy devil dog with a dirty mind, ready lips, and talented, strong hands, just dripping with … oh, sorry, there I go again.
I’m going to find a beverage since it’s Friday night, and see if nature changes its’ course. It’s a hot day in fucking FEBRUARY, so if that nature changes course, maybe OTHER natures will change and start giving me what I want. Hope you all have a great weekend, and I hope the universe, God, and your life and family and significant others all love you the way you want to be loved, without bitching about it, for the sole purpose of making you happy because they love you. I may find three beverages, which is an extra one. It’ll help me if I have to accept the seemingly inevitable outcome of THAT wish for myself. But I want YOU to get everything you want.