After seeing Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind I often pondered whether there would be an ultimate benefit to erasing bad memories. While I admit that my negative memories often outnumber those of a more positive nature, my life hasn't been all about drama and chaos. There are quite a few months and years in between that were full of joy and happiness. Granted, these aren't as numerous as I'd like them to be - not even close. However, if I chose to remove those that still haunt me and which happened to occur in the middle of a more, shall we say, relative calm period, wouldn't I do myself a disservice?
And how does one pick and chose what stays and what goes? Do I discard the horrible fisticuffs I got into with one of my exes but leave the make-up sex after? What would be the context of the sex then? It couldn't be make-up sex anymore since there was nothing to make up for...
My mind has done a wonderful job applying selective amnesia to a number of periods in my life. I did not have to consciously go out of my way to forget, they are just gone. What a wonderful survival mechanism we have at our disposal at times. Areas of our mind will band together and form a barrier to keep us sane. I must say I wish my mind, at times, was a bit more on top of things. I'm remembering way more than I appreciate.
I suppose at the same token I've often wished I could go back and change some things, but then I'd end up creating a paradox by undoing a whole lot of other aspects that I really do want to keep. So, the case for selective amnesia isn't as simple as the above mentioned movie would make it out to be. One, I'd have to accept the complete loss of entire years of my existence. Two, a lot of those memories have formed me to be the person that I am today. I would never profess to be perfect, far from it. Still, who would I be without those ugly experiences?
Could I still feel compassion and empathy for those going through the same troubles? Or would it leave me distant for lack of understanding? If I chose to forget my entire childhood, or let's just say a third of it, would I still love the taste of cherries on my ice cream? Riding my bike? Would I even be able to ride a bike still? Would I forget how to swim? The smell of roses? The list is endless.
Yes, I wish I could erase some of those ugly things in the back of my mind that seem to have a way of popping up when I least want them to. Naturally I also wish these had never happened in the first place. Wishing never got me very far. Dealing with them in a more realistic way is tough, as I have a tendency to keep shoving it way, way into the depth of the dark corners of my brain. If I want to have any chance of normalcy I'll just have to forget screwing a hole in my head. Facing my demons head-on at some point sounds a lot less painful.
Random musings about finally growing up...or not.
From: Bremen, Germany
About me: I am but a mortal woman who has lived most of her life questioning everything and rebelling against it all. I've lived day to day, every day until recently; I suddenly realized I was 42. They say wisdom comes with age, I am still learning what it means to be grown up.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Single - to be or not to be
While intellectually I know that I have been single for nearly 15 years, if you don't count my three month half marriage a few years ago, emotionally this is still a bit abstract. When my youngest was not even two I was thrust into the world as a newly minted single mom. Still being fairly young there were plenty of dates, having fun and the occasional boyfriend.
Nothing ever lasted. Thinking it over, I think I was pretty cynical about the happy for ever-after thing already. My heart broken a few times I was in no mood to set my needs aside any longer and go all out to satisfy "my man's" whims and wishes 24/7. At the first sign of trouble I either bolted or showed him the door. I had no patience for jealous bullshit, trying to change me or make me over, projected an image of me as the wifey-type and various other methods of keeping my man happy - all while forgetting about my own happiness. I grew pretty resentful after my third divorce about always putting the man first, the kids second and me last. Obviously that method didn't work out so well for me.
Over time, I've still not become a master at keeping myself happy. I poured my energy into keeping my kids happy, well, at least the best I could considering the first three years I really was an emotional wreck. Add to this that my middle son was diagnosed oppositional defiant, depressed and ADHD - my days were so full of them and their problems, you get the picture.
My youngest is 16 now and while we are still close he is growing up. Friends and personal interests are much more important than hanging out with mom; as it should be. Yet, the thought of him leaving, the last one of my boys, scares the crap out of me. Mainly because I truly have not learned to take care of my needs. Most of the time I have no idea what those even are. So much time have I spent on giving to others that the rest was forgotten or ignored.
I struggle to remember what brought me pleasure before I was married, before I had kids. Those past times seem childish now. But are they, really? What would it hurt to pick up a paintbrush and paint a picture? Grab paper and write again? (This blog doesn't count!). Go out and go dancing? Hang out lazily at the public pool all day? None of those have any real draw on me at the moment.
Perhaps it doesn't help that I have this view of myself at times, that runs counter to what comes out of my mouth. I am pretty adept at putting up a strong, cheery front when all I want to do is curl up in a ball. I really struggle to yank myself into 2008 when inside it is often 1980.
Then, some men view having multiple divorces as me being somehow damaged goods. Maybe they're right in one sense. But does that mean I am untouchable, unteachable and unreachable? God, I hope not.
Nothing ever lasted. Thinking it over, I think I was pretty cynical about the happy for ever-after thing already. My heart broken a few times I was in no mood to set my needs aside any longer and go all out to satisfy "my man's" whims and wishes 24/7. At the first sign of trouble I either bolted or showed him the door. I had no patience for jealous bullshit, trying to change me or make me over, projected an image of me as the wifey-type and various other methods of keeping my man happy - all while forgetting about my own happiness. I grew pretty resentful after my third divorce about always putting the man first, the kids second and me last. Obviously that method didn't work out so well for me.
Over time, I've still not become a master at keeping myself happy. I poured my energy into keeping my kids happy, well, at least the best I could considering the first three years I really was an emotional wreck. Add to this that my middle son was diagnosed oppositional defiant, depressed and ADHD - my days were so full of them and their problems, you get the picture.
My youngest is 16 now and while we are still close he is growing up. Friends and personal interests are much more important than hanging out with mom; as it should be. Yet, the thought of him leaving, the last one of my boys, scares the crap out of me. Mainly because I truly have not learned to take care of my needs. Most of the time I have no idea what those even are. So much time have I spent on giving to others that the rest was forgotten or ignored.
I struggle to remember what brought me pleasure before I was married, before I had kids. Those past times seem childish now. But are they, really? What would it hurt to pick up a paintbrush and paint a picture? Grab paper and write again? (This blog doesn't count!). Go out and go dancing? Hang out lazily at the public pool all day? None of those have any real draw on me at the moment.
Perhaps it doesn't help that I have this view of myself at times, that runs counter to what comes out of my mouth. I am pretty adept at putting up a strong, cheery front when all I want to do is curl up in a ball. I really struggle to yank myself into 2008 when inside it is often 1980.
Then, some men view having multiple divorces as me being somehow damaged goods. Maybe they're right in one sense. But does that mean I am untouchable, unteachable and unreachable? God, I hope not.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
One missing link recovered
For giggles I joined one of those classmate search engines and created a profile. I never really thought that I would find anyone I went to high school with. For one, I couldn't for the life of me remember first names, then the last names. Tough to find folks if you only have a face in your memory. Maybe I supressed them for whatever reason. Thinking back it probably wasn't that traumatic of an experience. I honestly don't remember all that much. That's bad, isn't it? If you think you spend years with the same people day in and day out and then 30 years later it's all gone.
Then again considering I was incognito and out of the country for over 23 years, I forgive myself for lapses in memory. Ha!
I searched my old high school's class mate entries and when I saw the names a light bulb went off in my head. There they all were! Some were unrecognizable to me. I looked at the photos of them now, their names (which I did remember) and then tried to picture them back then. Impossible. Although I will say there were one or two that looked exactly the same. Wow.
One old class mate even emailed me back but I don't think she liked me response. I saw her face and instantly remembered our 9th grade dance recital. Silver Convention was really big back then and my best friend and I had choreographed a dance to Fly Robin Fly. For reasons that I cannot recall this other girl ended up with my spot of the final recital in the gym in front of the whole school. I was really upset about it since I felt I had put my creative juices into it and there she was - stealing my thunder. Pissed me off to be honest.
In my email to her I mentioned the Fly Robin Fly song and she hasn't replied since then. Now either she's forgotten about it or she doesn't want to talk about it. Either way I've been hit with a merciless barrage of forgotten memories since signing up. Talk about a headache!
Then again considering I was incognito and out of the country for over 23 years, I forgive myself for lapses in memory. Ha!
I searched my old high school's class mate entries and when I saw the names a light bulb went off in my head. There they all were! Some were unrecognizable to me. I looked at the photos of them now, their names (which I did remember) and then tried to picture them back then. Impossible. Although I will say there were one or two that looked exactly the same. Wow.
One old class mate even emailed me back but I don't think she liked me response. I saw her face and instantly remembered our 9th grade dance recital. Silver Convention was really big back then and my best friend and I had choreographed a dance to Fly Robin Fly. For reasons that I cannot recall this other girl ended up with my spot of the final recital in the gym in front of the whole school. I was really upset about it since I felt I had put my creative juices into it and there she was - stealing my thunder. Pissed me off to be honest.
In my email to her I mentioned the Fly Robin Fly song and she hasn't replied since then. Now either she's forgotten about it or she doesn't want to talk about it. Either way I've been hit with a merciless barrage of forgotten memories since signing up. Talk about a headache!
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Foray into current politics
I'm not generally a very politically engaged person but have been inspired by the phenom Barack Obama. He is the first presidential candidate that I have ever donated money to. Being far removed in Germany at the moment I can't help with volunteers, canvass or phonebanking - but I can express nevertheless my unwaivering support.
Yesterday I entered "my" regular chat room on AOL (Places: Charlotte for anyone who cares to know). The usual banter took place and I can't even recall how the conversation took a turn into politics. Considering Obama on the state handily I expected to see support and enthusiasm. Instead the chat turned ugly, at times brutally racist (the N...word was thrown about a LOT!) and the right wing conservatives outnumbered everyone else probably 6-1. No matter what I said or how logical my argument for Obama, I was shot down with hateful verbal beatings. To say that I was in utter shock and dismay is an incredible understatement.
I really don't want to get into details of the entire chat mess but I will say that I am disappointed and ashamed. I thought Charlotte was better than that. Sweeping generalization of the entire Charlotte population is not intended but there you have it. I saw ugliness, hate and racism in a raw form that took my breath away. I gave up after an hour of defending my views and my candidate of choice. It's probably time I found myself a different crowd to virtually hang out with.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
My musical evolution
As I find myself once more tuning through various radio stations to find just the perfect song, it strikes me how music can define ones life in terms of lyrics and rhythm. A song can bring instant recollection of summers spent at the lake (In The Summertime, Mungo Jerry), my hands sticking out the car window capturing the wind on the way home as Simon & Garfunkel's "Cecilia" blasted on the old radio. These are early memories and I could not have been older than six or seven at that time.
My early teens were spent listening to the Bee Gees, Chic and Dr. Hook, wearing gold skin-tight satin pants with incredibly high heels attempting to mimic Olivia Newton-John. It was a carefree and fun time.
My family pretty much fell victim to all sorts of dysfunction and alcoholism run rampant during my mid-teens and my musical taste went right along with it. Black Sabbath, Deep Purple and Led Zeppelin blared through my days of anger, disappointment and gave me a shield of the horrid day-to-day realities. This was also the time I got my first tattoo. Rebellion to the max!
When I met the love of my life, he introduced me to classical music and Ravel's Bolero will forever remain in my memory as the song to make love to.
During the 80s (and after my first and second divorce) I wasn't really certain who I was, who or what I wanted to be; consequently, my music choices ran the gamut from Duran Duran, Aha and Eddie Money all the way to Toto, Kansas and America. I never bought entire albums, it was one song from each artist that spoke to me and that's what I stuck with. Still do today.
In the 90s I discovered jazz and R&B; George Benson, Najee, Grover Washington Jr. and Marvin Gaye. The soothing guitar rifts, caressing sax and gentle crooning calmed my frayed nerves and oft frazzled chaos that was my life.
As I survey my digital library of tunes, re-arranged to suit my every mood, I can at an instant transport to good times as well as bad. I sing along, most often out of tune, sometimes not (I can do a hell of a Marilyn Monroe. Ha!). I cry when the memory is painful, I get up and dance around my living room if the sun is shining and Huey Lewis tells me that "It's hip to be square". I can recall jumping up and down on my bed as a four-year-old when Evans & Evans lament about the year "2525". Elton John sang about Daniel on my way to the hospital to give birth to my first-born; that's the middle name he got as my first gift to him. I sang to my now last ex-husband that he would "never get my love" although En Vogue sang it much better.
Of course, the list of musical genres is endless, as are memories that shaped who I am today. I still cannot decide who I really am, maybe I should just leave it be and enjoy the variety.
My early teens were spent listening to the Bee Gees, Chic and Dr. Hook, wearing gold skin-tight satin pants with incredibly high heels attempting to mimic Olivia Newton-John. It was a carefree and fun time.
My family pretty much fell victim to all sorts of dysfunction and alcoholism run rampant during my mid-teens and my musical taste went right along with it. Black Sabbath, Deep Purple and Led Zeppelin blared through my days of anger, disappointment and gave me a shield of the horrid day-to-day realities. This was also the time I got my first tattoo. Rebellion to the max!
When I met the love of my life, he introduced me to classical music and Ravel's Bolero will forever remain in my memory as the song to make love to.
During the 80s (and after my first and second divorce) I wasn't really certain who I was, who or what I wanted to be; consequently, my music choices ran the gamut from Duran Duran, Aha and Eddie Money all the way to Toto, Kansas and America. I never bought entire albums, it was one song from each artist that spoke to me and that's what I stuck with. Still do today.
In the 90s I discovered jazz and R&B; George Benson, Najee, Grover Washington Jr. and Marvin Gaye. The soothing guitar rifts, caressing sax and gentle crooning calmed my frayed nerves and oft frazzled chaos that was my life.
As I survey my digital library of tunes, re-arranged to suit my every mood, I can at an instant transport to good times as well as bad. I sing along, most often out of tune, sometimes not (I can do a hell of a Marilyn Monroe. Ha!). I cry when the memory is painful, I get up and dance around my living room if the sun is shining and Huey Lewis tells me that "It's hip to be square". I can recall jumping up and down on my bed as a four-year-old when Evans & Evans lament about the year "2525". Elton John sang about Daniel on my way to the hospital to give birth to my first-born; that's the middle name he got as my first gift to him. I sang to my now last ex-husband that he would "never get my love" although En Vogue sang it much better.
Of course, the list of musical genres is endless, as are memories that shaped who I am today. I still cannot decide who I really am, maybe I should just leave it be and enjoy the variety.
Friday, May 23, 2008
The red-headed stepchild - Envy
I work with a woman six years my senior; she has worked for this same company since completing her apprenticeship there almost 30 ago. She's been married to the same man almost 25 years and has lived in the same house and same town just as long. I find this vexing and at times can feel pings of envy.
Having moved about the world for most of my life, having survived three-and-a-half failed marriages and having switched jobs quite often I cannot fit my idea of life into hers. I am forever searching for the next best thing while she is content plodding along doing the same thing every single day.
She is content with managing her household, going on the annual vacation with her family and starting all over next year. Just the thought of repetition and drudgery makes me want to pack my bags and move to New Zealand.
I do ask myself though if there is not some comfort in this predictable pattern of life. Afterall, there are no real surprises. Tomorrow is another work day, Saturday we do the laundry, Sunday we weed the garden and in-between we take care of a husband and child. On the surface she has the perfect life.
Yet, I can't help but notice a slight twinge of envy when I have conversations with her about my many travels and moves. My experiences in other places, towns, countries are the polar opposites of hers. I am what they call here a multi-culti. Apparently this label is applied to anyone that can't sit still and be satisfied with their lot in life as well as somewhat of a world traveler who speaks multiple languages. I'm still trying to figure that one out. But I digress.
Should I be satisfied with my lot in life? And what exactly is that? I tried the marriage and housewife route and failed at it miserably. I couldn't be bothered chasing down every single dustbunny lurking under furniture and have a smallish zoo of various spider populations keeping my house fly and mosquito free. My windows get washed when I feel like it (which is next to never) and cooking receives the same dismissive attitude.
My co-worker's views on the world and how people should live their lives sometimes come across as small-minded and judgemental. She can't understand why I would want to switch jobs every three to five years and finds this manner of working almost psychotic. To her, this is a surefire sign of inadequacy and a lack of ability to adapt. Adapt to what? Groupthink?
I think I have managed to adapt quite well to all sorts of challenges. It's not that easy to move from one continent to the next on your own and hit the ground running. The inevitable bumps in the road have served to strengthen my resolve and given me tenacity. Starting over is harder as I get older yet I am still willing to subject myself to the ordeal. Why?
If you saw my home you would see a reflection of me - no artwork or fancy curtains, nothing permanent affixed anywhere. It is much easier to pack up and leave without the trappings of what I consider giving in to a life of permancy and boredom. I see a transatlantic job search in my not so far future.
Having moved about the world for most of my life, having survived three-and-a-half failed marriages and having switched jobs quite often I cannot fit my idea of life into hers. I am forever searching for the next best thing while she is content plodding along doing the same thing every single day.
She is content with managing her household, going on the annual vacation with her family and starting all over next year. Just the thought of repetition and drudgery makes me want to pack my bags and move to New Zealand.
I do ask myself though if there is not some comfort in this predictable pattern of life. Afterall, there are no real surprises. Tomorrow is another work day, Saturday we do the laundry, Sunday we weed the garden and in-between we take care of a husband and child. On the surface she has the perfect life.
Yet, I can't help but notice a slight twinge of envy when I have conversations with her about my many travels and moves. My experiences in other places, towns, countries are the polar opposites of hers. I am what they call here a multi-culti. Apparently this label is applied to anyone that can't sit still and be satisfied with their lot in life as well as somewhat of a world traveler who speaks multiple languages. I'm still trying to figure that one out. But I digress.
Should I be satisfied with my lot in life? And what exactly is that? I tried the marriage and housewife route and failed at it miserably. I couldn't be bothered chasing down every single dustbunny lurking under furniture and have a smallish zoo of various spider populations keeping my house fly and mosquito free. My windows get washed when I feel like it (which is next to never) and cooking receives the same dismissive attitude.
My co-worker's views on the world and how people should live their lives sometimes come across as small-minded and judgemental. She can't understand why I would want to switch jobs every three to five years and finds this manner of working almost psychotic. To her, this is a surefire sign of inadequacy and a lack of ability to adapt. Adapt to what? Groupthink?
I think I have managed to adapt quite well to all sorts of challenges. It's not that easy to move from one continent to the next on your own and hit the ground running. The inevitable bumps in the road have served to strengthen my resolve and given me tenacity. Starting over is harder as I get older yet I am still willing to subject myself to the ordeal. Why?
If you saw my home you would see a reflection of me - no artwork or fancy curtains, nothing permanent affixed anywhere. It is much easier to pack up and leave without the trappings of what I consider giving in to a life of permancy and boredom. I see a transatlantic job search in my not so far future.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Body image..Germanstyle
In getting older I, as so many of us over 40, have noticed my expanding waist and tummy. Since I loathe exercising for a number of reasons, the least of which is of course sheer laziness, I've sort of learned to tolerate the extra weight. I say tolerate because I honestly don't like it, just put up with it until I can figure out a way to get rid of it. Kind of like letting down a lover easy because you don't want to hurt his feelings. Yes I know, I have a strange relationship with my body fat. Whatever.
For whatever reason I switched on German television yesterday, the movie sounded interesting so I tuned in. I'm not going to rehash the whole plot but will say this: German women seem to have a much healthier body image as well as relationship with their curves. The main character of this movie was a single mother about my age and with a few extra pounds as well. She wasn't particularily beautiful in any sense, not like US standards where all actresses are made up to the hilt. She was pretty and homely and a little pudgy. She didn't seem to care much and throughout the entire movie I got to see her buck naked a few times as she was having sex with her new man or even just running around the house naked. I was a little stunned. Oh and the ladies daughter came home in the middle of this giggling and jiggling and the mom didn't even cover up! Wow. She actually put on an apron over the nakedness, barely covering anything of course, and proceeded to fix lunch for the daughter. Yikes, is all I could think.
I mean my American moral compass tells me that this is an 8 pm movie and for God's sakes the kids are still up! I was also slightly in awe that society here views the human body not as something to be ashamed of but to revere no matter what its size. Probably explains the thousands of folks naked on European beaches. Nobody cares.
So why do I have such a warped view of my not size zero body? Why is it so damned important to me to be thin again like I was at 23? Why do we as women constantly buy into this thin is beautiful crap and torture ourselves with endless diets and hours of gym visits? Yeah, yeah, eating healthy is important and the 30 mins of exercise a day I get in easily with all the walking and biking I'm doing here. I'm referring to the whole beat-yourself-senseless personal loathing were we become damn near suicidal because we are voluptuous and not Keira Knightly.
Well, I have vowed to throw out all my size 7 pants and suits and shirts that I've been hoarding for 10 years hoping to eventually fit into them again. I think I'll reward myself with a trip to the mall this weekend and celebrate my newfound freedom!
For whatever reason I switched on German television yesterday, the movie sounded interesting so I tuned in. I'm not going to rehash the whole plot but will say this: German women seem to have a much healthier body image as well as relationship with their curves. The main character of this movie was a single mother about my age and with a few extra pounds as well. She wasn't particularily beautiful in any sense, not like US standards where all actresses are made up to the hilt. She was pretty and homely and a little pudgy. She didn't seem to care much and throughout the entire movie I got to see her buck naked a few times as she was having sex with her new man or even just running around the house naked. I was a little stunned. Oh and the ladies daughter came home in the middle of this giggling and jiggling and the mom didn't even cover up! Wow. She actually put on an apron over the nakedness, barely covering anything of course, and proceeded to fix lunch for the daughter. Yikes, is all I could think.
I mean my American moral compass tells me that this is an 8 pm movie and for God's sakes the kids are still up! I was also slightly in awe that society here views the human body not as something to be ashamed of but to revere no matter what its size. Probably explains the thousands of folks naked on European beaches. Nobody cares.
So why do I have such a warped view of my not size zero body? Why is it so damned important to me to be thin again like I was at 23? Why do we as women constantly buy into this thin is beautiful crap and torture ourselves with endless diets and hours of gym visits? Yeah, yeah, eating healthy is important and the 30 mins of exercise a day I get in easily with all the walking and biking I'm doing here. I'm referring to the whole beat-yourself-senseless personal loathing were we become damn near suicidal because we are voluptuous and not Keira Knightly.
Well, I have vowed to throw out all my size 7 pants and suits and shirts that I've been hoarding for 10 years hoping to eventually fit into them again. I think I'll reward myself with a trip to the mall this weekend and celebrate my newfound freedom!
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Desperately seeking...
A couple of weeks ago I decided to grab the bull by the horns and posted an ad in one of the local community boards. I felt a bit silly asking for "friends" to hang out with but truly didn't really have much choice.
In the states, I had no problems going out alone and always met people fairly easily. The folks in Bremen are a bit suspicious of any female out on her own. Especially if she starts talking to you and she doesn't even know you! I never thought I had the lady-of-the night sort of look, but apparently they look like average everyday women here. Why else would I get such strange reactions?
Sure, if I want to sit in one of the local pubs and proceed to get soused with some beers and Korn (the German equivalent to Everclear and nasty stuff!) I would certainly find someone of adult age to talk to. However, the conversation would quickly deterioriate into drunken blabbering. Not my idea of a good time. Plus, I like to remember what I talked about - what would be the point otherwise??
So this ad of mine was difficult to write but I made myself to it anyway. Surprisingly enough I did get quite a number of responses. Mostly women but some married couples as well. Interesting I thought. I mean, the ad didn't in any way even hint that I might be looking for swingers but hey, to each his own, right?
I've met up with a couple of nice ladies for coffee and a quick chat. I'm not sure that I really connected with them though. I'm a bit of a loner to begin with so it's hard for me to make instant friends. Add to that that I've been on my own and without any close friends for close to 10 years, it's really a big jump for me to put myself out there like that. Ugh. I get nervous just thinking about it! Right up there with public speaking!
I'll meet up with a couple more ladies and if that still doesn't pan out, maybe I'll have to join the local Sportsverein (it's like the Y I guess). Nothing will forge friendships faster than working up a sweat I've been told. Ha!
In the states, I had no problems going out alone and always met people fairly easily. The folks in Bremen are a bit suspicious of any female out on her own. Especially if she starts talking to you and she doesn't even know you! I never thought I had the lady-of-the night sort of look, but apparently they look like average everyday women here. Why else would I get such strange reactions?
Sure, if I want to sit in one of the local pubs and proceed to get soused with some beers and Korn (the German equivalent to Everclear and nasty stuff!) I would certainly find someone of adult age to talk to. However, the conversation would quickly deterioriate into drunken blabbering. Not my idea of a good time. Plus, I like to remember what I talked about - what would be the point otherwise??
So this ad of mine was difficult to write but I made myself to it anyway. Surprisingly enough I did get quite a number of responses. Mostly women but some married couples as well. Interesting I thought. I mean, the ad didn't in any way even hint that I might be looking for swingers but hey, to each his own, right?
I've met up with a couple of nice ladies for coffee and a quick chat. I'm not sure that I really connected with them though. I'm a bit of a loner to begin with so it's hard for me to make instant friends. Add to that that I've been on my own and without any close friends for close to 10 years, it's really a big jump for me to put myself out there like that. Ugh. I get nervous just thinking about it! Right up there with public speaking!
I'll meet up with a couple more ladies and if that still doesn't pan out, maybe I'll have to join the local Sportsverein (it's like the Y I guess). Nothing will forge friendships faster than working up a sweat I've been told. Ha!
Monday, May 19, 2008
Charlie's Angels to the rescue? Eeek!
A shrink would've had a blast with last nights goings-on in my dreamworld. Seems Farrah and Jackie dropped in for a visit to helpfully point out that I really need to pull myself together for my son's sake. Where on earth did they come from? I certainly don't remember inviting them.
Most importantly, what does it say about my state of mind to be offered advice by 70s sexkittens? Never mind that they were (and are) absolutely right. My oh my.
Most importantly, what does it say about my state of mind to be offered advice by 70s sexkittens? Never mind that they were (and are) absolutely right. My oh my.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
The heartbreak of losing my house
Photos of my now foreclosed home in Charlotte and my now rented home in Germany.
When I took the position here in Germany, I had my house on the market for almost six weeks already. The market was still relatively strong and my agent assured me there would be no problem selling it pronto. He was wrong. Not only wrong, but dead wrong. It didn't sell.
This was the first house I purchased (and my only house) with the help of a HUD loan. I paid 127k for it in 2000. Five years later I took out a second to replace the roof and fix various other things. By the time I left I owed 170k, and the house as appraised at 190k+. Great deal right?
Then the move to Germany happened, as mentioned, it didn't sell. There was no way I could maintain a mortgage in the states and rent a place overseas as well. When it still didn't sell two months into my Europe adventure I had to make the most excruciating decision of my life. I had to stop paying the mortgage. Somewhere I had the illogical hope that by some miracle it would sell still and I would be ok. Never happened. It went into foreclosure.
I resisted the urge to look at Zillow to see what was going on with it. Yesterday I caved and looked. The house is currently on sale for 137k - way below appraised value. To make matters worse the agent that bought it at auction was using MY original photos of it to post it for sale! I was not only heartbroken but also livid! I summarily logged in with my own screenname and deleted the photos. I suppose I was feeling spiteful for being robbed of the home that I raised my children in. How juvenile you say? I don't care.
So with all that said, this is then another kink in my return home. A foreclosure on my credit report is definitely a big whammy. Then again, half the country can boast this tidbit on their reports now, so maybe one more is not so bad.
The emotions of failure and dispair are punishment that I try valiantly to endure and sometimes ignore. I don't think I'm doing so well with that.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Running on empty
I've always been a Jackson Browne fan, so his song (see title) is more than appropriate at this time in my life. It ends with "You know I dont even know what Im hoping to find, running into the sun but Im running behind". I couldn't have said it any better. Truthfully I don't have words to describe just what I've been doing with my life since I became a legal adult. It has been such a chaos of relationships, places, people, my children. The more I got entangled into this crazy web called life the less I knew what the hell to do with it.
I guess we all ask ourselves "is this all there is?" I never really asked myself that question until now. I was so busy moving forward, keepin' on truckin', running this way and that and trying to stay sane. Somewhere along this timeline I've become a cynic and somewhat numb.
I suppose in a way I caved in to the endless barrage of abuse life heaps upon us. Sure, as a survivor I often came out relatively unscathed - at least physically. The emotional scars that one bears are invisible to the eye but ever painful and relentless.
I had a period where I devoured all kinds of books: self-help books, eastern philosophy, metaphysics, western religion. You name it, I've read them. They now collect lots of dust in my bookshelf and give my living room an intellectual flair. That's about it. Help they did not. I was more confused than ever. Religion just turns me off with all the rules and shall nots and I can't quiet my mind long enough to meditate.
I go through the motions of living but must admit that I feel bored most of the time, bored to tears. Nope, I don't feel particularly depressed. It really doesn't matter what I'm doing or where I'm going or who I'm with. I am just bored. Maybe disillusioned would be the better to say. That's brutal considering I am still young if the 40s are the new 30s. Have I really lived so much in so little time that I can't drag myself out of my shell to experience ..well, what...life? I have folks telling me to get out there and experience life and all it has to offer. Maybe I'm still waiting for my near death experience or that one A HA! moment to shake me up.
I guess we all ask ourselves "is this all there is?" I never really asked myself that question until now. I was so busy moving forward, keepin' on truckin', running this way and that and trying to stay sane. Somewhere along this timeline I've become a cynic and somewhat numb.
I suppose in a way I caved in to the endless barrage of abuse life heaps upon us. Sure, as a survivor I often came out relatively unscathed - at least physically. The emotional scars that one bears are invisible to the eye but ever painful and relentless.
I had a period where I devoured all kinds of books: self-help books, eastern philosophy, metaphysics, western religion. You name it, I've read them. They now collect lots of dust in my bookshelf and give my living room an intellectual flair. That's about it. Help they did not. I was more confused than ever. Religion just turns me off with all the rules and shall nots and I can't quiet my mind long enough to meditate.
I go through the motions of living but must admit that I feel bored most of the time, bored to tears. Nope, I don't feel particularly depressed. It really doesn't matter what I'm doing or where I'm going or who I'm with. I am just bored. Maybe disillusioned would be the better to say. That's brutal considering I am still young if the 40s are the new 30s. Have I really lived so much in so little time that I can't drag myself out of my shell to experience ..well, what...life? I have folks telling me to get out there and experience life and all it has to offer. Maybe I'm still waiting for my near death experience or that one A HA! moment to shake me up.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
And the end has finally come
For years I tried to distance myself from my less than stellar childhood, less than motherly mother and everything that occured in-between. The older I got, the more I somehow felt that I had to make amends or at least try to establish a semblance of a relationship with my mother. I'm not really sure if these were noble intentions or just blind stupidity on my part. You can't undo the past, nor can you make folks see the error of their ways. It just doesn't work.
I guess I finally woke up and smelled the coffee the one day the year that is supposedly in honor of thy mother (however commercially contrived it may really be). I sent the obligatory flowers and followed up with a phone call at 9:30 am. My thinking of course, it's way early in the morning and she will be sober. We can have a conversation. Or so I thought. All it took was for her to pick up the receiver and say "Hello" followed by screeches of delight and I realized: she was already soused. 9:30 am. I can't say that I was particularly stunned or shocked. I will say that it marked the end of the line for me.
The conversation that followed can only be described as a struggle; mine to keep things on an even keel and hers not to slur her words too terribly. It was moot. The conversation turned to old wounds, accusations and sparring unlike anything I have participated in since divorcing my husband. I took to my soapbox and declared that I would sever this once and for all. I don't think she believed me. Matters not.
If you take into consideration that my own teenage son somehow overslept Mother's Day (he didn't roll into consciousness until almost 3 pm) I was rather depressed that day. My solution? Drown myself in a round of good ole German Becks. What a hypocrite I am.
It's taken me all week to digest all of this. While my brother is completely on my side since he disowned my mother years ago, my sister on the other hand still has it somehow in her to keep her relationship going. I'm not sure how she does it nor am I really interested in learning.
Strangely enough I ran across some article by Oprah today (I never, ever watch her show!) that one should let go of the pre-conceived notions of what a mother should be. Or at least what my mother was, is or should be. I am for all intents and purposes now an orphan. Then again, I think I have been since I was a little and just never wanted to face the truth.
Should I be mourning now?
I guess I finally woke up and smelled the coffee the one day the year that is supposedly in honor of thy mother (however commercially contrived it may really be). I sent the obligatory flowers and followed up with a phone call at 9:30 am. My thinking of course, it's way early in the morning and she will be sober. We can have a conversation. Or so I thought. All it took was for her to pick up the receiver and say "Hello" followed by screeches of delight and I realized: she was already soused. 9:30 am. I can't say that I was particularly stunned or shocked. I will say that it marked the end of the line for me.
The conversation that followed can only be described as a struggle; mine to keep things on an even keel and hers not to slur her words too terribly. It was moot. The conversation turned to old wounds, accusations and sparring unlike anything I have participated in since divorcing my husband. I took to my soapbox and declared that I would sever this once and for all. I don't think she believed me. Matters not.
If you take into consideration that my own teenage son somehow overslept Mother's Day (he didn't roll into consciousness until almost 3 pm) I was rather depressed that day. My solution? Drown myself in a round of good ole German Becks. What a hypocrite I am.
It's taken me all week to digest all of this. While my brother is completely on my side since he disowned my mother years ago, my sister on the other hand still has it somehow in her to keep her relationship going. I'm not sure how she does it nor am I really interested in learning.
Strangely enough I ran across some article by Oprah today (I never, ever watch her show!) that one should let go of the pre-conceived notions of what a mother should be. Or at least what my mother was, is or should be. I am for all intents and purposes now an orphan. Then again, I think I have been since I was a little and just never wanted to face the truth.
Should I be mourning now?
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
One year later...
If this was a movie, my life that is, I'm not sure where to categorize it. Would it be a tearjerker and the heroine in the end does defeat the impossible? I'm honestly beginning to wonder.
My blog has been neglected over the past year. I think I put it off as long as possible to give myself, and this place, my life - a fighting chance. I am however ready to admit defeat on a few aspects whereas I've gained a whole new perspective on others.
I've endured the family reunions and visited old haunts. Not much has changed, except they could all use a fresh coat of paint. It's as if everything has been frozen in time somehow. I'm not really sure what I expected, perhaps my nostalgia got the better of me. I suppose "you can never go home" really is true.
I've come to the painful realization that while some folks look at all my moving around the globe as enviable, I on the other hand know now that I've done nothing but run. Attempting to put distance between myself and the places that evoke painful memories, people that do the same. I've also come to the truth that I do not have a mother (not in the emotional sense), never had a father and everything I imagined was just the memories of a little girl. Somehow I tried to hold on to all the good stuff for most of my adult life but have failed to move past the bad stuff and grow up. I'm 44 years old and honestly just a teenager stuck in an adult body.
I am here in a country that I was born in that feels as strange to me as the moon. Yes, the scenery sure is pretty; however, all the wonder leaves me somehow cold. I am torn between staying and leaving at the first opportunity. I talked myself into going last year by convincing myself I would see all the places in Europe that I missed on my last go-around. I haven't been anywhere further than England thus far. It's still on the table. I suppose I should be grateful I have another 4 weeks of vacation to burn. Not sure what to do with it all.
I also envisioned that I would somehow reconnect with my mother, but I suppose after 25 years of relatively little contact via phone and none in person that was a bit naive of me. We are strangers, she is worse than I remember her 25 years ago, a full blown alcoholic and completely emotionally unavailable. So much for that. I gave up on the whole family thing. Especially since it appears to want to draw me into the abyss that I ran away from so long ago! Just can't do it.
My son hated me for the first four months and only now has learned some German and made a few friends. Of course attending an English speaking school everything is hunky-dory for him (he has no clue how expensive this school is) and he now wants to stay and finish high school here. He confuses me - then again, he's a teenager so it's par for the course.
My desire to throw in the towel is sometimes so overwhelming that is all I can do to hang on just one more day, one more week, one more month. How much longer I can bear it...who the hell knows. I don't know anyone outside of work, don't really go out (it's frowned upon as a single woman over here, go figure...) and have pretty much turned into a hermit. I have my US satellite TV, my link back to the US over the net and well, we only speak English at home of course. My co-workers don't understand this at all. To them, I am a German that has returned home and I should damn well just fit in. Well, I got news for you - I don't! Maybe I just don't want to.
By all accounts I should look upon my accomplishments with satisfaction. I've moved to Europe where everyone else apparently wants to be. I have a good job, a decent kid (so far! lol) and want for nothing. I have almost 44 days of vacation and national holidays to blow per year, although since I am used to blowing my measly 10 US days on family emergencies and doctor visits, I honestly have little experience with this much time off. Sounds weird, I know.
I don't have, or need, a car. With almost 9 bucks per gallon who wants a damn car? Putting a kid through private school is expensive enough and the public transport system is excellent here. I live in a rented house with a terrace, quiet and privacy and a basement (which I always wanted). yet I am completely and utterly miserable. How can I explain that?? I've spent countless sleepless nights on that quandry.
My musings will no doubt drown in the bottomless chaos that is the web. At least I'm having a dialogue with myself - finally. 'bout time I think.
My blog has been neglected over the past year. I think I put it off as long as possible to give myself, and this place, my life - a fighting chance. I am however ready to admit defeat on a few aspects whereas I've gained a whole new perspective on others.
I've endured the family reunions and visited old haunts. Not much has changed, except they could all use a fresh coat of paint. It's as if everything has been frozen in time somehow. I'm not really sure what I expected, perhaps my nostalgia got the better of me. I suppose "you can never go home" really is true.
I've come to the painful realization that while some folks look at all my moving around the globe as enviable, I on the other hand know now that I've done nothing but run. Attempting to put distance between myself and the places that evoke painful memories, people that do the same. I've also come to the truth that I do not have a mother (not in the emotional sense), never had a father and everything I imagined was just the memories of a little girl. Somehow I tried to hold on to all the good stuff for most of my adult life but have failed to move past the bad stuff and grow up. I'm 44 years old and honestly just a teenager stuck in an adult body.
I am here in a country that I was born in that feels as strange to me as the moon. Yes, the scenery sure is pretty; however, all the wonder leaves me somehow cold. I am torn between staying and leaving at the first opportunity. I talked myself into going last year by convincing myself I would see all the places in Europe that I missed on my last go-around. I haven't been anywhere further than England thus far. It's still on the table. I suppose I should be grateful I have another 4 weeks of vacation to burn. Not sure what to do with it all.
I also envisioned that I would somehow reconnect with my mother, but I suppose after 25 years of relatively little contact via phone and none in person that was a bit naive of me. We are strangers, she is worse than I remember her 25 years ago, a full blown alcoholic and completely emotionally unavailable. So much for that. I gave up on the whole family thing. Especially since it appears to want to draw me into the abyss that I ran away from so long ago! Just can't do it.
My son hated me for the first four months and only now has learned some German and made a few friends. Of course attending an English speaking school everything is hunky-dory for him (he has no clue how expensive this school is) and he now wants to stay and finish high school here. He confuses me - then again, he's a teenager so it's par for the course.
My desire to throw in the towel is sometimes so overwhelming that is all I can do to hang on just one more day, one more week, one more month. How much longer I can bear it...who the hell knows. I don't know anyone outside of work, don't really go out (it's frowned upon as a single woman over here, go figure...) and have pretty much turned into a hermit. I have my US satellite TV, my link back to the US over the net and well, we only speak English at home of course. My co-workers don't understand this at all. To them, I am a German that has returned home and I should damn well just fit in. Well, I got news for you - I don't! Maybe I just don't want to.
By all accounts I should look upon my accomplishments with satisfaction. I've moved to Europe where everyone else apparently wants to be. I have a good job, a decent kid (so far! lol) and want for nothing. I have almost 44 days of vacation and national holidays to blow per year, although since I am used to blowing my measly 10 US days on family emergencies and doctor visits, I honestly have little experience with this much time off. Sounds weird, I know.
I don't have, or need, a car. With almost 9 bucks per gallon who wants a damn car? Putting a kid through private school is expensive enough and the public transport system is excellent here. I live in a rented house with a terrace, quiet and privacy and a basement (which I always wanted). yet I am completely and utterly miserable. How can I explain that?? I've spent countless sleepless nights on that quandry.
My musings will no doubt drown in the bottomless chaos that is the web. At least I'm having a dialogue with myself - finally. 'bout time I think.
