Please let the first day of change stick this time-

There is a day of contemplation- of finding the twists and turns and being so very angry at the people that lead you the wrong way while telling you they love you. Then you become ashamed that you listened to them instead of yourself. You trusted them instead of your inner voice screaming. You notice how it paralyzes you completely. The frustrations of friends and family feed the shame. You tune them out to get it together. You know in your brain that what they think doesn't matter when they only know a small potion of the story. But you heart knows it does. It's been more nearly half your life since you have been your own soul- potions here and there along the way, but not completely- not in 25 years- more than half your life- because of those wrong turns taken by people who believed they were doing the right thing comparing you, goading you, admitting they lead you purposely wrongly then wondering why you felt helpless and hopeless. You have a day like that and you start cleaning out your dresser. You throw out the threadbare and stained and too small shirts that have always been there. You finally throw them out. You don't have to keep them, just because they have always been there. You get rid of the shirts you should keep because they are good shirts and will keep you warm- doesn't matter if you hate the style. You get rid of those. You start folding what's left and it's surprising when you find a shirt you absolutely loved, you feel sexy in and it actually looks good on you. How could you have forgotten you favorite shirt, crammed and wadded under the ones long overdue to be throw out, gotten rid of, given back, just gone? Look at all that room for your favorite shirt- that makes you feel like you- that you now remember-

Master of most

I am in need of a master in the old sense of the word. I need a guide and mentor. There have been times when I have expressed my need in a lot of different categories. I search for a spiritual mentor, especially in terms of my supernatural tendencies and tend to encounter folks who say "Yeah, me too- and then continue to tell me how their experiences were more significant than mine. Or they nod and patronize me-amused at my inexperience and smug in theirs. I search for a costume/clothing mentor, and they say I'm doing it wrong because it is not their way. Like the old Chinese man in the wood- I need someone who sees that I want to know and is confident enough in their own skills to not worry if mine are or become greater. The key may being finding someone who is not emotionally invested in the outcome. And by emotionally invested, I mean someone who will not feel they are less if I excel. Makes me sound arrogant doesn't it? Well ask me if I care- It's the energy I can feel coming from who I ask-

Time to Grow up

I have to turn down another job offer because of cash flow. I am not amused. I'm pissed as hell. I hate being a grown up and having to think so much of the bottom line. I am encouraged to keep looking- to find the job when I feel productive and satisfied. I did. And I have to turn it down because it is half the hourly rate , AND half the hours. I'm the money and I have these boys to make sure have a better life than I did. I have to make sure they learn to push themselves- to take advantage of every ounce of education they can squeeze out of every brain they find. I have to make sure they don't grow up like me and one day decide "Today I will grow old because I can no longer dream or hope for something better for myself". I was never taught these things. I did not have anyone to believe in me, to talk to, to guide me. And now that I am lost, I will have to be their guide. It's too late for me. I will stay at my current employ. I will grow old and humorless, but by God they will not be like me. Patrick said he wanted to be like me when he was about 4 years old. He said I was strong- like a mermaid. When he was older he said if he were a hero, he would be a child of Athena. I have no idea who he is talking about. I had to give up being that person. Today, I am no hero. Today, I got old and grew up. No more dreams for me, just for them.

that which is not accepable

My work consists of telling people why they are wrong.
I have to tell people no and give them bad news.
Good customer service consists of spending as little time as possible with people.
I produce nothing.
I am accountable for things that I am not supposed to review.
As a government employee, I can not defend when racial or religious slurs are said to me. Nor can I defend myself when some one is aggressive verbally. Nor can I say a thing to the man who slaps his infant in front of me and yells "no hitting" when the 1 year old was just waving his arms around. As a government employee, I have to hold my tongue when the mother in front of me calls their toddler stupid and useless.

In the first few weeks, I had compassion and an eagerness to make sure paperwork was in order for the benefit of the customer. This is not necessarily office policy.
Go call your insurance company. I'll be over here eating paint.
I try to focus on the notable people of the day. I met a man today who is doing what I would love to be doing- restoring historic buildings. I met a man who was so moved by the wonder of seeing his own child in an ultrasound, he is near graduating with his MA degree so he can share that experience with others daily as a tech. I have to focus on these people. It's these few that my gut tells me to chat with that get me through. I come home and leave everything at the office. That part is easy because I am nothing there. I know myself so well now. I am reassured in my knowing. I am looking to reviving.
On Monday, I had a moment when I was arguing with a customer about his due date. The expiration is on the bill twice. It's not my problem if you wife did not read it. Something popped in my heart/ brain connection. I actually heard it- like when a tendon is torn from bone. I could see the whitish connective band frayed and ricocheting in my mind's eye. I had become the grey of a government employee. I put Black 47's 'James Connolly' on repeat in my car-
"It's better to die like a man on you feet than like a slave bound in chains-"
I searched out that man's restoration business when I got home today. We all have asked at what point is enough enough? Why, when we decide it is, my love. That which is not acceptable can only be for so long. I need more because I am more.

3 am again, no 4 am rant

The middle of the night is the only time I feel like I have myself to myself. It is also the worst time to write, or sew and expect to be able to go to work the next day. Well crap.
Sometimes I come home for lunch just to be alone for 15 minutes. Even if the family all backs off and know Mom's in time out, their enerigies are there. My darling love is wondering and reaching out to me with his heart- it is not the same as just being alone to recharge, to find restful peace before starting it all at full bore again. I keep telling myself, because others keep telling me- there is always tomorrow, or next week- and it fills me with rage.
Later is the kind of thinking that has it all ending up being too late in the end. I've spent too much time waiting. I have full faith in all of you to be able to figure it out. Leave me to me. I don't want to go out. I want to stay here, alone. And when I come out in 3 or 4 or 8 or 12 hours, it will have helped and I won't resent being needed, or the being the only one who knows what to do. As much. The thing with moms needed to take time for themselves is something we know in a full "no Shit" capacity. It's everyone else who needs to respect that fact, and give it to us. I don't feel that this need is respected by anyone. Otherwise, they would not tell me to just do it tomorrow, or next week. And if I had that feeling about making dinner......? It's starting to sound like a reasonable idea to pack up the sewing room and let the boys have it for play room. I'm not using it and they could. And it makes me sad that I feel like my need to have my own kind of recreation feels so disrespected that it does sound like such a reasonable idea. I packed it all into the attic before when the boys were all in diapers. It cracked my heart a little each day to see what was such a part of me having to be ignored. It was less painful to put it all out of sight and forget how it felt to feel peaceful creation. There was a bit of release when I did that- like when I mowed over the gardens, or decided to stop clearing the work benches- a relief that I didn't have to be sad about it anymore because it was gone. And I stare at the TV doing nothing and feeling like I don't know anything anymore. Worse part is, I can see the same broken heart behind the eyes of the boys about the things they used to love. No time or soul to play baseball with Patrick, teach Richard to sew, play music, rock climb, draw, paint, build- I don't even know what they like anymore. I don't know any of us anymore it seems. It makes me very sad that this is the only kind of writing I can come up with because of the emotional, mental, and spiritual log jam feels iced over with no signs of spring in sight. Even more so that I have to rant and demand to get respected time alone. That feels dirty- not at all helpful or healing. I don't remember the last time I relaxed- that I was not in full speed ahead mode. I some how think if I get what needs to get done, then I will have time for myself to enjoy the things that being me peace- as long as no one else needs something from me, even if it is just love. I'm tapped out and it's hard work to scrape the inside of that barrel. Me, what I do, my time, does not feel important enough in others minds. I want to run away from home. Or change the locks, albeit temporarily. So this is Purgatory-
There's always next week, I'm told.

Back to bed. Being so worn out will not help my defeated feeling. It only makes it worse. I had a life goal to be a force of change for myself, and not a complainer. That goal is out the window tonight. I do feel better though. Thanks for listening.