Strong (old poetry)

 

I like to believe I am strong
sometimes
not as weak as the exterior
wills me to be.
in my fantasy world,
I hold my own,
know where I am going,
where I have been.

the key is simplicity
and in my dream
everything
is simple.
I don't hide behind
the pen.

The very same pen
that has brought me such joy,
as well as the continuous burden of sorrows.

no,
not in the world where I am strong.
In this world,
there are no feelings to be
hurt,
and I am no longer
the shape
I once was
hiding behind the letters.

I stand tall,
and proud. For once
I have all the answers,
for once I know
what it feels like to be
the true
me. And not
the one behind the ink.

No one knows this self I have become.

But did I
become,
or have I always
been?

So deep inside
I realize, no one knows
me,
as I am
and how I push myself to be.
Not even me.

Once again
the dream is over
and I am behind the pen.

I am not strong,
but,
I like to be pretend to be.

Can I hear you say "MICRO"?

For any of you that know me, or have known me for any length of time, it is pretty common knowledge that the job I had before the one I have now (secretary in Nutrition Services at the hospital) was the bane of my existence.  I spent over five years, clawing and scraping and trying to get out of there. 

I was passed up not once, but TWICE for full-time hours that should have been mine due to seniority, and TWICE I had to train the person who they gave the hours to instead of me.  I was suspended when I missed work because Aiden had pnemonia, and yes, I did have a doctor's note.  I interviewed for countless other positions inside of the hospital, some of them I was more than qualified for, and it wasn't until I got a phone call from my now-boss, after an interview I had with him, that he had received a poor rating from my current manager that I realized why I was being passed up for these other positions.

So I fought fire with fire, I started reporting my micro-managing bitch of a boss for every wrong step she took, every time she made another employee cry (which was a weekly occurrence) and every time she put a toe out of line in regards to our code of ethics.  For five years, I hated coming into work.  I loved my job, I loved my coworkers, but being told every single day what a piece of shit you are, how worthless you are, that you don't know your own job; that wears on a person.  But I FINALLY got out.  I was offered a position in Materials Management, and Nutrition was more than happy to get rid of me, that they pretty much let me go without having to put in my two weeks.

Then a year and a half of bliss.  I was trained in my job, I learned my job, I excelled at my job.  My work was done in a timely manner, I was able to actually look forward to coming into work in the morning.  I missed two days of work the first year that I was there, the first because Aiden had an ear infection, the second because I was throwing up and couldn't get out of bed.  I loved it.  I loved the freedom of having being given a task, allowed to complete that task without someone watching over me like a hawk, and then given feedback on that task.  I constantly went above and beyond.  I picked up overnight shifts, I picked up holidays, I actually laughed while I was at work.

Nine months ago, enter The 'Stache.  Normally facial hair doesn't bother me, but this man... there are no words.  I knew I didn't like him pretty much instantly.  Over the last nine months any additional tasks that were mine have been taken away.  My coworkers and I are being watched every step we take, and ordered around by a man who has no idea how to do my job.  Today, he proceeded to approach me about adding some new product to the ICU, but came to me each time with only half of the information I needed, and still expected me to be able to do my job.  When I offered a solution, I was shot down.  My voice is no longer heard, and it no longer matters.

I know I'm not the only one in my department with these issues.  We have employees that get away with doing little to nothing every day in the hopes that if they don't do it, someone else will, and we usually do.  The more I do, the more I am then expected to do, but I'm not allowed to do it on my own, oh NO!  I have to do it under the ever watchful eye of The 'Stache.  Being told every step of the way that what I'm doing isn't right, this is how it needs to be done BECAUSE HE SAID SO.

I am at my wits end.  I have gone to my director, who has done little to remedy the situation, and I think that my next step is going to be up a notch in the ladder of hierarchy.  I hate that it has come to this.

I hate that my voice suddenly, once again, doesn't matter.

Have I found you, flightless bird?

I talked a couple of weeks ago about how hard dating is.  What I failed to understand at the time was that when someone truly special comes around, it's not.  It comes easily, like breathing.

I don't know what either of us had in mind when we started talking over six months ago, but I don't think it was ever initially thought to be anything more than an internet friendship, getting to know each other, and enjoying the other enough to continue with conversations over the weeks and months.

He was patient with me while my heart healed, I extended the same.  It wasn't until we started text messaging each other more frequently, seeking each other out through space on purpose rather than simply stumbling into each other.  The first night when he actually called me rather than shooting me a text, and I knew this could actually become something more.  We talked for over an hour.

He has allowed me to find myself and my happiness within by simply being there.  A shoulder to lean on, a sounding board to bounce ideas off of, someone to laugh with.  He GETS me in a way that not a lot of other people can, or have ever made the effort to.

He gives me goosebumps just from the simple act of tucking my hair behind my ear.  His gentleness endearing.   He'll stand behind me in the kitchen, kissing the base of my neck as I am cutting up chicken, or pouring myself a drink.  When I look into his eyes, I see myself as he sees me, and it's something new and fresh.  It makes me feel alive.

He is well traveled, has been places and done things.  He has loved intensely and lost, which doesn't seem like something to celebrate, but there are so many people in this world who haven't.  He is easy to talk to, quick to laugh, and above all else completely and utterly real.  This is how I see him, and how I want him to know I see him.

Living an hour apart so far isn't easy, but it's a lot easier than I thought it would be.  We both have busy lives and schedules and jobs, both of us single parents.

But I know that he's thinking of me when he wakes up in the morning, and for right now, that's really all I need.

Sharing.

I've never done this before, but I wanted to pass this on, as it's too good not to.

Date a Girl who Reads

I was nineteen...

When I was nineteen, there was a man.  I knew he was not THE man, but just a man.  He made me laugh as I was doing my homework late at night at one of the booths in the restaurant we both worked in.  He told me dirty jokes, and did magic tricks with paper napkins, and he created a little niche in my heart where I would allow him to reside.

When my roommate and I had arguments, this man would invite me over to his place to spend the night.  We would curl up next to each other in his big bed, fully clothed.  Watch television.  Talk.  He told me that he cared too much about me to just have sex with me.  So we didn't. 

This man and I would talk about our dreams.  We would share secrets that I had never shared with anyone before.  I wrote poems about him, and hid my face embarrassed when I would give them to him to read.  My sweet, dark eyed man.  We kept our friendship mostly a secret.  Not on purpose, but I felt that if everyone knew about it, it would somehow become less real. 

When I was nineteen, there was a man.  I knew he wasn't THE man, but I cared enough about him to let him live in a little place in my heart where I would dream about him.  This man would occasionally disappear. 

He would stop answering phone calls, not answer his door, and for a month or two at a time completely forget that I even existed.  I would see him out around town, and I would be invisible to him.  Then a few weeks or months after being invisible, he would show up completely out of the blue at my apartment door at ten o'clock at night begging me to forgive him.  Crying in my arms about some atrocity that had befallen him, and I held him and pulled him into my bed, and let him lay there until he could breathe again.

There was a man, when I was nineteen, who I would run to any time he called.  He would disappear without a word, and resurface later, only after the little hole in my heart had time to heal up and become one piece again without him.

March 8th, he called me.  I only remember this date because I have kept such good journal records that I am able to look back and know with certainty that was the day.  I drove an hour north, and we took up residence in a little camper.  I was nineteen.

He bought beer, and we drank into all hours of the night.  He was kind, and funny, and gentle.  Even though I hadn't seen him the two months previous, I forgave him for all of that.  I trusted his words and his intentions, when I was nineteen.

Nine months later, and I held my crying son for the first time.  He looked up at me with those sweet, dark eyes.

When I was nineteen, there was a man.  He was not THE man.

He gave me the little boy who will someday become a man, so much better than his father.

Beautiful Boy

Being a mom is hard.  It's not glamorous in the least.  For the first two years you get puked on, and pooped on, and you barely have time to even take a shower, let alone do anything with your hair.  You grow your hair out just so that you can pull it back into a ponytail and forget about it.  Tack onto that the fact that I've been a single mother from the first day of my son's life, up until now, when he's closer to 8 than 7,  AND that he was born with bilateral clubfoot and that up until the age of 4 was either in casts or braces, and you have got a WHOLE LOT of non-glamorous moments.

I will never claim to be the perfect mother.  I know I'm not.  I yell too much.  I let him sit in front of the TV more than I know he should.  I expect too much, and have a lot of rules and behaviors which are non-negotiable.  I work too much, cook too little, and let him eat WAY too many chicken nuggets.

Through all of this, he is still the highlight of my life.  My most amazing accomplishment that was never planned.  So, here's something a little fun that I thought up...

The most important things that I have learned from my 7 year old.

Bugs are cool.  Especially if they are dead.

Brushing your teeth is way more fun when you're allowed to do it in front of the television.

Any sort of rumbling, or squeaking sound made in the grocery store is automatically assumed to be a fart, and mom it has come from you.  And it has to be announced very loudly.

There is no color, in the history of colors, nor will there ever be a color, that is cooler than the color RED.  Because blood is red, and blood is cool.

When you die, the best animal to be reincarnated as would be the American Badger.

River monsters.  End of sentence.

Watermelon candy is delicious.

Poisonous bugs/snakes/fish/animals that are native to other continents and possibly other periods of time, can still get us. No, I'm serious.  They can.

You can go to eat at one of the best restaurants in town, and STILL only eat macaroni and cheese.  For $7.50.

Onions and pickles are gross.  Broccoli and bananas are delicious.  And candy.  Candy is delicious.

Topics such as money and weight are not forbidden conversation.

Elmo is for babies.

like a fool for fire...

I am a good person.  I wear my heart on my sleeve.  As a good friend once put it, my opinions and beliefs are kind, yet firmly non-negotiable.  I tend to give people second, third, even forth chances when they really do not deserve it.  I want to hold onto the people in my life, no matter what their purpose there, because losing someone for something silly is not an option for me.

What does this usually get me?  Heartache.

I have developed a very tight-knit group of friends who are my entire world, and there are days where I don't know what I would do without them.  "Sometimes family are the ones you choose."  I also have a knack for collecting assholes.

I freely admit that this is my own fault, and other than really fattening ice cream or melty cheese on corn chips, it's my only real weakness.  My own opinion of myself is so low (and this is through years of being told I wasn't good enough, that I needed to be better. Years of being made fun of for things I really had no control over) that any attention seems like good attention, even if it's the exact opposite.

I AM a strong woman, and I know better than this.  So why do I continue to go around in this vicious circle?  I can't become the player because I've been played too much.  I can't wear my heart on my sleeve because it gets stomped on time and time again.  I can't shut people out completely because then I get told that LOVE isn't a reality for me.  I am so afraid that if I don't take what I can get, that eventually I'll realize that I have nothing at all.

This is me, writing it down, putting it out there in the world for other people to see.  My flaws.  This is me promising to try to change it.  I have the right to be picky about the people I bring into my life.  I have the right to be who I am, whether it's open and fun loving, or closed off and brooding.  I am me.  I shouldn't have to apologize or change that, for ANYONE.

But then I am back to the question, if I am a good person, why hasn't someone else figured that out by now?

I can feel you all around me, thickening the air I'm breathing

I woke up this morning, and you weren't the first thought to pop into my head.

I ate my cereal and went about starting my day without you lingering in my mind.

I thought I had run out of things to say.  I really believed that all words had left me, that I was simply trying to be and do something I was not built for.

Without you there, my world still keeps turning.  I keep turning.

You have no idea just how strong I am, how resilient.  You didn't even scratch the surface of who I am, but proceeded to judge me on it anyway.  You are not worth my time, or energy, or thought.

I do not wish you well.  I do not wish you anything at all.

I woke up this morning, and I cared only long enough to sit down, type this out, and then to let it go.

July Goals 2011

July 2011

- go the gym 15 times.  I am currently in the lead after two weeks of weigh ins of my gym's biggest loser.  I'm 5 pounds ahead of my closest competition. 

- lose 5 lbs.  A little over a pound a week.  Gotta keep on, keeping on.

- start and finish TWO books. 

- go for evening walks at the track at least three days a week.

- do the 30 day shred once a week.

- breathe deeply.  I have been more stressed than I like to admit lately and though the majority of it is my own doing and I DO have control over it, it does make it easier to just stop, and breathe.

- write, then throw away/save to a file on my computer some strongly worded letters to a few people in which I will NEVER send.  This is the important part.  NEVER SEND!

- call my sister more often.

- try to cook one new thing each week, and document.