"Writing a journal means that facing your ocean, you are afraid to swim across it, so you attempt to drink it drop by drop."~George Sand
I've been watching the second season of HBO's In Treatment on demand and decided that there is an art to listening I had never noticed before and I wonder if maybe the only way to have access to that type of listening is to pay for it. I'm not being snarky here. It's just that no one I know listens the way the therapist on the show listens to his patients--with such care, such attention to detail, and such compassion. It is truly an art and something I would like to learn to do better, and have done better in regards to me.
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For the past couple of weeks I have been on an eating binge. I eat everything in sight--leftover Baby Ruth bars from Halloween, chips, pretzels--you name it and I eat it. I go to bed at night with a container of extra strength tropical fruit TUMS by my nightstand and chew those up like skittles to combat the indigestion brought on by these feeding frenzies, then I wake up the next day and do it all over again. I am never filled up. I am never filled up.
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There is an angel tree filled with requests by children at the grocery store where I shop. The other day I stood there and read the little wishes and I almost started crying because I wanted to scoop them all up and be the person who filled all those wishes but I know my husband would flip out if I did such a thing. Instead I think I will take an angel every time I go and fill that wish from now until Christmas. I have been blessed with much and it makes me happy to share--especially with children who remind me to be ever hopeful of just about everything.
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Weekends get a little stressful around here. I want a break from the same old, same old and want to be free to do what I want to do and yet my adult children seem only to think of my life in terms of what I can do for them. It's all so predictable and annoying and I do not know of a way to complain about it that gets my point across for more than 5 minutes. I do not want to be that parent who wishes her children would just hurry up and leave but I find myself becoming her more and more--especially on the weekends. It's a fight to keep my newly found serenity and it worries me that I feel serenity most strongly when I am by myself.
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I have hated running the past two weeks. It's a struggle to get myself out the door, not because I hate being outside but because I dread running the same paths and hearing the same music. I started to think about how many miles I have run in the last 21 weeks of religious exercise and it feels like a million. I am running up and down streets and around cul de sacs--like a lab rat stuck in a maze. So I'm thinking about changing up my scenery by going somewhere new. And I bought some new sneakers to have something new and shiny to motivate me not to give up. You should hear the pep talks I give myself each morning. This is what I say: "You can't give up. You have to keep trying. Remember how good you feel afterwards. Don't be that person who can't stick to things for more than just a short while." This is a dangerous time for me. I always know when I am about to take a little break from exercising that will last 6 months or more and I am determined not to let that happen. I'll keep you posted.
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I'm looking forward to Thanksgiving. I've got pies to bake and a turkey to cook correctly so that I don't give my family food poisoning. This is always a worry of my husband's even though no one has ever gotten food poisoning from food I have prepared in over 20 years. Still, each year I get cautioned that I must prepare the turkey correctly. This year he has also suggested that perhaps instead of potentially poisoning everyone with turkey, maybe I should just make meatloaf and mashed potatoes instead. It promises to be another interesting holiday in my corner of the world.
Showing posts with label listening. Show all posts
Showing posts with label listening. Show all posts
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Everyone knows I'm in over my head
"I tell you everything that is really nothing, and nothing of what is everything, do not be fooled by what I am saying. Please listen carefully and try to hear what I am not saying." ~Charles C. Finn
The last pair of earphones I had met their demise in a paper shredder. I was happily cleaning the house with my music in my ears and I went to shred some nonsense credit card offers that came in the mail and I bent over the shredder and well, the earphones got sucked into the shredder and that was the end of those. I replaced them with a less expensive pair and have been careful not to go near the shredder while wearing them.
I went to listen to my ipod the other day and noticed my earphones were missing. I usually always leave them together but I'm not above being careless and thought perhaps that I had left them somewhere else so I searched throughout my bedroom but still couldn't find them anywhere. Later that night, my son came into my room and told me he had them and asked me if I noticed they were gone. I told him yes and that I had searched all over for them. I was sort of surprised that he took them because they're pink and he's this scruffy, tough looking guy, but I guess that doesn't matter if you want to listen to your own music bad enough.
I bought myself some new shampoo and put it in my bathroom. I got into the shower and looked around for the new shampoo and discovered it was gone. At that point I was naked and wet so I just used the old shampoo that was in there. When I got out of the shower, I searched the other bathrooms and found my new shampoo had found it's way into the girls' bathroom. Someone just up and took it. I didn't get mad because I'm getting used to my stuff being everyone else's, too.
Earlier in the week I had a really happy day out shopping with my youngest daughter. She needed a new pair of tennis shoes so we set off to the mall and found a pair and did some other shopping then went out to dinner. It was one of those days where you are happy and you know it but you don't really know it because you're in the moment living it and enjoying it. It's the kind of day you look back and think, "that was a fun day."
I told my daughter that she needed to scuff up the bottoms of her new shoes before going onto a court to play because new shoes tend to stick to the surface and can cause you to trip and fall. The following day she set off to play tennis and shortly afterwards I get a call from her telling me that she fell and hurt her ankle, and maybe she broke it. Lovely.
So I bite my tongue even though I wanted so badly to say I TOLD YOU SO!!! and went to get her. I brought her to the emergency room because she has a low tolerance for pain and a flair for dramatics that I knew would not simmer down until an x-ray was taken to prove one thing or the other (and even after it was proven that it wasn't broken she took me aside and told me she did not think much of the doctor on call because he wasn't serious enough for her!!!). I roll her into the children's section in a wheelchair and there was a young black woman doing the checking in and instead of asking us what happened she started going on and on about my daughter's tennis shoes---how great they were, how fine they were, where did we get them, how much did they cost, etc. I was standing there a bit confused because, um, it's an emergency room in a hospital, not The Finish Line. She interrupted her shoe gushing to have me fill out a form or two then we were wheeled off to get an x-ray.
We were in that room not more than 3 minutes when another black woman came in with a pad of paper and a pen and did she want details on my daughter's fall? Nope. She was sent by the other woman at the check in to get the name of the tennis shoes again because her friend tried to look them up online and couldn't find them! Is it me, or has the world gone mad?
Long story short, my daughter's ankle was just badly sprained, and she was sent home with a splint and crutches which she complains about endlessly (They stick in the carpet! They hurt her hands and under her arms!). I'm playing Cinderella to the best of my ability even though I tried to prevent this from happening by telling her not to wear those sneakers until they were scuffed up on the bottom but once again, no one listens to me.
That's what I like most about this blog. I say something (or, rather, write something) and pretend someone is listening.
The last pair of earphones I had met their demise in a paper shredder. I was happily cleaning the house with my music in my ears and I went to shred some nonsense credit card offers that came in the mail and I bent over the shredder and well, the earphones got sucked into the shredder and that was the end of those. I replaced them with a less expensive pair and have been careful not to go near the shredder while wearing them.
I went to listen to my ipod the other day and noticed my earphones were missing. I usually always leave them together but I'm not above being careless and thought perhaps that I had left them somewhere else so I searched throughout my bedroom but still couldn't find them anywhere. Later that night, my son came into my room and told me he had them and asked me if I noticed they were gone. I told him yes and that I had searched all over for them. I was sort of surprised that he took them because they're pink and he's this scruffy, tough looking guy, but I guess that doesn't matter if you want to listen to your own music bad enough.
I bought myself some new shampoo and put it in my bathroom. I got into the shower and looked around for the new shampoo and discovered it was gone. At that point I was naked and wet so I just used the old shampoo that was in there. When I got out of the shower, I searched the other bathrooms and found my new shampoo had found it's way into the girls' bathroom. Someone just up and took it. I didn't get mad because I'm getting used to my stuff being everyone else's, too.
Earlier in the week I had a really happy day out shopping with my youngest daughter. She needed a new pair of tennis shoes so we set off to the mall and found a pair and did some other shopping then went out to dinner. It was one of those days where you are happy and you know it but you don't really know it because you're in the moment living it and enjoying it. It's the kind of day you look back and think, "that was a fun day."
I told my daughter that she needed to scuff up the bottoms of her new shoes before going onto a court to play because new shoes tend to stick to the surface and can cause you to trip and fall. The following day she set off to play tennis and shortly afterwards I get a call from her telling me that she fell and hurt her ankle, and maybe she broke it. Lovely.
So I bite my tongue even though I wanted so badly to say I TOLD YOU SO!!! and went to get her. I brought her to the emergency room because she has a low tolerance for pain and a flair for dramatics that I knew would not simmer down until an x-ray was taken to prove one thing or the other (and even after it was proven that it wasn't broken she took me aside and told me she did not think much of the doctor on call because he wasn't serious enough for her!!!). I roll her into the children's section in a wheelchair and there was a young black woman doing the checking in and instead of asking us what happened she started going on and on about my daughter's tennis shoes---how great they were, how fine they were, where did we get them, how much did they cost, etc. I was standing there a bit confused because, um, it's an emergency room in a hospital, not The Finish Line. She interrupted her shoe gushing to have me fill out a form or two then we were wheeled off to get an x-ray.
We were in that room not more than 3 minutes when another black woman came in with a pad of paper and a pen and did she want details on my daughter's fall? Nope. She was sent by the other woman at the check in to get the name of the tennis shoes again because her friend tried to look them up online and couldn't find them! Is it me, or has the world gone mad?
Long story short, my daughter's ankle was just badly sprained, and she was sent home with a splint and crutches which she complains about endlessly (They stick in the carpet! They hurt her hands and under her arms!). I'm playing Cinderella to the best of my ability even though I tried to prevent this from happening by telling her not to wear those sneakers until they were scuffed up on the bottom but once again, no one listens to me.
That's what I like most about this blog. I say something (or, rather, write something) and pretend someone is listening.
Friday, May 2, 2008
A couple of pet peeves
I don't like it when people tell me the same story five times. It makes me feel like they don't remember sitting next to me the previous 4 times telling me the same thing. I don't understand people who can't remember details like this. Or do these people do this to everyone? I'd feel better if they did. I'd feel sorry for the other people, but I'd feel better about myself. Like, it's not ME, it's THEM--they're just bores who automatically repeat the same stories to any warm body sitting next to them. I think some people would benefit from some new material to talk about. I'd even cut them a break if they made something up.
Along the same lines, but not really...I have this friend that I see for months at a time then I won't see her for a month or two. We talk a lot but mostly she does the talking and I do the listening and sometimes I get to say a few things and I always believed she was listening to me when I could squeeze a few words in edgewise. I don't know how many times I have spoken to her about my son who goes to college out of state but it's been plenty. Well, yesterday we were talking and I said something about my son to her and she goes, "Where does he go to school?" And I told her AGAIN and she says, "Oh really?, I didn't know that." WTF? I looked at her, really looked at her, and thought about how much I hate sharing parts of myself with people who just don't care and about how tired I am of wasting my time with people who are not worth it. I mean, she was totally shocked to hear something I know I've mentioned to her numerous times. I don't get it. When people talk to me, I don't pretend to listen, I listen.
Like today, I was shopping at Kroger and some elderly man stopped me and told me I had beautiful hair. My hair is massively long which is another story for another day...but I had just washed it and my hair is big, and as close to black without being black that you can get. It's extremely long and wavy and for some reason, it seems to attract elderly men because they are forever coming up to me to talk about it and tell me how beautiful it is. Anyway, he goes into this spiel about how when he first met his wife she had hair as long as mine only it was auburn colored. Then he segues into how he asked her to marry him after only a week and how they eloped and about how his in laws didn't approve of him because he didn't have a job...etc. I remember what he was wearing, too, because I pay attention to details when someone is speaking to me. I know he had Arizona Green Tea in his cart and Saltines and brown eggs. I looked for his wedding ring while he was telling me his story. I was in a hurry, too, but I listened to him because I thought it wasn't costing me anything just to hear him out. It doesn't cost anything to listen.
So here's the thing--a friend of mine can't be bothered to listen to me when I am talking to her and I've decided I don't have time or room for that in my life anymore. There was a time when I know I would have wanted to fix that, when I know I would have wanted to sit beside her and make her think my life was interesting enough to remember but now I just don't care because the world is filled with people who sit beside you while you are talking and the only thing they are thinking about is what they want to say next. Nothing you say registers. I've decided that's not good enough for me anymore.
The circle of people I truly care about grows smaller by the day.
Along the same lines, but not really...I have this friend that I see for months at a time then I won't see her for a month or two. We talk a lot but mostly she does the talking and I do the listening and sometimes I get to say a few things and I always believed she was listening to me when I could squeeze a few words in edgewise. I don't know how many times I have spoken to her about my son who goes to college out of state but it's been plenty. Well, yesterday we were talking and I said something about my son to her and she goes, "Where does he go to school?" And I told her AGAIN and she says, "Oh really?, I didn't know that." WTF? I looked at her, really looked at her, and thought about how much I hate sharing parts of myself with people who just don't care and about how tired I am of wasting my time with people who are not worth it. I mean, she was totally shocked to hear something I know I've mentioned to her numerous times. I don't get it. When people talk to me, I don't pretend to listen, I listen.
Like today, I was shopping at Kroger and some elderly man stopped me and told me I had beautiful hair. My hair is massively long which is another story for another day...but I had just washed it and my hair is big, and as close to black without being black that you can get. It's extremely long and wavy and for some reason, it seems to attract elderly men because they are forever coming up to me to talk about it and tell me how beautiful it is. Anyway, he goes into this spiel about how when he first met his wife she had hair as long as mine only it was auburn colored. Then he segues into how he asked her to marry him after only a week and how they eloped and about how his in laws didn't approve of him because he didn't have a job...etc. I remember what he was wearing, too, because I pay attention to details when someone is speaking to me. I know he had Arizona Green Tea in his cart and Saltines and brown eggs. I looked for his wedding ring while he was telling me his story. I was in a hurry, too, but I listened to him because I thought it wasn't costing me anything just to hear him out. It doesn't cost anything to listen.
So here's the thing--a friend of mine can't be bothered to listen to me when I am talking to her and I've decided I don't have time or room for that in my life anymore. There was a time when I know I would have wanted to fix that, when I know I would have wanted to sit beside her and make her think my life was interesting enough to remember but now I just don't care because the world is filled with people who sit beside you while you are talking and the only thing they are thinking about is what they want to say next. Nothing you say registers. I've decided that's not good enough for me anymore.
The circle of people I truly care about grows smaller by the day.
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