Crazy

That's how I feel right now, crazy.  I'm tired of everything and everyone, I want it ALL to go away.  No, I'm not suicidal.  I'm just fed up with life, my life, and everyone in it.  I want a vacation, I NEED a vacation.  I need some sand, the smell of the surf, the sight and sound of the ocean on the rocks.  I don't need sun, I've never needed that.  I positively ache for this sensory overload.

My children came home from school this afternoon, no different from any other school day, loud and boisterous, and demanding of my full attention.  All three of them wanting to talk at the same time, so ending up yelling to be heard.  After settling them, getting snacks, listening to their day, I asked them to start chores.  Ignored.  Completely ignored.  I ask again, then tell.  Still nothing.  I am so very frustrated, so much so, that I have to go away so I don't beat them.  Every time I open my mouth to say something, I'm interrupted.  I don't remember the last time I was able to finish a sentance, a mere thought, without someone cutting me off.

Perhaps my problem is that I need adult friends.  I have never been good at having girl friends, and at this stage in my life, it is obviously odd for a lot of men to be friends with me, since I'm married.  I didn't have a best friend in high school here in America.  In college, I had several very close male friends, all of whom I've lost contact with since leaving uni.  I've had several very close friends with whom I worked, but it seems as though the friendships are over if you leave said place of employment.  I haven't had my sister in 13 years, and my mother decided I'm not worthy of being loved anymore.  The two sisters-in-law that I love and adore are so far removed from me now--one in Iowa, the other in California.  There is no one else.

A call out to the universe:  I miss you Michael.  I miss you Matthew.  I miss you Tyson, and you Christopher, and you Shane.  And yes, I even miss you, Daryl.  I have loved, and still love, you all, and miss your friendship desperately.  A call out to the universe:  I desperately desire friends, someone close to my own age, someone with whom I can converse, and find as a soul sibling.  Gods, I am pitiful.  Will everyone see right through me, that I am this pitiful, useless person with no life?  Do I even know how to be a friend anymore?

So much changes...

and so much stays the same.  I've realised that I need to use this space as a place for me... to vent, to unload, to be free.  This last year has seen some massive changes, both for me personally, and for my family.  It was thinking about an old friend, however, that made me feel the need to write.

I say old friend, and I find that I actually mean those words now.  It's taken me a long time to reach this place.  Perhaps I should start from the beginning, yes?  Right.  I "met" Chris online during the summer of '96.  A friend of mine had just introduced me to using computers and the World Wide Web.  She also taught me about BBS's, or Bulletin Board Systems, and using Telnet.  If there is anyone younger than me reading this, you prolly don't know what these antiquated programs are/were, but they were fabulous ways to pass the time and make new friends.  On a now-defunct BBS called Brinta, I spent much time chatting with people in Holland and the UK.  It was in this way I met Chris.  It was a quiet Sunday morning, as I remember, and I was the only person online.  The next person to log on used the name "Henchman".  I thought, "why not, I use the silly handle "Pooh Power".  So I started chatting him up.  Come to find out, he had a dreadful hangover, had swollen knuckles from a fight he had been in, and a bit of road rash from wrecking his bike!  I couldn't have met someone so very different from myself!

Time passed.  We chatted on a daily basis.  The more I found out about Chris, the more I liked him, and I was pretty sure he felt the same way about me.  I found myself waking at 2 or 3 in the morning so we could talk.  After about 6 weeks, he called me one Sunday morning.  I was so tired, but so thrilled to actually talk to him, to hear his voice.  Before I knew it, 6 hours had passed!  It was then that I thought maybe there could be more between us.  He started working weekends so he could use the internet, and I always hated having to say goodbye.  It was also during this time that I started looking to transfer to uni in London.  We both decided that we more than "liked" each other, and as I was so homesick for England, I got a passport and started saving to go for a visit.  Chris, being older and wiser (HA!), decided that he should come to visit me.  So we planned, and I fell more in love with the man with the lovely, deep, Scottish accent.

When the day finally came for him to arrive, I was so very nervous.  My sister went with me to Memphis to pick him up from the airport.  I knew him, the moment I saw him come into the terminal.  And then things changed.  I went over to him, to hug him, but there was none of the familiarity that we had shared before.  So I put it down to him being tired from all the travelling.  But as the days wore on, I knew there was something not right.  I was young, and stupid, and should have addressed these issues while he was still here, to be able to talk to him face to face.  Instead, I worried about it the entire time he was here.  The day of his departure, I was a wreck.  I was weepy at the airport, and he didn't seem to understand why.  We hugged goodbye, said we would talk soon, and that was that.  He boarded the plane for Chicago, and I cried the entire way home.

It was a few days before I was able to talk to Chris after he returned home.  At first, he said he was busy with work, which I could understand, as he'd been away for a week.  But later, it seemed like he didn't want to talk to me, although he had no problems talking to my friends.  Finally, I remember just blurting out in one of the moments I caught him online, "you just don't like me that way, do you?"  His answer broke my heart, but if I'm honest with myself, I had known the answer since that first day at the airport.

I was devastated.  I cried a lot.  I believed the worst about myself.  I thought that if  I were prettier, if I were thinner, if I were less American, if I were smarter, he would have loved me.  I quit going online, which only worried other friends of mine in far away countries, so much so that they would call me.  I couldn't eat, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't study.  It was only after talking with two very dear friends that I started to heal.  One of these friends, a former lover of mine, told me that if Chris didn't love me, he was a fool.  The other was a friend who was in love with me, who told me Chris didn't deserve to be on the receiving end of my love.  After the sadness came the anger, at which point I said some horrible things to Chris, I think to make him feel as horrible as I did.

Days passed, seasons changed.  I started going online again, talking to some of my old friends.  I moved on with my life, met someone new, fell in love, got married.  The only time I would think of Chris was when I looked at the sky and saw unusual cloud formations.  It wasn't until the birth of our second child that I realised that C had made such an impact on my life.  I named my second son Christopher, and it wasn't until I was looking at the clouds one day that I remembered I had given my first son the middle name of Alexander, which is also C's middle name.  I still cloud watch.  Star Trek:  First Contact is, to this day, one of my favorite movies.  Watching Monty Python no longer hurts.  I have moved on.

Fast forward to the present.  This lovely little social networking site called Facebook had allowed me to catch up with many people that I hadn't seen in many years.  One day, I just typed in his name, and there he was.  So I sent a request to be his friend, and he accepted.  Funny how the world works like that.  We have both moved on, our lives completely different, yet very much the same.  It is nice to see his name, and sometimes exchange messages.  Karma is an evil mistress.  I have loved two very different men, both of who have ended up with MS, who are wonderful fathers.  Just one of them is IN my life, and the other once was.

Sometimes...

A girl just needs to feel loved.  After the last two weeks being so horrible, I decided to pamper myself.  Have wrapped myself in my John Cena blanket and am cuddling my Shawn Michaels bear.  Yeah, it's pitiful, but it makes me feel better.  Oh, did I forget to mention the fudge peanut butter cookies and hot cuppa?  I am now returning myself to my previously scheduled broadcast--music that is at least twenty years or more older.  Sometimes, we really need to remember to pamper ourselves, even if everyone else thinks we are crazy!

Thank You, Shawn Michaels

This post has been a long time in the writing. It has taken, quite literally, months, for me to find the words to verbalize my feelings. For those people who don't know me, I am a wrestling fan, and have been since the tender age of seven. As a teenager, I loved The Rockers. They had style, charisma, and they were VERY easy on the eyes! But then, suddenly, Shawn and Marty were no longer a team, and I completely lost all respect for Shawn.

Fast forward several years. Shawn is part of a highly successful stable called D-Generation X. He is cocky, rude, brash. He makes crude jokes. I absolutely loathe him. I even cheer when I see his face get raked across the chain-link siding of the "Hell in a Cell" cage. But then, after years of success and celebrity, Shawn leaves the business, and I am quite happy to forget about him.

Fast forward again several years. I am happy to watch my wrestling every week, even look forward to it. Then something odd happens. The man that I loathed, Shawn Michaels, returns to the squared-circle. I watch, with much trepidation, as he returns to the business that I love as my own. And strangely, I feel myself drawn to him. He has changed in these last few years away from the business. He has developed morals, he has found goodness and decency in his life. And, rather oddly, he refuses to compromise any of his ideals for the Chairman of the Board, Mr. Vincent McMahon. The more I listened to Shawn's story, the more intrigued I became.

I think what impressed me most about Shawn was that, during his time away from wrestling, he "found God". Now, I'm not going to delve into whether I believe in his God or not. I am going to say that this man believed so much in his faith that he told his boss that he would not compromise those beliefs by swearing, being hateful, or disrespect his wife and family by taking part in stories that were degrading to them, and himself. I know that he drew a lot of criticism for his values, but he didn't bow to the pressure of society.

Suddenly, this man that I had loathed for so many years, was a wonderful human being in my eyes. I watched as the industry made fun of him for his personal show of faith. When he would enter the ring, he would drop to his knees and give praise to his God, on camera, in front of millions of fans. At one point, so much was made over this that Shawn was in a tag-team handicap match, himself and God against Vince and Shane McMahon, and Triple H. Of course, the "story" was that Shawn and God lost. I truly believe that Shawn was the winner, for never compromising himself.

I continued to follow Shawn's career. Last September was the last time I was able to see a live WWE show. Shawn and Triple H had reformed D-X, as it was now referred to, and they put on one hell of a show. They had a match during the televised show, and after the cameras were off, they had another match with John Cena against Randy Orton, Ted DiBiase Jr., and Cody Rhodes. Once the match was over, the "good guys" (Cena, Triple H, and Shawn) went around the ring, shaking hands, giving high-fives, signing autographs and taking pictures. At one point, Cena was getting ready to leave the arena to go backstage. In my heart, I know he was exhausted after having been in three (!) matches that night. There was a group of severely handicapped fans in the arena who let Shawn know that they wanted pictures with Cena. Shawn went running after Cena, pulled him back to those fans, and made sure they got their pictures. Now I know that to many people, this will sound like a silly story. But in my eyes, this made Shawn even more lovable. Instead of letting his ego be hurt that these fans wanted to see a different wrestler, he made their dreams come true. And the fact that he did not brush off these fans, who were so obviously "different", touched my heart in a profound way.

Shawn Michaels retired this April, after losing to Undertaker at Wrestlemania 26. In my heart, I knew that he was going to lose that match, which would force his retirement. And I cried. I cried that the industry was losing such a wonderful entertainer and man. I cried that I would never get to see him wrestle again. And I cried, knowing how this man had helped shape my life in the last few years, that I had spent so much time, so many years ago, loathing him. Because Shawn was so honest about his God and his religious beliefs, I was able to be honest about my own beliefs, not only with myself, but with family and friends.

So, thank you, Shawn Michaels. Thank you for your courage, your bravery, your showmanship. Thank you for helping to make me the woman I am today. I love you, and Goddess bless you on the rest of your journey.

Just for Today...

I will remember that my true friends and family are the people who love me unconditionally, regardless of my beliefs, thoughts, and feelings. The rest... can sail away on the river of their own realities....

So, it's been a while since I posted anything. I started back to work the end of January, and life has been extremely chaotic. I promised a blog on my family, so here goes.

I've been married for nearly 13 years. I met my husband, Charles, when I was in my last month of university. Meeting him was like opening a doorway in my life that I never knew existed. He opened my eyes to so many things, and made me see that I am a worthwhile person, worthy of love. Marriage is never perfect, but I can honestly say that we don't fight. We have similar interests, and the differences we do have keep things fresh.

Our first child was born nearly one year after we married. Nickolas is 11, and at this age I see so much of myself in him. He is the oldest of three boys, and he has always been a big help with his brothers. He doesn't take criticism very easily. He's very compassionate. He adores music; he plays trumpet in band and sings tenor/alto in choir, and he is a genius at Rock Hero. He loves animals, and we would have our own zoo if I would let him. He loves his brothers, and babies in general, and would love for us to have more kids (not happening!). Sometimes I have to remind myself that he is a child, and not my confidante.

Our second son, Christopher, followed 19 months later. He was so different from Nick when he was born, but I just kept telling myself that all children are different. When he was 19 months old, it was like someone flipped a switch in my child; he quit talking, waving "bye bye", and making eye contact with us. We started testing on him, and right around the time I conceived our youngest child, Chris was diagnosed with Autism. This is not going to turn into a who's right or wrong post; these are just my opinions. Immunizations DID NOT cause my son to have Autism. He was different from birth. We were very blessed to get Chris into some wonderful therapies, and he learned to talk again. At this time, he is in fourth grade and thriving! He still has problems with social interactions, but we work with him on that. He is a straight A student, so very smart. I would have never dreamed that he could come this far when he was first diagnosed.

Our third son, Tristan, was born in the fall of 2002. Nick was so excited about another baby. I, however, was not so excited. Now, don't think for a moment that I don't love this child with all my heart, because I do. We had decided that we weren't going to have any more kids, and my husband and I were both using protection, but sometimes things happen for a reason. While I was pregnant, I was terrified that I wouldn't be able to love Tristan the way I loved my other boys. From the first second I saw him, I was in love. He is a boy's boy, but he is also my boy. He is extremely outgoing, very rough-and-tumble, and so funny that he makes me laugh out loud. He has known since he was three years old that he wants to be a professional wrestler, excuse me, sports entertainer. He trains for this daily, and is very serious about going to wrestling school, but only after college because "wrestlers can't be stupid, Mom".

This brings me to the newest addition to our home, my nephew, Tony. He is my husband's brother's son, and he came to us last summer. He and his parents were having a lot of problems, and Tony had left home. When I found out about this, he had been gone nearly three weeks, and his mother, with whom I work, had no idea where he was. We called Tony and told him he had a place live with us. I was certainly not ready for the trials and tribulations of a teenager! Tony is 17, and he has never had a good relationship with his parents, no boundaries, no respect, anger management issues, etc. That has carried over to living with us. I feel like I'm beating my head against a concrete wall with him. There are truly days when I think about packing up my three boys and leaving; I don't do it because I can't, won't leave my husband. I know teenagers are a trial, but this child makes it so hard to love him. I simply don't know what to do with him.

Well, that is the immediate family covered. The extended family... that's another story for another night.

We had our first snowfall of the year yesterday. Barely 3/4 of an inch, but it was enough to paralyze the small hamlet we live in. School was cancelled for Thursday and today, and all of my boys were quite thrilled about it! Not so much mom and dad. It's been really bitter cold for this part of the south; today's high was 17 F, tonight is supposed to be 9 F. I look forward to the warming of the spring, though not the summer.

I'm still trying to decide where I'm going with this journal. I don't want to turn it into a list of complaints, as so many often are. I do want to use it as an introspective tool, maybe work out some of the ideas I believe in, talk about my children and family.

One of the big things that defines me is my beliefs. For a long time, I thought I was Wiccan. Over the last several months, I have come to realize that I am not Wiccan, though still pagan. And there are many ideas from other cultures that have made their way into my beliefs. I believe in male and female divinity, though not a huge pantheon. Nature is sacred. I believe in treating others the way you want to be treated. There is more for me to learn, much more. When we stop learning, we stop living.

I just stepped outside, and the flurries have started again. Now to get the children to stop fighting, and settled in bed. My next post I'll talk about my family.