squeeky floor duster

As our day porter swings about his squeeky floor duster throughout the lobby, we greet each other and go about our business. He is "bien, bien, trabajando nomas" ("Good, good, just working) and so am I (and yes, I recognize that our work is totally different, but we are both getting paid to do what we do and in that, we are alike). I just got my paperwork for our Toastmasters group so I am looking forward to reading all of that and diving into this new adventure at work. I hope to be of service and also learn something new about all the folks that have joined along with me.

Last night's dreams were kind of upsetting. The part that was the most clear to me was a shopping trip with my Mom, I could not see her, but could hear her just behind me. She was encouraging me to buy stuff I didn't need or that didn't fit and I don't know why, that was not her style. She usually encouraged me to try on things that she knew were a good deal and would look good on me (yes, my very own personal shopper :) but the disagreement and the emotions that came up were uneasy and I definitely sounded annoyed. That's the thing about these lucid dreams, they are so very very real, it's kind of like waking up in a different time and place. When I finally looked up from tying my shoe (and I can't remember the last time I wore a pair of shoes that I had to tie, People) I saw a woman who I thought was my Mom. She looked terrible. Gaunt, eyes sunken in, thin, dark, scary - it really wasn't my Mom, not like I remember her at all, not like she has ever looked, even when she passed away she looked plump and peaceful. I think I had a nightmare. I remember the last thing I said to her was "You came all this way and we are going to argue about clothes? I can't believe this is the discussion we are having, please don't go like this, Mom....Mom? By that time the image had faded and the voice had already been quiet. I went to her pictures in the hallway to remind me of how she really looked, there is a comfort in looking at her sweet little wedding picture. She's 21, she looks gorgeous, so happy standing next to my Dad. They are at the beginning of their lives together - radiating hope.

Some tears come as I'm writing this. Two co-workers enter the lobby directly in front of me, they continue their conversation, don't even look over at me as I turn my chair to face the outside, wipe my tears and blow my nose. No one faces everyone at their desks except me.

Funny how when we are little, nightmares consist of bigger things and more magical animals coming after us, or being in a show, not having a costume and forgetting my lines, sometimes I've even had the walking in public with no clothes on thing. Now that I am older, my mind has very different ways of manifesting the emotions that are going on. I know that dreams are the brain's way of using images and ideas we have throughout our days, months and years to dust the floor of our subconscious, wipe clean the windows of our ego, and restock our imagination. All this work requires a manager and to become a better manager, I decided to go to therapy. My therapist studied Jung and we have used dreams as a key to get to those rooms in my psyche that are not always 'open to the public' including me, sometimes. So the dream journal is utilized to take a second look at what is going on during those wee hours of the night, when REM has set in (the eye movement, not the band, I would love that) and the night porter takes over in my head. If I write down the dreams, I can always come back and talk about how they were resolved or even if they mean anything. For a while there, I was getting so good at writing down my dreams and interpreting them that they became guides for me and helped me to see things that were coming into my world before they happened. Some stuff I could avoid, some stuff, not so much, but at least I had a way of seeing maybe how I could make a better choice in my daily life if I listened to that voice that comes in the still, quiet times of the night.

dream dream dream...

Last night when I woke up at 3:30 am, it was from a dream where I was driving my car all through the desert, maybe even white sands, and I tipped over. I was not hurt and I don't remember the actual driving off the road or tipping of the car over; nothing like that. You know how dreams are...one second I was digging in the white hot sand, trying to make a little room for the car to back up and then when I stood up, my mind's eye pulled out to a wide shot of the entire scene: the huge, empty blue sky, the bright, beautiful sun, and the helpless car on its right side sunbathing on the hill, waiting to be moved. What the hell am I going to do now?


Friday began the weekend with a successful shoe shopping adventure - not bad - big sale at the DSW - not usually where I go because the planets have never aligned for me there, but Friday, they fell perfectly into place and the rock-star gladiators I have wanted all summer and small wedge yummy chocolate boots are all mine now :) Saturday was spent on the couch, immitating my cat for the day, quite lovely. I got to catch up with some folks over the weekend and was so glad to be able to connect with my soul sisters over the phone, get some info, give some info, spread the love. Looking forward to seeing Miss K next week. Will be superfun and delightful.


I realized this past week that I did not have tickets to go to shul for Yom Kippur. I have so taken it for granted all my life the times that I used to go home and go to services with my family. And now I'm like "Carie, you haven't lived at home for 17 years!" How is this any different? Get your little tuchas in that shul! The first time away from home, I was in Boston, I had the Chabad. Once I moved to Austin, I was closer to home so I would just got to El Paso for services for the holidays. I never joined any of the synagogues here and now a memebership for me is just not an expense I can afford right now and did I mention that tickets for the high holidays including parking was $360? Last year, I made a concentrated effort to get my (free) tickets (Dad was the president and they granted me reciprocity - but I still donated!) ahead of time and take time off work. This year got away from me because I was so enveloped in my own envelopedness, I just didn't do it. Now, it's the first day of Yom Kippur, I'm at work, I'm not fasting and I went to a baptism last night (before Kol Nidre, but still). So I've been doing a lot of reconciling with G.d (and ultimately, with myself).

It's funny how when I am in services, even if I'm not paying attention, even if all I can think of is what I'm going to eat for break the fast, it's like - well, at least I'm in services, I'm safe and my conscious can rest that I was here on the holy of holy holidays. Here the quiet hum of prayers is replaced by the leaf blowers outside. The children laughing and playing in the hallways is replaced by the smokers communing outside. There is no responsive reading, no praying and bowing here (except maybe when I adjust my bra). So, you might ask, why didn't you get your shit together in time to go to serives? Do you feel bad about not being there? If you do, then it's your own fault because I told you to just go and they would let you in; they are not going to turn you away from a service, you cute little yid, you. I would not know how to respond. I guess I thought maybe I could come up with something here. Maybe by pouring out my thoughts, the answer would make itself evident like little lemon seeds in my palm, but nope. So what the hell am I going to do now?

View from the 3rd floor of the Main Building at St. Eduard's University - the Malony Room.


This is my first time to the Malony Room on the St. Eduard's University campus. A good friend was having a reading of her poetry there and I went to support her. I finally got a chance to hear some of her work. I arrived to the campus after panicking just a tiny bit that I would not make it in time. Afterall, it has been raining all day, the traffic was terrible, and I kind of forgot which street the campus was on. Once I called my dear friend, who I have a standing date night with every Thursday to watch Project Runway, to confirm she got my message and was able to confirm that St. Ed's was on S. Congress as I had thought (but doubted, yes, sometimes even I doubt myself ;) I noticed I was doing great on time, but needed to start focusing on getting a parking space.

I arrived on campus and made my way to the visitor parking lot. It's a good size, but it was full - crap. So I decided to give it some space and pretend I wasn't noticing when I did notice a young lady walking in that direction. Now, she could have been going to class from another part of campus, or going home or maybe even going to the reading, but a little voice inside told me she was a visitor that was leaving. I took a turn into another lot and made my way back - just in time, Ladies and Gentlemen - to get the exact parking space of the young lady exiting; one of the best spots on the lot. I asked two students walking by where the building was and they said "It's right there, you are so LUCKY!" How freaking cool. I love it. Then one of the students made me laugh because she said (over the wall that was lining the lot) "Oh, but you have to follow this wall 2 miles down that way to come over to this side" and pointed in the opposite direction HA! My kind of humor.

The reading was just wonderful. The man who introduced her wrote the most lovely intro and her words filled the space and hung in the air like the beautiful clouds of a Southwestern sunset. Some of the poems were yellow, some pink, some orange and some blue...

At times, and since she was up against a neutral background, and maybe it was the lights in there or something, but when my focus softened, I could see a bright light around her. Like in those Byzantine portraits of angels. Whenever I closed my eyes, I could see everyone's shape in light. I'm sure this is a natural occurence, especially for people who sit at a computer all day - or what if it's their aura? Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo......

I had to come home and load up the picture and write immediately. I was so pleased to be in that crowd. I enjoyed the sharing and appreciation of the creative gift that is often overlooked in this society where exterior wealth is often valued more. The seemingly simple action of putting the thoughts from our heads and hearts to paper or screen to illustrate what is going on in there and then, GASP, read it to other people, takes more courage than you think, my friends. If you don't believe me, try it. All kinds of shit you didn't think bothered you will come up right before you are about to go on just to see if you still have the guts to go through with it. Putting yourself on the line to - metaphorically speaking (and please pardon the pun) "throw a line out" - see who will grab the other end and listen to what is coming through the soup can and still be okay if they don't like it or (yes, you can GASP again) don't pick it up at all...

on the verge

I can still taste the garlic cloves and curry from lunch. Outside it's a beautifully cool 66 degrees and everyone is trying to decide whether or not they should get used to it. They are wearing jeans, sweatshirts over t-shirts, and flip flops and then complaining that it's cold in a 74 degree building. People are so funny.
The lobby is kind of quiet this afternoon. Quiet and still, either everyone is working upstairs or they have all just fallen asleep simultaneously. The birdman is coming down the stairs, trading in his claps and slams on the desk for birdcalls and whistles after I told him yesterday that it was annoying when he did the former. Thanks for changing that up, Birdman.
I love these afternoons. It's grey and quiet outside, this makes the trees look especially green, my new pink sweater (phone rings, same guy, transfer to accounts receivable) especially pink. I noticed someone who has been wearing cuter outfits this week. I wonder what's going on with him. I especially like what he's wearing today, it's been my fantasy outfit for someone else here for a while and I'm just so happy to see it on someone. His glasses just top off the look, but then again, we know how much I love glasses on a cute guy. I wonder if he got himself a girlfriend, or maybe he's trying new looks to see what she likes? Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz, answer phone, "This is a message from the National Healthcare Program"....RLS - other phone rings, someone comes in the door, I call up the Birdman, the buzzing phone rings again, it's Erica, the recording, I hang up, the guy goes with the birdman - and then that distinct pain in my neck that has been happening. Right side, ears ringing like I have a shell over them, what are they trying to tell me? Birdman comes back, we talk for a minute, then we are done and he goes.
Someone is in the "loft" talking on their cell phone because the reception is so bad "inside" the building. I don't know if people forget I'm down here or just don't care, Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz "hello, this is your Captain speaking..."RLS but I can hear their half of the conversation and sometimes they make me want to listen, but most of the time they don't. I mean, how many times can you hear someone say - ring - someone comes down, funny banter - someone say "metrix....blah blah...sure....sure...slice and dice demographics...sure...sure...quality up...let me find out more for you about that..." phone rings, distraction, looking up Annie Lennox - here comes the rain again - playing it on low volume - here comes the rain again, falling on my head like a memory, falling on my head like a new emotion...buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz "hello this is Erica from credit card services" hang up "talk to me, like lovers to, walk with me, like lovers do, talk to me like lovers do, here comes the rain again" someone coming through the lobby, another distraction, another blog, another search...

Teresa.

Me: Good Morning, Company name, how may I direct your call?
Bitch on the phone: Yeah, I need to talk to Teresa.
Me: I'm sorry, I don't have that name on my list.
BOTP: Well, she just called me and left me a message with her name and number and it was your company.
Me: I understand, but I don't have that name on my list of employees.
BOTP: She's in your blah blah department. What about Thad? Does he work there?
Me: Thad who?
BOTP: In your blah blah department with Teresa. He's the blank of blank in the blah blah department.
Me: My list has no titles, no areas, so unless you have the first and last name of the person, it's difficult for me to find them.
BOTP: Isn't your company small enough that you know who they are? Can't you just type in the first three letters of their name on your little program there and find out their last name?
Me: I understand your frustration, Ma'am and I'm trying to help you, but...
BOTP: I don't want you slandering me to them, I want to talk to them before you say anything bad about me.
Me: I am not going to say anything about you, Ma'am, I'm just trying to find out who you need to talk to so that I can transfer your phone call.
BOTP: Because I'm not going to start anything up with you, I don't want you telling them I'm upset because I'm not so don't say anything to them when you transfer me.
Me: Please hold. (I take this time to count to five sllllloooowwwly and rethink my tactic, I know Thad is out of town and she sounded pissed before I even picked up the phone, if you know what I mean). She hung up before I got a chance to transfer her to Thad's voicmail.
There has not been a Teresa here in the two years I have worked here.
WTF.

my documents

I have two documents saved. One is called "Saturdayattenfifteen" and is comprised of a number of transcribed conversations I've had at work, sometimes IM conversations that I copied and pasted, without the person knowing, changing their names from Mark or Steve to HIM or Co-Worker or Colleague when I feel Euro. Headings for these conversations include Talk to Me, Go to lunch, Freak..., Rub My Shoulders, Frank Zappa..., Hot for Teacher, Popcorn Day, Why is she selling this?, Why did they get a divorce?, Smile, My Grandfather, The Laminator, It's actually more time and cost effective to go to jail, and G.d at Work.

The other document is called "rewritingsaturday". It is a diary of sorts, my version of a blog before I got a blog and begins on Tuesday, March 20, 2007. It has 51 pages, 34,909 words, 144,177 characters (no spaces), 179,099 characters (with spaces), 288 paragraphs, 2,003 lines - this includes textboxes, footnotes and endnotes (of which there are none). So for all of you writers out there who complain about writer's block, get a job as a receptionist temp, the screen will be full in minutes, I swear. The first sentence goes like this:

"After an epiphany this weekend, I thought it best to share with my therapist, the deconstructive thought patters that had come to light from my experiences of being a bridesmaid thus far."

Reading that again makes me think that maybe I should have gone to jail. This document was updated pretty frequently, sometimes daily, sometimes weekly or monthly, depending on what was going on in my life. There is a full stop of entries at Wednesday, June 11, after a night of karaoke and flirting and misunderstanding between co-workers and I didn't even open up the document until Wednesday, September 3, 2008. That particular entry makes all the previous entries look like whiney babies.

I logged on to this website just after redecorating my Super Pet's apartment and have not logged off all day. Just went back on to facebook and saw an email from Mr. P. He can have dinner tonight. Just when I gave up - never fails. I didn't want him out of my life, you know. I just had a a hard time accepting that he didn't want to be in my life the way I wanted him to be. Now that he is in a relationship with someone, the want is gone and our dinners and nights out are more pleasant.

Today the Vogue was splayed out in front of me all day, this was on the screen and I went out a couple of times to smoke when I don't actually smoke, I just want to get outside. Those short conversations with people from work, each one, the ones at the desk, the ones outside and some after work, not to mention happy hours and lunches - after two years, I wonder what they all add up to. I wonder if it's a month or something more like maybe three days to a week straight of time with that person. Which is really not that much time at all...

Lloyd Dobler: The rain on my car is a baptism, the new me, Ice Man, Power Lloyd, my assault on the world begins now.

This morning's workout consisted of me going back and forth from the car up to the apartment to load up the rest of the things I cleaned out on my Power Carie assault on the closet. This is not fun to do in the pouring rain, but it had to be done today. It's been sitting in my office on the massage table for weeks. After mercilessly removing things that I had been holding onto for too long, the Ice Queen in me was sick of looking at it. I went through it once last time last night, putting stuff in bags and labelling, held on to a couple more pieces that I think I can make work, but still getting rid of a good half of the shit in my closets and drawers. I finally tried on the stuff I ordered (as a reward for cleaning up and cleaning out) and decided to return about half of it, keeping a few key pieces that will replace some of the stuff I got rid of (i.e.: 5 ill-filling skirts gone, one fabulous dark pencil skirt IN). The new haircut, the new clothes and bras that actually fit, the new me is READY - like Donna Summer said "I'M COMING OUT!"

I wondered to myself on the way back from lunch if the events of my life and the natural occurances that happen around me are just coincidences or symbols of a much bigger picture out there. The rain falling and cleaning out the sky after I do this closet cleaning. The butterflies and dragonflies flitting around me whenever I think of my Mom. The wasp hive that appeared when I started thinking about my job and career. Is the natural world trying to tell me something? Is there a much bigger picture out there? Is there a connection? Or am I just using my neuralplasticity to reinforce a pattern of thinking that agrees with my belief system? When it comes down to it, don't we all?

I went through Mom's stuff when I was in El Paso. One morning I woke up a little too early and couldn't get back to sleep, we had talked about taking care of it when I was home so I figured, why the hell not? I know that none of the clothes would fit me, and my mom and I didn't like the same fabrics, anyway - I'm more of a cotton, no iron kind of girl and mom was all about the dry cleaning fabrics. My feet have grown and so her shoes would not fit, even the few pair I liked. I also found out from a very religious cousin that you are not supposed to wear the shoes of a dead person because you don't want to "follow in their footsteps" - makes sense. So that leaves all the fabulous purses. My Sister and I are going to leave them there until we have to do something different.

Complicated Grief is Complicated

My second therapy appointment goes something like this:

I want to just download everything I have to say onto a disk and hand it to her. She says "So how are you today?" and then, since I tell her "Do you know how many times I have to answer that question in a day? Everyday? I'm so used to lying to that question, I tell her - and we know each other so well and the formality can be lifted when appropriate, she says "Actually, I'm supposed to say "So, what brings you here today?" I give her a look, there may be a raised eyebrow in that look, there may be a micro-expression of contempt - micro-contempt? Then she says "How do you feel today?"

The freaking dam breaks open. The tears, the snot, the sharp....inhales...and the talking...when....you can't.....breathe....because you are crying so hard you...just.....lose your breath and.....ahhhhhhhhhhhh - blow your nose. This Kleenex is awesome. Ahhh therapy.

During all this mishigas the lovely therapist calmly and quietly says "do you want me to talk for a while?" and I nodded my head and blew my nose again.

I think what you are experiencing, considering how close you and your Mother were, and all of the other events surrounding her death, including the death of your Grandmother and the other losses of friendships, including the dynamic realationship with your sister is Complicated grief.

When is grief NOT complicated.

The definition reads like this (I combined a couple): Also known as: Prolonged Grief, Delayed Grief, Complicated Mourning, Complicated Bereavement. For some people, though, this normal grief reaction becomes much more complicated, painful and debilitating, or what's known as complicated grief. In complicated grief, painful emotions are so long lasting and severe that you have trouble accepting the death and resuming your own life. Researchers are beginning to pay more attention to complicated grief because of the serious toll it can exact — possibly leading to depression and thoughts of suicide. Researchers have even developed a new treatment that may help people with complicated grief come to terms with their loss and reclaim a sense of joy and peace.

I think that this is truly impossible. From my personal experiences over this past year and three months. The stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance) that are so linearly described in all the textbooks and WebMD's do not (and not just for me, but for so many other people I have spoken with who have lost a parent or close loved one at different times in their lives) happen in a nice, orderly fashion. No no no, my friends.

The best way I can describe it is like those equalizers on stereos - the green lights that go up and down to reflect the different parts of the song, sometimes over a month, a week, even some days anger is way up, depression is down, and they forgot to add this, but laughter. Because you do laugh, even though you never think you will be able to again, even though you think your heart is missing and buried deep under the sea, there is laughter.

September 1, 2009

THE POWER OF THE FEMININE
Ask yourself: as a child, who saw you? Who heard you? Was there anyone with whom you could be totally yourself and to whom you could trust your heart responses and speak your soul responses? Someone who made you think, Gosh, I am somebody. They’re happy that I’m here.

And I thought of Mom each time, and before I reached the end of this little segment started to cry, not too much, I’m at work and at the front desk, but man oh man….what happens when that person dies? Do you just have to keep telling yourself that they are still there, just not there, like I have been for the past year and 3 months? Is that why people get married and have babies to be able to feel like those people are there for them after the original goes away or failed to do so?
I am in some physical pain today and I don’t know if it’s the depression that is settling in or if it’s just the way I sleep. I had no dreams to remember last night, just drank until I passed out after watching Anthony Bourdain and talking to Sister. I’m afraid of being depressed, I’m afraid of going there, just going there all the way and not being able to get out of bed for anything and really really getting very very fat fat and losing even more of this J’e ne se quoi that used to bubble up from within me from when I was a tiny tot. Are my childhood dreams still valid? When I think of all the things I used to want to do as a child, be a Solid Gold Dancer, be Donna Summer, be Glenn Close - does that mean I wanted to be a triple threat performer or just wanted to be those ladies because they are fabulous? I ask myself, what do I want to do now that I’m an adult? Do I still want to dance, sing and act? Do I believe like I used to that I really can? Or do I leave those dreams behind, face reality and assess the glorious skills I have attained throughout my life to carve out a place for myself in this workforce of humans?

And just this afternoon, one of the guys came by to just ask how I was and what I was doing. I am currently in the middle of O magazine, reading snipets from amazing women doing amazing things when I am at a point in my life where I don't feel very amazing at all, I must say. So the conversation leads to what we love to do and what we just are able to do and I show off by saying that I wrote and performed a one-woman show and have been published (so what if it was in High School, I was still published! ;) and he tells me, he has the nerve to tell me to start a blog.

So I did. And here I am, doing the one thing that I have been doing this whole time, but this time putting it out there for all of you in internet land to read. Some of you know who I am, who the people are that I talk about, but most of you don't and I'm okay with that. I'm not going to use names, but I am going to write what you said - because even though you may not think so, even though you think you are the only person doing this thing or that - you will find that you are not.