Whew, That's a Relief!

Trying to figure myself out. I do crazy things occasionally. Okay, maybe more than occasionally, but let's just say the REALLY CRAZY things are occasional.

E-mailing Charlie was one of those things. I knew it was playing with fire, and yet I did it... and once I did it, there was no un-doing it. That was crazy enough.

What did I feel when I realized that I had gotten away with it? I had glimpsed into Charlie's life without him even knowing it. What did I feel? Relief, ah, sweet relief! Not sure if I should bask so much in the relief, though. The actions that followed that first contact are evidence of something else: boldness.

If you touch a flame and it burns your skin, the nerves send a message to the brain: Don't do that again. On the other hand, if you could go about touching flames, sitting IN the campfire instead of beside it, and so on, without suffering the consequence of a burn, would there be any reason to alter your fire-related behavior?

See what I'm getting at?

So, Charlie responded to my message in a manner that showed he obviously didn't know who I was. Although I knew that I could have been burned, since I wasn't, I was emboldened. I told myself I was replying to his reply simply to evade suspicion by at least acknowledging the fact that he had kindly replied to an anonymous fan of his work. I kept the reply cordial, not personal, even telling him that I didn't expect him to reply. Charlie then sent a brief friendly message in response to message #2. Still not burned, I was faced with a dilemma: Do I just stop this foolish behavior even if it lacks resolution?

I could have stopped at one message, and he probably would have thought nothing of it, but after two messages, it would be like walking out on a conversation... and sometimes people follow you in such a circumstance. Perhaps he had figured out who I was... so, like an idiot, I asked if he knew who I was (message #3). Charlie's reply #3 demonstrated that he had me confused with someone else, and that was why he was writing as if I weren't a total stranger.

Reply #3 also ended in a couple of questions directed at me. Not answering them would risk raising further suspicion, so I pretty much had to put my fingers back in the flame. Right? I carefully crafted my words in a manner so as not to be outright lies, and yet not to give myself away (message #4). Charlie's reply #4 took on the professional air of an artist approaching a potential client. I should be able to walk away from our correspondence at this point with no fear of firestorm, but what is the lesson I have learned from all of this? Could it be that I have received a second chance to behave in a sane manner? or is it, perhaps, that I can get away with more than I thought I could?

Fight and Flight

The truth just burns to be told. It irritates and irritates, gasping toward the light of day.

I am literally physically sickened by the truths I can not tell (or will not tell--probably due to my codependency with someone I know cannot handle the truth).

We argued again this morning. I'm able to avoid it much of the time by just leaving him alone. But he had asked for my help. I offered it, but refusing to give it in a way that would feed the codependency, I offered it on my terms. That sent him through the roof.

You see, Todd has finally decided to follow through on his desire to write. He's still deluded enough to act like if you love an idea and write the script, it will get produced and you'll make money, and everything will be Easy Street from there on out, so he's writing during the times most people would either go to work or go looking for work (instead of doing it on the side like most aspiring writers do). I do respect the fact that he's actually sitting down to do the writing, instead of just talking about it. However, he is a beginner... and although he asks for help, he's very resistant to guidance.

Given our history of not working well together, as I watched him plug away on this script, my respect for his effort was tempered by my dread of the inevitable demand for help. It's hard enough to offer feedback to a person to whom you are not intimately related, but when you live with that person and that person approaches the people he asks for help as non-persons--like some technical gadget that should work and needs to be cursed at and bopped (I'm being metaphorical, here--no need to call the police) if it doesn't respond as you want it to (even though you've never even bothered to consult the manual... you get the point)...

So, I've already made it through the first draft of the script and offered a little feedback (being very careful to qualify the fact that this "just might not be my kind of story in the first place.") I also made it clear that format and proofreading for distracting spelling and punctuation errors would be a necessity before asking anyone else to read it. (The script was a mess in this sense.) He did a few revisions on it (content-wise only), and has been prodding me to read it again over the weekend. Mind you, I had things I had planned to do which really need to be done, but I sacrificed and took the many hours required to read the script and make notes of my response. It was still a mess--very hard for someone like me who struggles with A.D.D. (and possibly O.C.D.) to handle.

As I was fighting my way through a story that wasn't holding me, and a visual mess that was distracting me, he sat around watching sports on T.V. I tried to be gracious, but the fact that he once again had time for recreation, but couldn't put forth the effort to fix some of his sloppy errors before asking me for feedback really started to bug me. I prayed for a better attitude and labored my way through the script. Working late into the night, long after he had gone to bed, I finally finished and emailed him the attachment with my comments.

In the morning, he had checked his email before I got up, but he hadn't figured out how to open the attachment (and we've been through this before). So I once again walked him through how to open an attachment, and while we were at the computer, I thought I'd show him a few formatting tips (since I had included notes on that & realized that it might be hard for him to understand what I was talking about just from the notes.)

Big mistake!

This didn't fit his template for how and when he wanted what from me (me, the machine; me, the object; me, the one to be used for his own convenience). I knew that he would be asking me to help him format this later, and that if he just understood a few simple operations he wouldn't continue to make such a colossal time-consuming mess. The problem was, in his mind fixing the mess later on would be no problem--like always, he would just dump it on me, go watch his game, and when the game was over the script would magically be beautiful. (I've come to realize that was how he was raised. His mom created this monster. I guess it's hard for a person to learn to endure the strain and toil of working toward a goal when he has people in his life willing to just do it for him.)

I refused to be the complete push-over, and his inability to put me on auto-pilot to do his work for him sent him into an angry place. By the time I left the room, I was trembling all over and sick to my stomach. He, on the other hand, was tapping on the bathroom door within a few minutes, as if no altercation had even occurred, saying he had read some of my notes and was ready to bat around story ideas--as if we were collaborating on this story I don't even like. I was still shaking, and trying to get ready for church, even though I now wouldn't have time for breakfast. (That didn't seem to bother him).

I guess he can't see any irony in the fact that in the past, even when I've been working on strict deadlines, he has put me off and put me off when I've simply asked him to read a page or two (already polished and proof-read for spelling, grammar, punctuation & format, mind you.) It's like this huge disconnect. He can't see how he uses others, and then ignores them when they aren't of use to him. (By the way, his script is 100 pages)

I hope this script does work out for him, but I also fear what it might do to us. Perhaps this will be the thing that will end up squeezing the truth out of me--whether he can handle it or not. That may be painful, but I really should welcome it nonetheless. I do long to be in that place where the truth is out and I no longer feel the need to tip-toe on eggshells.

A friend told me she kind of felt like I was using Todd, staying with him until the kids are grown, while in a sense working toward an escape plan if things don't work out. I've not given up on the relationship, however. I'm just not deluded by unfounded hope.

Todd's lack of ambition--or at least carrying through on his ambition--has been a major turn-off to me. Now he's at least making some effort (even if it is a bit misguided--and I can't hold that against him, as I have made more than my share of misguided mistakes). As I see it, the self-empowerment moves I am making are not an escape plan as much as they are a grow-up plan--a plan that both Todd and I need.

If he will come along with me, we might survive, but if he insists on remaining the child and forcing me to parent him, then the empty nest just might trigger me to fly away. I'm not denying that. I don't want Todd to stay nest-bound forever, but if he chooses to do so, I will NOT be the enabler. It's for his own good, too. Right now, he lives in shackles. How he can even breathe is beyond me. The truth will set you free.

The Sarah Connor Training Program

Here's another analogy to keep me focused when I get impatient about the big changes I long for (especially those I'm simply not ready for--physically, emotionally, spiritually, relationally):

As I was on my two mile power walk this morning, I reminded myself that I'm still "in training." My body is very different from what it was a year ago--before I started taking healthy diet and exercise seriously. Rounding the track on my fourth lap, I recalled how difficult even this feat would have been just nine months and 40 pounds ago. Even something as simple as walking (walking, mind you, not running) is magnified in difficulty when you carry excess weight.

It's the same in the less physical aspects of life--carrying baggage not only slows us down, it also makes us clumsy and more likely to get hurt or even fail in our quest. It took time to pile on the pounds that were weighing me down and keeping me from the exercise I needed. It took time to put on the weight, and when I resolved to start exercising it wasn't an instant freedom... I labored away, little by little, gradually increasing my pace on the treadmill and the numbers on my dumbbells. When I stopped at the exercise area of the park to use the equipment and do a few sit-ups, I was impressed by how, in spite of all the changes I've seen in my body and all the things I can do that I couldn't a year ago, there are still some pretty basic moves that I can't do. I still feel trapped in a body that limits my freedom to move about as I would like to. Then I thought about the difference between actress Linda Hamilton's physique in The Terminator and the sequel, Terminator 2. She had to go through some pretty intense training for that transformation.

How many years did it take Sarah Connor to buff up and be ready to meet the challenge of her "Judgement Day" in Terminator 2? It was seven years between movies, but I believe the time span depicted was actually longer. Sarah's battle against the cyborgs is similar to the looming battle Todd and I are going to have to fight if we are to make it as a couple (or rise above the unacceptable status quo one way or another as individuals.) I don't know what the outcome will be, but I do know that there will be a battle--Judgement Day is inevitable--the day when our relationship will face the ultimate trial which we have been putting off with dishonesty.

Thinking of the training that is necessary to prepare for physical confrontation made me feel a little more comfortable about not pushing for all the changes at once. I've hung in this marriage for almost a quarter of a century--more than half my life. I don't have to fix it all right this minute. The fixing must start with me. It would be foolish to burst out demanding instant change when I don't even know what I want. The one thing I do know is that I not only want, but I also need, to be stronger (in all aspects of my being). As I typed that, I was reminded of the scripture about finding our strength in the Lord.

"And lest I should be exalted above measure by the abundance of the revelations, a thorn in the flesh was given to me, a messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I be exalted above measure. ⁸ Concerning this thing I pleaded with the Lord three times that it might depart from me. ⁹ And He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. ¹⁰ Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong." (I Corinthians 12:7-10)

This reminds me of all the times I have gotten distressed over Todd not bringing in a consistent income and providing some sense of security. I get worried, even though scripture also instructs me not to worry:

²⁵ “Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing? ²⁶Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? ²⁷ Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature?
²⁸ “So why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; ²⁹ and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. ³⁰Now if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?³¹ “Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’³² For after all these things the Gentiles seek. For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. ³³ But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you. ³⁴ Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble. (Matthew 6:25-34)

I've been at that place so many times: That place where I realize that in spite of the fact that I doubt, I've never had a reason to doubt the Lord for his provision. He has always been faithful to me. As depressing as my relationship with Todd is, as unstable the security (or lack thereof) of it, there is one thing good about it that I am actually thankful for: Todd's inability (or unwillingness) to provide security for the children and me through diligent work on his part has made it easier for me to continue to look to the Lord for my security, rather than idolizing a mere man. If Todd were a super ambitious workaholic, who's to say I wouldn't be tempted to look to him for provision and idolize him as my provider. I can only imagine what kind of strength would be necessary to resist such temptation, so there is no way that I can boast about my reliance on God--I've had it easy.

All speculation aside, I honestly don't know what it would be like to walk in the shoes of a woman with a successful husband. That leads me to view strength as a very pliable thing. It's not a one-size-fits-all sort of commodity, what is a strength for one person can be a weakness for another. The only strength that really measures up and makes us fit for our unique trials is the strength that is custom-fit through a relationship with God. He sees all (even the things we lie to ourselves about), so only He can truly outfit us for our personal challenges. We can't do it ourselves because we are all liars (whether conscious or not--it's the human survival program). It is in relationship with Him that our lies can be burned away by the penetrating light (fire) of His truth.

Spiritual wellness has to be the cornerstone of my search for strength, and although I do believe in miracles, reaching that wellness is not guaranteed to be an instantaneous thing. And, if it ever is reached, it is not guaranteed to be permanent--just like my lost weight and increased muscle mass--without diligence I'll morph right back into my double-digit pants' size.

So I will be patient, not expecting it all to change at once, and focusing on doing what I can do to be diligent... diligent mainly to move in the right direction--always to truth, always to truth.

"Remove from me the way of lying,
And grant me Your law graciously."

(Psalm 110:29)

If it takes five years, fine. Seven--I'll work it like Linda Hamilton, with God as my personal trainer. If it takes 12 years, like Sarah Connor, may I persist, knowing that that Judgement Day is coming, and purge myself of the baggage that would keep me from pulling through that day whole and victorious... and free.

Playing with Fire

Just a quick postscript to yesterday's reflection on the possibility of a tiny Sea Monkey turning into a Fire-Breathing Sea Monster... and the confession about the message (contact) that cannot be unsent.

The implications are broader than just a couple of little notes (one out-going, the other in-coming). Charlie now has the email address that is attached to my faux facebook AND THIS BLOG. That means, if Charlie is clever enough and curious enough, he could find this blog.

That realization could have sent me into a frenzy, scrubbing the internet of all evidence of Bridget and falling back into the shadows where I have been hiding for so long.

I'm not going to do it.

So what if he finds this blog?

I'm trying to reinvent myself as a bolder, braver, and more honest person. I saw the anonymous comment on my last blog entry that suggested that salvation comes through integration... and that the "good girl" I spoke of is only part of who I truly am--that the "good girl" needs to go out to dinner with Bridget and get to know her.

In that same spirit, I must admit that Charlie is a chapter of the story of not only who I was, but also who I am. There may be elements of the Charlie story about which I'm not being totally honest because I've been lying to myself. If Charlie were to read this and recognize himself in the narrative, it wouldn't be the end of the world.

I'm not afraid.

Should I be?

The only reason I see to be afraid is if I'm not telling the truth. (And since it's possible that I have lied to myself about some things that are too painful to embrace, or that in the lying to Todd that has been necessary to keep the peace, I have started to believe some of those very lies. It is possible that Charlie could call me on factual errors I make as I recall the happenings of the life chapter we shared. Lies have done enough damage. I do not fear the truth, but rather long for it.)

True, I may be playing with fire, but fire is not necessarily destructive. It can do good if it burns away the lies that enslave us. I recall the prairie fires of my childhood rolling toward the tiny town that I lived on the very edge of--tongue extending toward our little house, as a panting hungry beast, intent on licking us off the map. But those weren't the only flames. The volunteer fire-fighters set controlled burns to destroy the fuel that the fire-breathing monster needed in order to reach us. If we had been too fearful to allow the controlled fire to be ignited near our house, the fuel would have remained and we likely would have been consumed.

I'm not afraid of Charlie reading this, but I am afraid of Todd reading it.

What is the difference?

One might guess that it's simply because I have to live with Todd, but that's not it. I don't have to live with him--I'm choosing to, for now at least. The biggest difference I can think of is indicative of a deeper problem that will eventually need to be dealt with if I am to stay married:

Perhaps I'm not afraid of Charlie finding this because Charlie always seemed to be a passionate truth-seeker. He didn't care if something contradicted his preconceived assumptions. He would dialogue and really listen, and he wouldn't get upset with someone for disagreeing with him.

Todd, on the other hand, is a master at ignoring even glaring truths if they don't fit in with the ideal landscape he's created in his mind of how things should be. That's why he lies to his parents all the time (and I don't think he even realizes he does this, because he's lying to himself as well). That's also why he stops listening if I say something that doesn't fit into his idea of how things should be. I'm just realizing, as I type this, how stifling that behavior has been to my growth as a person. I don't mean to play the "poor victim" here, I accept the fact that by allowing this to go on for so long, I am guilty of enabling the behavior.

Realizing that, I want change. The truth is hard; however, even if it's a slow smothering death, a lie will eventually kill. I want to be free even if it requires some extra pain along the way. Can I handle the truth? I think so. I really think I can. Todd, however... well, let's just say I'm not so sure. The lies have become so ingrained--so habitual--for him that I really don't think he can handle the truth.

What is the truth?

(Now, this is just off the top of my head, mind you, but I'll give it a whirl at putting down in words the things I cannot presently tell Todd.)

First off, I don't want to be with Charlie. I know he's not good for me that way. We could be friends, but we never should have been anything beyond that.

If I were given the choice, however, between someone like Charlie or someone like Todd, I would have to say that the someone like Charlie would be better for my mental well-being because he would actually accept me for who I am.

With Charlie, I don't think I'd feel relationally secure. He cheated with me, so he would probably cheat on me. But with Charlie I would feel free to be, and to grow, and to express my true self--a person who is not static. I'm at a place in my life where I feel like that is just as important (if not even more so) than physical faithfulness. Emotionally and intellectually, I don't feel safe and cherished with Todd.

I'd like for Todd to understand the differences that drew me to Charlie years ago, as I was simultaneously being repelled by Todd. Charlie made me feel safe in self-expression because he didn't judge me. Even though he treated me as an object by physically using me when he probably didn't really love me, Todd also treats me as an object on an intellectual level by shutting me out when what I'm saying doesn't agree with his plan (end of discussion--he either repeats his argument until I shut up, or "shuts me off" like an object by walking off, ignoring, and/or moping). When I don't fall in line with how he wants things to be, his reaction is similar to how he responds when the computer doesn't act the way he expects--like an object.

These are things that we will have to talk about, and the only way I see to do that safely and effectively would be with a counselor to mediate. We can't afford that right now, so I feel the need to tread water for a while. I know it probably looks like I'm just giving up, settling for the status quo, and enabling... but there are deeper things going on. I know it will take courage and strength to stand up to Todd in the way that I need to, and I'm not there yet. If I were to act hastily and set an ultimatum right now, or leave him right now, or ___, I would probably fall apart. I'm stronger than I was a year ago, but I don't think I'm strong enough to carry through yet, and I know that when I take a stand, I'd better be ready to carry through if Todd blows me off.

I guess you could say I'm in the midst of a control burn process. It's not yet time to unleash the wrath of Todd. There is a tiny scar on my arm, uncomfortably close to a large vein, that reminds me of what came of a confrontation I wasn't ready for. I'm not going to do that again. It may take a little while to get ready, but it will be worth it to take the time to be strong and prepared for success. I've already seen evidence on a smaller scale that when Todd sees me getting my sh!t together, he shapes up a little (even if it doesn't last long, it is an indication that he notices.) So, even if I'm not yet acting in an overtly proactive manner, I'm comfortable knowing that confrontation and ultimatum are not the only ways to affect the relationship.

For now we're on chapter "Get Bridget's Act Together."

And I'm not afraid.

Sea Monsters from Tiny Mail-Order Seeds

People have always thought of me as such a good girl. When I was a kid, even though I hated the name "Goody Two Shoes", about the raciest thing I could come up with to buck it was playing with candy cigarettes in elementary (oh, the appearance of evil!) or attending the senior kegger when I was only a sophomore (albeit with the cleanest-cut, most respectable guy in the senior class--you know, the kind that leaves you wondering if they are gay or if you're really just that undesirable).

If I had a rebellious streak, it was always a very itty-bitty, tiny, little one--almost laughable as rebellion goes. Some would say my parents were lucky to have such a good little girl. And even as I grew up, my rebellion was a dwarf--the cute kind that you just want to dress up in tutus for your own amusement, not exploit in a politically incorrect side-show: I've still not done illegal drugs (although I do plan to give pot a try sometime in my late 90's) and I've only done one photo shoot in my lifetime that included nudity (and as long as I never get famous, those pictures won't likely ever show up on the internet). Of course, there was that one little incident that I try to block out of my memory (and yet ramble on about through the course of at least three blog entries http://mynamesnotbridget.blogspot.com/2010/04/secret.html), but mostly it's been small stuff.

The problem is, given room, small stuff can get bigger. In my last blog, I mentioned that

"...the gulf between Todd & I has only grown deeper and wider (and has been infested by more poisonous and man-eating sea monsters) over the past year."

Today, I thought about those "sea monsters" that I spoke of so metaphorically and nonspecifically yesterday. It started because I thought I maybe, just maybe, spotted a little tiny potential sea monster...

"Nah, it's nothing, really," I told myself. "More like a microscopic Sea Monkey (remember them?) -- anyone who ever hopefully sent off an order for Sea Monkeys knows that those little disappointments never amounted to anything."

But try as I might to downplay the significance, I couldn't shake the idea that this time, I just might be playing with the Sea Monkey that would turn into a Sea Monster.

I'd always wondered if I had just taken better care of my Sea Monkeys--used better water, regulated sunlight differently, etc.--if they just might have grown into the noble mythical creatures pictured in the cartoon ads. And now I also wondered if they could also mutate and grow into sinister man-eating, fire-breathing monsters of the deep.

I'm speaking metaphorically, of course, and perhaps even dragging my feet about getting to the meat of the monster because it's easier to hide behind a symbol. The symbols here, however, may contain more truth than I'm ready to face in reality, so bear with me and we might just discover depths I didn't even realize existed.

I'm looking at an image as I type these words... not an image in my mind, but a very real image in a separate browser window: a painting of a powerful sea monster with a penetrating gaze. I wish I could post that image here, to show how it's sliver eyes peer into my soul, but I would have to ask the artist's permission to post it... and it would not be proper for me to ask this particular artist anything. You see, the artist who painted this awesome creature is none other than Charlie...

Charlie, whom I have not spoken to in over a decade.

Charlie, whose memory lingers in a swampy mire of regret.

Charlie, whom I would still like to be friends with, but that would send Todd through the roof.

Charlie, who, if not for our "history" would likely have been my first choice to call in to work on several creative projects that have challenged me over the past few years. (By what I see in his online portfolio, he has grown artistically since I knew him.)

Charlie, who I believe I'm so "over" that if it weren't for Todd, I could probably have a successful platonic relationship with. I think I'm older & wiser and would see through his "lines" and be able to laugh them off, but then there is that tiny place of apprehension (fear?) that leaves me a slave to the common-sense decision to just stay away from him--the fear that if I looked into his eyes and heard his voice, he might melt through my resolve and get to me like he did when I was young and naive and vulnerable because of all the hurt and disappointment in my life (is the fact that I'm no longer young and much less naive enough to outweigh those other elements that are unchanged, if not teetering in a more precarious balance than before?)

Anyway, I guess just the fact that I've admitted that I'm looking at a painting that Charlie did after we parted ways is evidence that I've stooped to cyber-stalking.

I just wanted to know...

know what?

That's a good question. Now that I've gained a little glimpse, I find myself standing uncertain about what it is I want to know. I wanted to know that he's out there--that I didn't destroy him. I wanted to see if it's obvious that the child we conceived bears his genetic code. There have been so many times over the years that I've had to deny the reality of the time we had together, and thus even his existence, just to be able to carry on--I've come to feel somewhat disconnected from reality due to the lies that I've told myself. I guess catching a glimpse of Charlie now, Charlie in reality, is like an anchor to bring me up to deal with the real world. And that's something I think I need to do in order to heal and become a whole, independent, stable person. I can't face responsibility for the poor choices I have made if I remain in denial of their reality.

So, I come up from the murky waters of denial only to find myself face-to-face with this fearsome monster... It should be enough to remind me of a very vivid dream I had after we had parted ways and I was still missing him. I dreamt that I let him into my home only for him to become the prime suspect in the molestation of a neighborhood child. That dream was enough to scare me away from further contact with him. What if it was a supernatural warning? What if he really was a monster? As I looked once again at the piercing stare of the monster he had guided the brushes to paint--the monster that had grown out of his own imagination, I once again felt regret. This time it was regret for an action I took about a week ago.

Silly, silly, foolish girl. I just wanted to know...

So I looked. I saw evidence that he did indeed still exist, but it wasn't enough. I sent him a message--not from me, but from my fictitious persona. I sent him an email. The moment after I hit "send" I longed for an "unsend" button. Silly, silly fool! But then the days went by with no reply. Good. Perhaps the email from this fictitious stranger had landed in his junk mail folder and would be deleted before he even saw it.

As today's thoughts about little Sea Monkeys turning into Sea Monsters grabbed hold in my imagination, I was glad that Charlie had not answered my message. Better to be without another monster in my life when I'm trying to learn to be strong, take responsibility, and hold the reins of my out-of-control life. Such a relief. I know he's there, but I also know that I'm not in his thoughts, his life is going on--as it should.

Then I checked my alter ego's email, and there was a message...

from Charlie.

It wasn't to me, mind you. It was to my alter-ego who had just posed as a stranger admiring his artwork. He was replying out of professional courtesy--just a part of networking for the artist, I suppose.

Common sense tells me to leave it at that. Since my alter ego doesn't really exist, I don't have to worry about if it is discourteous for her to say nothing in reply to his message.

It's such a shame because, on a professional level, I would really like to work with him again. I blew it before, but given the distance of time and space, I've come to see what a mistake that was. We really could have done great things together.

HOWEVER, given the goal stated in my last blog of staying married to Todd, even toying with the idea of any contact with Charlie (even as a stranger) might be construed as inviting a pet Sea Monkey into the Gulf of Toddeni ("Todd and I", cute, huh?) It may just swim around for a few weeks, feeding on the bacteria in the water and growing to a mighty 1/18th of an inch; but then again, I guess it could find the right environment in the quagmire to grow into a ravenous, fire-breathing monster.

So, Sorry, Charlie!

For now, I must re-evaluate the wisdom of my alter-ego dialoging with you. I need to know you aren't a monster (and even more--to be perfectly honest--I need to know that you won't bring out the monster in me.)

[Note: the monster picture above is my quick rendition of a disguised version of Charlie's painting]

'Appy New Year! (subtitle: Will Todd & Bridget Make it Through Another Year?)

I really want to blog more in 2011, but I'm off to a pretty apathetic start. Trying to fight the depression that's got me teetering on the verge of giving up on most of life's ambitions.

Right now the prevailing challenge seems to be staying married. Even though the gulf between Todd & I has only grown deeper and wider (and has been infested by more poisonous and man-eating sea monsters) over the past year, I still have no intention of leaving. [If he left, however, I wouldn't be devastated. Life would go on. Whatever. Ah, I'm such a romantic. Sorry for getting all sappy and emotional on you. I'm working on that.]

Staying together. Hmm. Whether it's for the kids, for some hopeful ideal, or a substitution for self-mutilation, it seems like the thing to do. Why not? Do I really have anything better to do?

So...

'appy New Year to you.

'appy New Year to me.

For you, 'appy means "happy."

For me, the jury is still out.

It could mean "happy," but it could also just be an abbreviation for apathetic.

Maybe 'appy is more fitting than I even realized when I started off with this babbling...

the decision to be happy no matter what is in a way being apathetic about one's circumstances.

If anyone actually reads this, feel free to chime in. Since everything seems to be done by on-line vote these days....

Vote for whether I should be happy or apathetic (or both) in 2011.

Vote for whether I should stay with Todd or become a lesbian (or both) in 2011.

There, but not really there

So, I just saw another movie with a whiney wife who complains about her husband (who obviously loves her) "not being there" enough because he's off at work trying to provide a good life for her and the kids. Of course she doesn't acknowledge that second part--the part about showing love through provision.

Am I the only one bugged by this depiction of sniveling, ungrateful females in film? Is my microcosm of life really that different from the world upon which this fiction is supposedly based?

Looking back, I can only think of one friend who has complained that her husband is gone for work too much--and she quickly followed that comment up by saying that she understood that he just wanted to to provide for his family. She only complained that the demands of acting as a single parent when he was frequently out of town on business were difficult, but she didn't doubt his love because of it. She went on to admit that when he was home, he was there for her and the kids 100%.

Thinking about this led me to take a good look at Todd. I only wish I could complain that he worked too much. But it seems he uses the "being there for his family" as an excuse to pursue business ventures that require the minimum amount of work from him (even if they don't work out and we end up constantly in stress over whether we'll be able to keep a roof over our heads another month.) The result of this leisure-allowing self-employment lifestyle is lots of time with him at home--but that doesn't really translate into lots of family time. In fact, he spends less time interacting with me and the kids than many of my friends' husbands who work more than one job. He's here alright. And I suppose if being able to look at him in his recliner watching TV and telling us to be quiet is considered interaction, then I should recant my complaint.

I'm not saying that a man who struggles to maintain gainful employment and fails in this crazy roller-coaster of an economy is unloving or less of a man. It's really more about true attitude and the actions that spring from and bear witness to his attitude. Couples struggle through bouts of unemployment, bankruptcies and foreclosures by pulling together, sacrificing together and serving each other. I don't think I'm reacting nearly as much to the circumstances of our scarcity as I am to the way Todd is handling it. He doesn't seem to be trying to get work, and he's not willing to sacrifice his leisure or recreation to help us get through this time. We're going in debt just to keep his precious cable TV going when cutting the cable would not only save us money, but also provide the time he doesn't seem to have to communicate with his family and look for work.

As backward as it may sound in this post-LEAVE IT TO BEAVER, feminist world... I really wouldn't mind fixing a good meal, prettying myself up, and greeting Todd at the door like June used to upon Ward Cleaver's return home from work in those 1950's reruns; HOWEVER, since Todd doesn't GO to work, he also doesn't COME HOME from work, so I just can't seem to figure out the logistics. Am I supposed to watch the clock and jump him at that magic hour when most men are coming home from work? All joking aside, I might feel a bit more amorous even in these times of unemployment if Todd was really here, not just "here."