Karen's place

Disclaimer

While you are in this room having your massage please be advised that anything you say can and probably will be overheard by the new tenant on the other side of this wall.

Please feel free to be as loud or boisterous as you like or need to be while remembering not to divulge account numbers, pin numbers, passwords, state or national secrets etc. etc. etc. during your session.

Thank you for your indulgence.

Enjoy your massage!

Closing doors

I’d let the repairing of four doors in our apartment fall to the bottom of my to-do list.

Two doors would not shut, one door could be forced shut, but would then stick, and the last one had a broken door knob.

I’ve been wondering what the significance of having so many nonfunctional doors was to my life.  Yes, I have enough free time that I can contemplate shit like this.

Part of the thinking process for me was in yesterdays blog.  The rest occurred after I put in the work order at my rental office.

I’ve had the same hairdresser for years.  We worked at the same spa for a little while several years ago.  She is a little bit gossip, a little bit malicious dark humor and has in the past been the source of some good laughs.  I drove her home once during that time we worked together and as we approached a corner she saw a young man and hurried to lock her door.  I cocked an eyebrow at her and said, “Really?”

The shop she rents a booth at has recently rented a space to an African American  lady and my last color was chock full of her bile.

Am I supposed to fix her?  Change her?

Nope.  I’m supposed to find another hair dresser.

One door closes.

Next up my new neighbor at work.  We’ve been serenaded by the sounds of construction for the last six weeks.  After opening his office and working for an entire day, Mr. Personality (aka douche bag) shows up at our office the next morning to complain about our noise. Unbelievable.  

Will I be restraining myself when I arrive at work?  Will the few minutes of stand up I give my co-workers to get them laughing come to an end?  Will I be toning down the laughter portion of my massage therapy?  Will I be encouraging clients to remain silent and not tell me all the details of whatever might be bothering them?  Nope.

 I can multitask like no ones business during a massage……. you get a great massage, a comedy routine and/or a counseling session all for one inclusive price. My clients have been just as aggravated as I have with the noise from next door.  I expect we shall become quite boisterous, the jokes will fly and we shall laugh uproariously!  Childish?  Passive aggressive?  Yep.  I figure after another six weeks we can negotiate a peace treaty.  In the meantime, I will move the clients that need quiet to my place.

Another door closes.

Then, one of my friends was so enthused about the idea of a ladies night of cards at my apartment, that she went ahead and invited her friends and decided on a day.  She then had nerve enough to tell me her friends would be disappointed after I told her no.  I carefully reminded her that this was an activity I was holding in reserve for when/if my daughter moves out.  I also let her know that as it would be at my apartment, I would be the one selecting the date and time as well as the guest list.

This might represent the sticky door for me.  I am not quite sure what to do with it.  I probably just need my fingers crunched a few more times.  

The fourth door?  That broken doorknob was to my bedroom.

vibrating together

From age 3 to 13 my best friend in the world was my neighbor Joseph.  His mom died when he was 13 and in his grief he started hanging out with the neighborhood kids who were heavily into drinking and drugs.  I didn’t struggle to hold on to him. I did not fight to save him.  He drifted away.  I let him go.

In Junior High my best friend was a girl named Jeanette.  If my family was somewhere in the middle of poor, hers was somewhere in the middle of rich.  I always felt welcomed by her parents and grandparents.  Those two years were pretty amazing for me.  In the 9th grade we drifted apart.  I became more shy, withdrawn and backwards when it came to the young men of high school and she moved forward.  No drama, to tears, no recriminations…..I let her go.

High school didn’t bring best friends but occasionally a sharing of misery with other kids more in the outcast section of teenage hierarchy.  Weekends were for solitary pursuits like hiking around the lake or creek, or plowing through huge stacks of books.  No dances, no proms, no dates, no first kiss.

28 years ago I joined the Navy and I look back at my 22 year old self and marvel.  I walked to the bus stop alone, no one to wave goodbye and left.  Granted I did cry from my home town in New York to Orlando, Florida.  I’ve run into ladies I went through boot camp with and they remember me as the girl who cried every night.

People come into your life and I like to think there is a reason, a purpose larger than what you can see with your eyes.  People inspire, repel, make you angry and there is purpose to it.

If there is something off-putting about someone, I see it as a mirror of something in me that I don’t like.  Sometimes I think (in the vastness of my ego) that I am supposed to change their minds about something or to provide some sort of healing.

When you change duty stations in the Navy sometimes you are assigned a sponsor.  This person sometimes picks you up at the airport, gets you (and your family) to your hotel, shows you around your new home, and will be your first friend in a new city or new country.  

Our sponsor in one country introduced us to our favorite restaurant, made sure we knew where not to eat, gave us great information on the best areas to live in and what was available for our children.  They welcomed us into their home and into their family.  

And it was good, until it wasn’t.

Occasionally something racist would come out of the wife while we were talking and I thought it was my job to steer her into better thinking.  I would gently bring the conversation into another direction.  All the while I wondered if this is what I was supposed to do.  Haters are going to hate, right?  She was so nice except for that and we still got together for visits.  One day she said something about the men in our host nation being only interested in sex and I asked her what kind of American men she knew.

The last straw for me was her telling me about this cat they had trapped back in the US that had been scent marking their yard.  Before carting it off to the pound they soaked it in water and basically took out their frustration by torturing an animal in a cage.

Oddly enough her name was also Karen and from that moment on for me, she became the Anti-Karen.  And I let that friendship go.

My older brother, who spent a measly 16 years living with me before he joined the Marines has no words of comfort and tells me, “You’re a loner, you’ve always been a loner.”

People confound me.  Am I supposed to fix you?  Support you?  Love you unconditionally, even when I think you are majorly fucked up?  It is easier for me to allow you in when it is comfortable for me and to let you go when you become work.

OMG.  I DO have commitment issues!  

Or, my soul is so wide that I accept whatever path you are on even though it veers away from my own. 

I have two lady friends here in Corpus and this weekend I mentioned to one of them my curiosity about why the three of us are friends.  I told her that I believed that the three of us were seriously and fundamentally broken.  I was expecting that she would see that and become curious about how we might heal each other.    She did neither, and became a little defensive about being broken but also being at peace with the state of her brokenness.

I have another lady friend who moved from Texas a few months back.  That move was the punctuation at the end of our journey together.  We previously were the sky hooks we both took turns swinging from whenever the world got yanked out from under us.  She was my Anam Cara, my soul friend.

Texas, on the whole, has been one long goodbye tour for me.  

If I had a nickel for every time someone said to me, “Wow, that was the best massage ever!”  Or, really anything else along the same line.  I could stop working.  True story.

My last client walked in and attempted to give me that deep-eye-contact as we shook hands.  I let her have a second or two before I looked away.  

I am all about my comfort level  

When I first started giving massages, it was difficult for me to look at people before I worked on them.  I would get their information and intake form before leading them back to the massage room.  If I tried to look at their faces, a sort of dark chalky film blocked me.  This not only made it impossible for me to see their faces but also created quite a bit of discomfort for me.

This would disappear by the end of the massage and for me, there would be this moment when I could look at the face of whomever I was working on and think, “Oh, there you are.”

Today’s client came in with a gift certificate given to her by a mutual friend.  So, I knew of her and I know what she does for a living.  I guess I was a bit leery of having someone peer into my soul during the handshake portion of our meet and greet.

Anyway, she loved the massage and wanted to hug me before she left.  (I touch people for a living but really do not care to have people touching me and so never initiate a hug)  This is the second time in my life I have been gently and lovingly (bless her heart) instructed on the correct way to hug.  Everyone should be leaning to the left, hearts touching, and energy flowing in a clockwise direction.

Sigh.

I can fuck up a hug.

I can fuck up a hug.

This knocked my spirit (I want to say my shit) right out to the curb with the trash.  

I had myself a nice little cry in the car on the way home.  

I also received a gift certificate from our mutual friend and truly dread the thought of a session with today’s client.  Why?

Let me quote from my gift certificate………

“Symptoms are a result of stored poisons, toxins, or blockages caused by the subconscious internalization or denial of -and disconnection from- emotions.”

I have all my untidy little emotions and all my sloppy little hurt feelings tightly packaged up and tucked away as deeply as I could bury them.  They spill out every now and then, when I don’t hug someone the correct way and it reminds me of how tightly I shield myself from everything.  It reminds me of how there is nothing like a divorce to utterly destroy your sense of self and self worth.  

Today’s client? Could I “see” her before I worked on her?  Yeah.  She was full of light.

Mini rant…..bullet style.

• Ongoing construction in the office next to mine has me wanting to make up an invoice for the new tenant, detailing the money he is costing me.

• Ongoing lack of effective concern from office I contract in, has me wanting to leave, find another place to work.

• Laziness and an ongoing fascination with observing the moving train wreck that is my work place, has me opting to stay. 

• I will offer some of my lady clients the option of getting their massages out of my home.  As construction ends, and it has to at some point, I will have an idea of how many of my clients are truly bothered by the noise that is a regular part of working out of a PT office.

Blankets on.

Blankets off.

Blankets on.

Blankets off.

Blankets on.

Blankets off.

INSOMNIA!!!!

{HOT FLASH EDITION}

Fini

Last exam ~ computer class.  There was a young lady from another class testing with us and her boyfriend tried to help her.  (Hello…. Test?!!)  Instructor kicks him out.  It’s been 3 hours and I can still feel the wave of anger that came from the instructor.  It registers in me as anxiety.  Still. 

Lady teachers are a better fit for me.  More approachable. 

Even though the lady I had for my Speech class was not a good fit for me.  She just wasn’t a very nice person.  There was something hateful and vindictive about her.  I found her difficult to approach.  Some of that was judgment on my part about what I saw as unprofessional behavior. 

No matter…..it’s done and I never have to take speech again.  EVER! 

As I approached my 40’s I began to give myself permission to avoid things that created anxiety in me. 

I know there is a pill for that.  I’ve taken it before.

I know there is a nice comfy couch, in a nice comfy shrinks office for that as well.

Been there.  Done that too.

I took too many classes this semester. 

I won’t be making that mistake again.

Summer I session is about getting me back into a good exercise routine again.

Summer II is just one English class.

Fall 2012 will consist of one exercise class followed by History 1302.  History will be  followed by a 2 hour break for lunch and redoing history notes. Then, I have drawing and painting for non majors.  [this I hope means non-talented]

One class for the body.

One class for the brain.

One class for the soul.

Perfect.

Tumblr problems

I can’t figure out why my tumblr keeps freezing.  I can scroll a bit and then it freezes.  I can post but not change pages or it freezes up.  This is the only place I have this problem.  Can I access the help page?  No.  It freezes up.  I would have liked to put an angry gif here but tumblr won’t let me.

So, grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Persuasive speech (The Red Cross)

Last speech for torturous speech class and I am hoping my use of Pathos will not leave me weeping in front of the class.  Can you just imagine failing a grade for crying?

So, here is the opening story (true story) for my speech.

It was about 8 pm on December 9, 1990 while we were living in base housing on Fort Benjamin Harrison in Indianapolis, Indiana when the Military Police knocked on our door.  They wanted to let us know that there had been a gas leak in one of the housing buildings.  They thought it was under control and that there would be no problem beside the inconvenience of being without hot water.  However, if we wanted to go to a hotel the government would be accepting the expense on our behalf.

That should have been our first clue to leave.  When Uncle Sam knocks on your door and offers to pay for your hotel….. it is past time to leave. We chose to stay.  Megan was 19 months and Michael was 3 months old.

An hour later one of the buildings blew up.

At that point it became a mass exodus and we ran in our jammies, our bare feet, packing as many people as we could into cars before driving to various office buildings on the base.

I’m not going to talk about the four families that were destroyed that night, because I will just stand up here and cry, but I am going to tell you how the Red Cross was there.  They were there handing out blankets, serving warm drinks, offering comfort, offering their help.

Premonitions

I saw my father laid out in his casket 9 months before he died.  I was 20 years old and we were in Virginia for my older brothers wedding.  

Before I went into the Navy and during a fight with my first boyfriend, I told him that if he wasn’t already sleeping with Maria, he soon would be.  I then proceeded to describe her apartment, her furniture and her bedroom to him……right down to the daybed she slept on and the white curtains in the window.  I even told him where he would put his clothes as he took them off.

Good times.  I can still remember his face while I unloaded on him.

Here’s what I think:  I think all time is simultaneous and each decision we make, each direction we turn in, creates another series of circumstances.  I think that if you are open to the whole idea of being able to take a step to the side and see past the veil, as it were, you can catch a glimpse of what might be.

I believe nothing is written in stone and that in any moment you can change direction, choose differently.

When I saw my dad in his casket, he was standing across the room from me in our hotel room.  I shared a room with my two sisters and one of my sisters friends.  My younger brother and my parents were in the adjoining room.  When the three of them came to our room,  I looked past everyone to meet my dads eyes and time stopped for me. 

I saw the casket, my father, what he was wearing, the lamp next to the casket and finally an arrangement of yellow roses. 

Nine months later and my sister who was sitting next to me at the wake leaned over and whispered, “It’s exactly like you saw it.”

Premonitions come and they are an image slapped into the middle of my forehead.  Everything else disappears. 

My dad was 53 when he died of a cranial aneurysm. I often wonder if he saw what I saw that day in the hotel.

Anyway, I do believe I am going somewhere with this. 

There have been other visuals, as I like to call them.  My first boyfriend was the subject of quite a few of them, as was my ex husband.  I even have one of my own.

It has in many ways, been a huge stumbling block for me in regards to what kind of effort I want to put into my own life.  I know it is just one possibility and that in any moment I can choose again. 

There have been weeks and months, where every morning my first thought upon waking is, “How much longer?”

The decision that needs to be made is to live.  Period.  Nothing more complicated than that.  To embrace each day, to make the most of each moment and to stop expecting that what I saw was a done deal.

Even though I’ve been right every other time. 

The first boyfriend?  The cheater?  He married Maria.  He continued to cheat.