Fault lines

I'm not a perfect person. I make mistakes, I make bad choices, I stumble and I fall, I hurt myself and others, I damage things sometimes. I overthink things, I have the kind of temper that occasionally flares quickly and burns out just as quickly but other times takes a long time to ignite then burns so hot it's cold. I have a sharp tongue sometimes and can slice and dice without even realizing I'm doing so. I'm impatient with myself, harder on me than I ever will be on others, insecure at times and have a melancholy streak a mile wide. I need as much attention as anyone, but also need my personal space.

I'm flawed. I'm human. I try to be self aware, to take a personal inventory now and again and fine tune the parts that need it. I try so hard to treat other people how I want to be treated and yet somehow, it never quite comes out that way.

I champion the underdog, I'm intolerant of intolerance, I have a kind heart with a gentle soul. I want to matter, I want to know that if something happened tomorrow the people I love would remember that I loved with every ounce of my being and I cared so very much for them. I want to know someone somewhere would mark my absence. 

I've struggled in my life. I know I've caused damage sometimes. I have regrets but I try hard to not have too many. What I've done, who I've been in the past, the errors I made and the bumps in the road have brought me to where and who I am today and I'm a better person for it. 

I wish I could write a letter to each person I've damaged, some of whom are still actively in my life, to explain why I've done some of the things I've done or where I was in my life at the time shit hit the fan but a larger part of me thinks that's counterproductive in a lot of ways. We can apologize for actions, admit we fuck up, give sincere apologies and try to make amends as best we can but we can't wallow in the negativity in our past. We can only move forward. I think sometimes understanding is the hardest part of everything. We all want to know WHY right?

Sometimes, there's just no answer to that question. Or if there is, it doesn't REALLY answer it because even with all the empathy in the world, we can really only see things from our own perspective. 

And maybe that's the lesson. Take no shit yet do no harm.

I'm grey today.

After a weekend overflowing with sunshine and warm temps, I woke up this morning to bleary, grey and cooler temps. Mother Nature is so fickle.
"Yo Yo" seemed to be the theme of the weekend. Ryan decided after I rolled out of bed Saturday morning at the butt crack of dawn that he wasn't going to class and I couldn't fall back to sleep so I bumbled around doing this and that. This resulted in a late afternoon nap that left me smudgy-minded but functional at least, since I had a birthday party to go to for one of my driver's wives. It was nice to get out for a bit, but I'm such a homebody anymore, I literally have to talk myself into going to functions like that. I recognize it's not exactly healthy to have social anxiety of sorts but I figure as long as I'm aware and working on it, that's progress.
The boys had asked friends over for a marathon game of Cards Against Humanity but it was arranged for after everyone got off work and people were tired so it got cancelled. Overall a quiet weekend at home.
Sunday was spent sluggishly, a few errands run. Ry set up his appointment to get his tattoo done. I'm counting my blessings that it's NOT his gf's name or something he might have trouble living down when he's 80. I don't really understand the symbol he's having done but it doesn't really matter if I DO, it's his body and needs to mean something to him. If he's going to get a tat, at least it's something semi-sensible-ish. (Yes, a Nixism.)
I returned a few things to Dee over the weekend and promptly got chewed out for it. I'm so done with her thought process that it's okay to be an ass to me. I'm no longer hers and therefore she's lost the right to snap at me. I'm just... done.
Today...today is the anniversary of my stepfather's death. In my head he's still this flawed, larger than life giant of a man, all bare chest (he hated wearing shirts) and long dark hair and limpy walk due to his prosthetic leg. The Daddy who called me his Munchkin, who smiled at me from behind tinted glasses and would run his huge hand over my white blonde hair like I mattered. The Daddy who was in and out of prison all through the time I had with him, from choices and demons he just couldn't make better. The Daddy who's heart I ripped out at 11, because I refused to allow him to adopt me, instead letting my fairy tale soul believe that some day the man who donated his biology to me might come back on his white horse and claim me. The Daddy who could make me giggle, who indulged my love of reading, who would twirl his handlebar mustache and laugh at me when I was being a goof. The Daddy who beat the hell out of my mother in a drunken rage every weekend, yet was so wise and book-smart through the week that I could have long conversations about novels and stories and Life with him. The Daddy who picked me up out of a pool of blood off the floor when I had a miscarriage at 16 and nearly died from hemorrhaging, who sat at my bedside and cried because he almost lost me. The Daddy that was a biker at heart and at play and yet so gently helped my 1 yr old son stand and learn to crawl and walk because I didn't have any other babysitter.
The Daddy who came to see me the day he died because I'd had another miscarriage at 20 and he wanted to make sure I was okay. The Daddy who was stopped by a deputy after leaving my house because I wasn't home. The Daddy who had been drinking a beer and knew that he faced going back to prison because he was on probation. The Daddy who gave the deputy his library card and his expired license then took off, starting a high speed chase through back roads. The Daddy who took a corner too fast, rolled the car he was driving and hit a tree, breaking every bone in his neck and dying.
I don't remember a lot of the day my mom called to tell me he was gone. I was at work in the greenhouse, called into my boss's office where he very somberly handed me the phone. I remember hearing my mom's voice and wondering why she was calling. I remember her words..."Bob's been in an accident and he's not okay". I remember asking Bob WHO? and when she clarified, telling her I didn't think this was a funny joke. I remember sitting down on the floor suddenly, when it hit  me what she was saying. I do not remember the rest of the convo. I do not remember my boss taking the phone. I do not remember much about the drive home, other than the music playing: The Crow Soundtrack. It has always been one of my favorites and oddly, still is. I remember walking in the front door and down the stairs, trying to wake my husband who had worked 3rd shift and was sleeping. I remember crying until I couldn't breathe. I don't remember the next few days at all.
I remember meeting at my mom's to tell my little brother. I remember his rage. I remember tears from all of us. If you ask him today, he hasn't cried about it since. I don't know if he can.
I remember speaking at his memorial. Closed casket, a picture that was so very HIM: all dark hair and eyes and warrior-like bearing. I remember tears flowing while I tried to tell these people who didn't know him like I did what a mish-mash of contradictions he was and how much he mattered to me. I remember thinking no words could ever fully describe the hole I had in my heart.
I will forever wonder if he would have continued to mellow with age, if he might have conquered those demons he fought. I watched how he was with my oldest son, before I ever even thought of the younger two and will be forever grateful I was given the glimpse of the grandfather he was going to be to my boys. I will never forget the lessons he taught me, good and bad. They've formed a lot of who I am now. I miss him. I miss his humor. I miss his intellect. I miss feeling safe, because ironically in light of the abuse that was rampant in my childhood household, he was the only man I've ever felt safe with. I think as an adult our relationship would have been a different chapter than my childhood and I mourn that lost possibility.
I hope he's found peace. And I hope he's proud of me and knows how much he was loved. 

Because I'm happy...

Not much of a title but it IS a song lyric, one that's been running through my head today.
I really AM happy.
Moving to Omaha was a huge step for my little family. I was petrified I was making a gigantic mistake, that we'd end up having to go back to Ohio with tail between legs, broken and broke. Terrified the boys would be unhappy, friendless, unable to adapt to life here. All kinds of scared and second guessing but it's been one of the best decisions we have made as a family. And it really was a family decision: I sat the boys down, we discussed pros and cons, I was 100% honest in all respects and it was a choice we all voted on. Thankfully, it was a group decision. I can't imagine if Bran had decided to stay back in Ohio. It would be like missing a piece of my heart.
They've settled in well, made friends, have jobs, have made this home and that makes my heart so happy.
For the most part, I have too. There are still things to work on: I don't have a friend group outside of work really and I'd really like to explore Omaha a bit more, move outside my comfort zone but time will bring that. Financially, we've never been in as stable a place and it's nice to not have to rely on anyone for help to stay afloat. Independence is hard won for me sometimes and the place I'm in at the moment is a good one.
I've had heartache this last year, ending my relationship with Dee. It's not what I wanted but I think it was not completely unexpected. I knew going in there were issues but I'd hoped we could work through them. Unfortunately NOT the case but in the big picture, we're both better off. Too much fighting, not enough communication, both of us miserable is NOT a good place to be.
Sunshine is flowing inside and out today and I'm making the most of it. I have friends who love me, sons who are healthy and happy and whole, a guy who's become a very close friend with a hint of perhaps something more somewhere down the road, a job that is (for the most part) stable and something I love....Happy is a nice change of pace.

Hope

Hope is a fragile thing.
When the boys were small, my hope was that because they were close in age and because I was raising them as a unit, that maybe they'd be close. My hope was that they would have the sort of sibling relationship I never really had with any of mine, largely caused by the age differences.
My hope...has and has not come to fruition.
If you take them in certain groups of twos, they are close and get along well. There's one set of two that never works and that is Ryan and Trevor together. I don't know if it's because there's only a year between the two of them or if it's because of the personalities involved or a combination of all of those factors but they don't get along all that well. If you ask Ryan, he has NO relationship with Trevor and has no feelings for him at all, no attachment at all. Trevor, because of his Asperger's Syndrome, can't really give a clear-cut idea of his level of attachment to Ry.
And it breaks this mom's heart just a little, to allow that hope to die it's death. I think sometimes you have to stop having an expectation or a hope and deal with the reality of the situation and that's where I'm standing when it comes to these two younger boys of mine.
I don't know if they'll ever be close. I think Ry has a lot of resentment towards Trev because he's always felt like he was the older brother and also because Ry tends to lack empathy. It's something I've fought since he was small, trying to instill in him some sort of compassion for others so he doesn't end up a sociopath or freaking serial killer. It's been a battle that's had minor triumphs and myriad losses.
Neither of these two are bad people, just maybe they don't mesh well and that's something I'm still struggling to accept.
Brandon, as oldest, tends to buffer them. It's reassuring in a lot of ways to know after I'm dead and gone, he'll be there for Trevor because with Trev's autism, he's easily swayed and easily taken advantage of. I just wish Ryan could mature enough to the point he can be not so obstinate and aggressive in his stance towards his brother.
Again, maybe that's just a refusal to accept a dying hope.
I have other hopes, some unrealistic in the face of my past experience. I don't need a husband or wife to be happy but I want one. I have always held some tender little hope in my heart that somewhere, somehow, there's someone who will love and accept me for me, someone who will let me love them back, someone who will decide I'm a keeper.
In the big picture, I don't believe in fairy tales, I know relationships are always work and I know that there's no such thing as a knight in shining armor but deep in a corner of my heart, I hope there's someone who wants to be that for me. Maybe that's why I keep picking up the pieces of my smashed little heart and dusting them off after each and every failure in love I've had. I want to matter. I want to know there's someone in the world who looks forward to my existence as much as I do their's. I hope that someone, some day, will look at me and love me, flaws and all.
Hope...fragile. And persistent.

Perspective

The older I get, the more I realize how very important perspective is. Our outlook changes everything. I read somewhere that when you focus on the negative, that's what you attract and while I don't know if that's wholly true, I can say that, for me, it's a self-fulfilling prophecy: when I focus on the negative, it's literally all I see. All the positive little flares of light are dimmed and fall out of view and I become steeped in the dark and gloom. I don't know if this is true of everyone or if I am blessed with a streak of melancholy but what I've come to believe that I also need these "down" times to resurface into a mind-space of appreciation and joy. I need introspective moments in order to re-evaluate ME and refocus on my blessings. Maybe it's that age old yin and yang thing, where you have to have bad to balance the good and for comparison.
Life today is on an upswing. The weather is having a break, with temps expected around 60 for the next three days and anyone who knows me, knows that Spring and Fall are my absolute favorite times of year. Again with the comparison/yin and yang. Rebirth in the Spring, fresh blooms, greening up, sun-kissed days neither too warm or too cold, the scents of warm earth and clean air. Laying to rest in the Fall, crisper air and temps, russets and oranges and plums, like we're putting the world to sleep for a bit.
The boys are holding steady: Bran has finally given up on Morgan (I think) which is a good thing for him. She's had him in a holding pattern for far too long in my book and it's time for him to start branching out and exploring his life on a real basis. Trev continues to be Trev, sometimes anti-social, sometimes a social butterfly. Ryan is restless, I think. He's looking for a new job because he's become dissatisfied at his current position. Seems restless with school too. I think he's feeling the need for some forward movement.
On the Nix front, I've spent some time recently talking with a very sweet man named Jason. No rush, no push, no expectation, just enjoying each other's company. I like him. He makes me smile and we laugh together every single day, which is a nice change of pace. I hope I make him smile too, and that seems to be the case. It's nice to be a source of sunshine in someone's life. I'm rebuilding the friendships that went fallow while I was with Dee and that's a good thing too. Lesson learned: no more ignoring red flags and no allowing someone to isolate me from those who only have my best interests at heart. While I can put some of that on Dee, I have my own culpability with it all. I allowed it to happen. I picked the wrong battles there. Work is chaotic as always but it's the nature of the business. I actually really thrive on the juggle of it all, the puzzle it presents.
It feels like a rebirth of sorts...and maybe it's because my perspective has shifted. 

NOT an Eff Bomb Friday

Most weeks, Friday is one of my favorite days. Not only because it's the end of the week and the beginning of the weekend but typically because I know when I go home, I'm home for the evening. My sons typically find a ride home from work on Fridays which means once I'm home I can get comfy and just chillax. Being pretty much a homebody, this makes me a happy camper. 

Most Fridays are a joyous day, no matter what slams into them, simply because they are, indeed, Fridays. I know the end is near and it takes a lot to tarnish that shine for me.

Some Fridays are what I call Eff Bomb Fridays, where a terrible no good very bad week culminates in an even worse Friday and it seems I just wanna chuck it all in the fuck it bucket.

Thankfully, today is NOT one of THOSE Fridays. And that, folks, is a miracle of epic proportions after the kind of week I've had work-wise. 

I think I'm keeping things in perspective better this week with the help of a pretty major accident one of my drivers was involved in. I'm thankful that he's alive, that the other driver is alive and that while injuries DID occur, they are manageable. The day of the accident I did like a lot of people do: I went home, hugged my sons, told every single person I care about that I love and appreciate their presence in my life, Facebooked it and then had a pensive, sad moment before bed then had trouble sleeping. That's what everyone does when something like that drops in their laps, right?

Yea...probably not all of it anyway. It's stayed with me this week, though. I have made a conscious effort this week to pay attention even more to the positive things in my life, to appreciate what's in front of me every day and to make sure my loved ones know how much they mean.

Life is short. I know this and I accept it. I work hard to be appreciative of what I have in my life but sometimes...I lose sight of the light at the end of the tunnel or maybe it's just a matter of losing focus. 

This week is not one of those. And this is NOT an Eff Bomb Friday. 

Instead, it's a Friday filled with sunshine (albeit a cold day, the sun warms me from inside my heart, out). It's a Friday filled with a chaotic job that I mostly love and a boss who happens to be in town from Denver to drive me a little batshit crazy but just reminds me that I'm lucky to have a job and how peaceful things are when he's away. It's a Friday filled with a small motley crew of good friends and occasional family members, people who get me and know me and love me in spite of my many, many flaws. It's a Friday filled with an inner peace, my calm in the face of the stormy week. 

It's a good place to be. 

Valentine's Day and a restless spirit.

This time of year is rough for a lot of people, I guess, with the ending of the Christmas season followed by Valentine's Day, all wrapped in a cold white coat of Winter. I can't say I'm any different. Valentine's Day is a mixed bag for me. My little sister's birthday which is something I celebrate and a reminder that I'm apparently  not a keeper, which I obviously do not celebrate. Dee got mad at me for saying I'm not the kind of person who inspires others to romanticism or big gestures but it's how I feel. In truth, I don't really need grand gestures but I guess every woman at some point enjoys them...hell, I'd be happy with LITTLE gestures. Maybe just a reminder that I count and matter to someone, somewhere.
This melancholy that's so pervasive right now with me gets shattered by random oddities, like the cotton candy sunrise I saw on my way to work: pinks and purples finger-painted across the sky like Mother Nature was letting her inner child out to play. Or by the sound of my aging Reece-dog snoring like an 80 yr old man, sprawled out next to me on the couch dreaming his doggy dreams and waking only long enough to raise his head, look at me with bleary eyes, then plop back down with a sigh.
The sounds of my sons laughing raucously in the basement family room with friends while playing Cards Against Humanity, a sound I hold near and dear to my heart because so often anymore the rooms of my house ring with a quietness I'm not used to.
A song unexpectedly on the radio or Spotify at work, blooming memories in my head of times with the boys in the car or concerts enjoyed with friends or happy pieces of my puzzled life.
I miss companionship. I miss cuddles. I miss conversations with someone who gets and accepts me as me, not some version of me they've concocted in their head. Beyond having a significant other, I miss feeling...ALIVE. I'm not depressed, really, just sort of in a holding pattern it feels like. Like I'm a Boeing 747 making laps in the air space above, waiting for my turn to land, not crashing, not rising, just maintaining altitude and watching out for the random bird or call from air traffic control.
I miss having friends to do things with and at 40..how do you MAKE friends? It's not like kindergarten where you could walk up to the little girl with pigtails like yours and ask to be friends or the boy with the scraped knee who rides a bike you covet. I have my online friendships that I cherish but I can't morph them through the computer to come lounge on the couch with me and binge watch American Horror Story or Downton Abbey. I can't wave my magic wand and enjoy a new restaurant with them over drinks and giggles.
Maybe that's the crux of it all, this isolation I feel. I knew moving here would bring that but perhaps I hoped that it wouldn't be a lengthy thing. And maybe the realization that it is...is leaving me more than a little at loose ends. Combine that with my mid-life melancholy and you have a perfect storm of moody me.
It makes me want to smack my own self out of it. And that...made me snort and laugh out loud.