Monthly Archives: April 2014

Teaching was fun.

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The internet gave me the tentative go-ahead to carry on with my plans since they were more than 24 hours after the last uhm incident. So I taught a class yesterday. It was on boundary transgressions.

The word “rape” didn’t come up. I feel… fairly flabbergasted really. It was not that kind of crowd. We had eight students, so not a big class. Three women. Two of the women were ladies who have been around the block a few times and they were frankly inspirational. They frequently came up with better (more tactful, polite AND effective) responses to boundary violation situations than I did. I’m so glad they came.

This was mostly a new-to-bdsm crowd who wanted to learn more about social boundaries and trying new things. I hope I gave them some things to think about and some exercises to practice. *cross fingers* A couple of people left mid-way and the rest of the class said they were very happy to be there and they learned a lot.

I was surprised by how effectively I co-taught with my friend. I kind of thought that would be a bit rocky. I also kind of forgot “Oh yeah… I’m a writing teacher…” and most bdsm classes aren’t really writing classes. But mine involves writing! I brought paper and pens and everything. And they wrote. Like you do.

It was good though. Self-evaluation kind of stuff you don’t necessarily have to share with the class. They spent the time scribbling furiously so I don’t think they were completely unengaged.

So hard to judge.

There was a point about victimization I never made because it never fit appropriately in the conversation. It was a really… non-traumatized crowd. I remain shocked that most of the bdsm community does not come to bdsm through trauma. I *know* it is true… and yet I feel surprise. Every time I rediscover. “Oh wait. Not everyone is like me.”

But the point was: living in a state of perpetual victimhood will ruin your life. Yet sometimes you have to come to a place within yourself where you understand that for a limited time and duration you were a victim or you can’t grow past that place. You have to be able to recognize that everyone can be a victim but you don’t want to be a victim forever. You have to figure out how to change your mindset after a boundary violation and take back your right to respond.

You always have ways to respond you just haven’t thought of yet. Keep going back to your inner resources and brain storming ways to do it differently next time.

Alas. I made a similar sort of line of commentary but not explicitly that language. These people weren’t victims and they clearly didn’t understand the language of victimhood. It was interesting to adapt on the fly.

We did some fun role playing. Even though not everyone was eager to “act” everyone verbally participated a lot. I made everyone be talkative since the class was so small. I’m really good at that patient-smile-while-people-feel-pressured-to-talk. I’ll just grin expectantly at you while making lots of eye contact. We’ll see who can be silent. Muahahaha.

My co-teacher gave me some specific good feedback (less second person, he worried about one of my lack-of-eye-contact points I countered with “but if you make eye contact during writing assignments they stop writing because they think time is up” he said that was a good reason).

I had a great time. Lots of anxiety around the event for a variety of socially awkward reasons but it worked out. I’m glad I was well enough to attend.

And I signed the paperwork. I no longer have any legal ties to the coffee shop in San Francisco. It is being bought by two new enthusiastic owners. Everyone is excited. It’s staying within the community. Yay! I helped keep the coffee shop open because I wanted that to be a community space for all the young freaks who need it. I’m really glad that more people in the extended community are getting involved. It is more likely to last this way. Yay! Yay!

All in all, canceling Saturday was sad but we had a great weekend. We got to rest on Saturday and maybe that is for the best anyway. We have busy stuff coming up.

Oh! And the hot tub is gone! Hallelujah! I get to clean up and organize my back yard more. The Easter party will be epic. I’m growing to enjoy the Easter parties more by the year. I’m figuring out what I enjoy and what doesn’t work. I’m really pretty surprised that I can hide as many hundreds of eggs as I manage on my tiny property. But I find them for eight months.

I think that the Easter party is partially so fun because I’m not competing with much other holiday stuff. Ok, I lose people for Passover. That’s ok. It’s not Christmas-time. It isn’t over-all as stressful of a time of year.

I bought way way way less candy this year. Last year was overwhelming. See, I learn.

If the weather cooperates this Friday home schoolers will be coming over to paint the fence. This will be fun. I get the impression at least a few folks will come to hear Girl Genius.

This week is a running week with J. Maybe if we are going to do alternative weeks on Tuesdays and Saturdays we should make those running dates split up so we see one another once a week but not on the same day every week. Maybe. I’m going to keep up the running this year. Darn it.

It is time for the monthly pilgrimage to San Pablo this week. That’s a long drive. But seeing those folks in their home is important. The kids have to learn to manage grown-up-only houses. It’s a process.

It will be a very busy and hopefully fun week. Only four hours of driving scheduled over the next ten days. That should be nice. Yay for staying home and having people come to me.

Not good.

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This weekend I was supposed to go to the Tartan Fair, then get a massage, then go to a party. On Sunday I was going to teach a class.

I spent last night in the bathroom. In the past six hours I’ve been in the bathroom four separate times and no visit has been short. I didn’t sleep much for the cramping.

I hate when my body betrays me. This is my sad face. I am going to have to cancel everything for today and I’m not sure about the class tomorrow.

Damnit. Damnit. Damnit.

Bossy pants

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On the internet I read that some people have a problem with the word bossy. Whatever. I’m bossy.

Yesterday we went with two families to the local tea shop. Jenny introduced me to the tea shop so it has an extra special warm place in my heart. I’ve been bringing my kids periodically all their lives. I have my “tea shop patter” down.

When we are outside the store, “Ok! How do we examine things inside antique shops?” “With our eyes and not our hands.” “Where do your hands stay The Whole Time?” “In our imaginary pockets.”

When we get to the table I have all kinds of cheerful misdirections away from using the spoons as catapults. Yes this comes up over and over.

Yesterday it was kind of weird because I Mothered the whole table. I divided the food and told people what they got and insisted on ordering more food when someone kind of faintly said they were more hungry and … I didn’t mean to take over. There were two other mothers there. I thought they would be more assertive in just taking stuff. We ordered four tea sets to split between eight people. Isn’t it obvious to everyone at the table that we should split every sandwich in half so that everyone gets an equal amount?

Apparently not. Ok. I’ll be bossy then.

I’m never sure if I’m ruffling feathers or being rude or taking over with other peoples kids or or or. I didn’t mean to boss the whole table. I just boss my kids and your kids were standing nearby when I said it. I don’t think I’m the boss of them. You are totally free to argue with everything I say and do it a different way.

My kids do better when I set my expectations out clearly and specifically. I have learned what I want from them and how to say it in a way they can process. We have been to this tea shop at least 40 times. I have learned the patter.

I believe that if I want my children to learn to smile at me and say things in a nice way it is my obligation to say things to them that way. Every time. Even when I really don’t fucking want to. I still owe them courtesy and cheerfulness because if I want it back I have to model it. And model it. And model it. No matter how I feel about it that day.

It’s rather oppressive sometimes. But I do it because I like the results I get out of my kids. I like that I can take them anywhere and they will do really well for at least an hour. You can’t do that with every little kid. Once we went to this tea shop with a little boy friend. I didn’t find out until we got there that the parents don’t ever take him to restaurants because his behavior was terrible but the mom didn’t want to disappoint Shanna when she asked them to go. I left like a 75% tip that day because we broke things.

I believe that human animals can be taught to do just about anything if you try hard enough and are patient and loving and coaxing through the process. It’s a lot easier to run now that I have Blacksheep’s voice in my head instead of the nasty critical voices I have always heard about my feeble attempts at physical fitness.

Having someone believe you are capable is often the first and hardest step. Sometimes you really need someone else to believe you are capable so you can believe it of yourself.

I wouldn’t have “finished” the marathon without Blacksheep. She told me I could. So I did. Even though it was a really hard race.

I frequently feel awkward with the home schoolers. I wear my bossy pants. The wonderful lady who holds our group together with scotch tape and bailing wire is not naturally someone to get bossy with a large group. So she seems to appreciate that I’m happy to yell at large groups of kids (in a nice way) to organize group stuff. Like grouping up for pictures. Not yelling for behavior. That I stay out of until it gets really bad.

I’m pretty happy to be the one to herd squirrels. I miss stage managing. I miss teaching. I miss organizing groups of people into a result. I even miss working retail sometimes. Cleaning my house gives me less satisfaction.

But you do what you do for the day you are  in. Today I take care of my kids. For this period of my life my job is educating my children.

Holy shit are they going to turn out bossy. I have mixed feelings about that. On one hand. Holy Validation Batman. On the other hand… that is one of the personality traits that people dislike the most about me. I’m kind of damning my kids, know what I mean?

But the world needs women who are good at giving orders. I believe it with all my heart and soul. In order to give orders you have to believe that you have the right and that’s complicated.

I don’t have “the right” to boss everyones kids. I just do it any way. I do it until I’m told to stop. People don’t tell me to stop very often. When people do I tend to respond with, “Wow that teacher voice is hard to get rid of” and then people laugh. This culture has a lot of tolerance for teachers. I still skate on that quite cheerfully. I take any slack I can get without hesitation.

It is easier to remember things if you are taught when you are in a relaxed state of mind. Which is why half or more of my little “patter” lectures I deliver in little songs I make up. My kids don’t take my bossy pants patter as a negative. I’m trying to set them up to succeed. They like it when they know what is expected of them because then they have the option of doing it. They sure like the result of being able to do what people want from them.

They have learned the difference between how the antique store dealers treat them on days they only look and on days they touch. When they keep their hands to themselves they usually get a sticker and frequently are handed a cookie. Whereas I don’t do a lot of straight up bribery myself I am cool with other people using it as a tactic.

I feel like this is my opportunity to help someone else get punished less for fucking up. I can help you understand a lot of the boundaries so people don’t hate you the way they hated me when I was a child. I was as curious as Shanna. I broke as many things. (Holy shit for shoe shine that kid breaks things.) No one was with me though so I took my punishments on my own. Shanna has a different experience. Shanna is not having the experience of having to leave over and over and over and over because every time you break something it means someone hates you and won’t let you in their house ever again.

Noah really doesn’t understand how much I have changed. I’m a lot more ok with failure now than I ever believed I could be. When I was younger I was pretty paralyzed with fear about the idea of fucking up or making mistakes and breaking things. Noah taught me that you can’t learn without trying and failing. I spent most of my early life seeing my failings as a sign that I was a pathetic loser who shouldn’t be trying.

My kids aren’t like that. My kids don’t have a sense of self like mine. My kids think, “You can’t learn without making mistakes. When you break things you apologize and try to make it right.” Shanna has paid for things out of her allowance. She has repaired things. She has cleaned up the mess herself. And none of these results were decided upon with shaming, shouting, or contempt. I just talked to her about what the right thing to do would be. She picked the result and she was cool with it.

Shanna’s experience of life is: when you break something you need to figure out how to make it right. You have a bunch of options for how that can happen. Negotiate to figure out which is right this time.

Sometimes I flinch when she breaks things because I still expect to be hit. I feel really pathetic. But she doesn’t flinch.

My kids don’t flinch.

I’m doing something right.

All of the kids yesterday (five of them!) did great. We had a blast. Then we ran hard for an hour and a half to burn off the energy we stored up sitting patiently in the tea shop. It was great.

Sometimes I’m scared that home schooling my kids means they don’t get to have relationships. I fear isolating them. Then I think that instead of sitting in school all day we get to go to the tea shop and then the park. Not so isolated. And learning useful life skills.

Yeah, this is what I want to do with this time.

Kid quotes for posterity

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Shanna: “I cleaned the play room and the sleeping room and you said you would clean the living room and LO AND BEHOLD YOU BETRAYED ME!!!”

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Me: “Do you know how much I love you?”

Calli: (small sad voice) “No.”

Me: “I love you as much as I love onions.”

Calli: “What! No.”

Me: “I love you as much as a grain of sand.”

Calli: “What! No.”

Me: “I love you as much as a shoe.”

Calli: “What! No.”

Me: “Well then, how much do I love you?”

Calli: (in a happy, dreamy voice) “As big as the sky.”

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I can’t remember if I blogged this one.

Me: “Stop antagonizing your sister. …. Wait? Do you know what antagonize means?”

Shanna: “No I don’t and thanks for asking.”

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Shanna: (shove Calli with elbow) “If Mom is coming in to pick up our toys and donate them to someone else so we don’t have to clean them up any more SAY THANK YOU.”

Shanna and Calli in unison: “Thank you.”

 

… I can’t remember what else. They have been amusing me lately.

Many sitting ramble

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I have now spoken with three acupuncturists after the less than impressive acupuncture trip. All three have told me that I should write a registered letter of complaint asking for a refund and I should CC the licensing board. They are all very unhappy that their branch of medicine is being represented that way.

My shrink wants me to see an ob/gyn to talk about hormone balance. If my period cycles are 35 days long and I only bleed for three days and at the end of bleeding I am so full of rage that I can barely function for a few days… that may be something that can be fixed.

Like I want to see a fucking doctor.

But I do have a more appropriate ergonomic setup. Baby steps.

I’m even wearing the braces.

I’m still doing that existential exhaustion thing. I wonder how much of it is related to the pills instead of smoking. The pills make me feel far more tired than smoking does.

I feel like I the last few days I have been bouncing between rage (which I don’t act out very much or verbalize to a great degree)  and shame that I am such a bad person that I am capable of feeling such rage and mania where I try to prove that I’m not bad I’m not bad. I’m not bad. I’m not bad.

All of the childrens clothing in my friends house is now organized very nicely except for the stuff I pulled for donation. That’s just a big pile. But if she would permit me I would throw it in a bag and make it disappear like magic. But she has friends she wants to share the clothes with. I can delay my own gratification that much.

Because it’s all about me.

I make myself feel better about existing by being the person who comes over to your house and takes the garbage out without being asked. Clearly it is full and needs to be taken out. Sure I’ll do that. Oh I see dishes. How about if I wash them. Can I take your compost and recycling out while I’m at it? Do you have any laundry I can fold?

Just please don’t make me read to your kids. I’m sick of that shit.

I want to be good. I don’t know what “being good” means. So I try to do the only good I know how to do.

Domestic work is not valued or appreciated but it does genuinely impact peoples lives. I have the physical ability to make someone else’s life better by doing this work so I want to do it.

I still kind of hate myself for the lack of patience I had with my brother Tommy. I couldn’t handle helping him. I wasn’t nice. I wasn’t giving. I wasn’t generous. I was selfish and self absorbed. Sure, if I tried to help him he would hit me, call me names, and sexually assault me but surely that isn’t a good enough excuse for me to be so lazy about helping my disabled brother. What is wrong with me?

Yesterday I cleaned my pantry area. I found a bunch of stuff I’m ready to pass on. I reorganized a whole bunch of stuff. I found out that my former housemate left more than 100 movies in our cd binders. Whoops. I need to get those back to her. I need to send her an email. I wish I could do it right this minute without crying but I can’t. I will be able to do so by morning. That’s my deadline for myself. I can’t just put it off and off. I have to do it.

Even if I feel guilty. Even if I feel ashamed of myself for hurting her. I still have to contact her and say, “Whoops. I found some of your stuff.”

Life is awkward.

Have patience. Life does not have to be fully lived today. Yeah, this mood might be hard. It’s just a mood. It will pass.

I don’t have to already have done everything I imagine doing or I am a fraud. I don’t ever have to do all that I imagine doing. It’s just not required. No one is standing near me with a checklist declaring that my competency rate is only about 40% of what it could be if only I worked harder….

Breathe. Enjoy having the night off. I should probably do some editing. It is April now. I only have two more months. I could pull out the definitions. That would be an easy sub-job.

It is hard to feel the weight of the accomplishments behind me. It is hard to feel accomplished or competent. When I was young I thought that someday I would feel ok. I imagined that when I was a grown up I would feel confident that I knew the right thing to do and I’m doing it gosh darn it.

I don’t feel that way. I feel scared. I feel lost. I feel ashamed of myself in ways big and small.

I have been swearing a lot lately. It really is a fascinating barometer of my stress. I had it pretty well under control for a while. Not so much lately.

Six things I’m proud of:

  1. I’ve traveled a lot. By extension I have met a lot of really interesting people.
  2. I’m really proud of my yard. This piece of dirt is the result of my blood, sweat and tears. It looked like shit when I got here. Now people drive by and stop and ask to buy my house because of the yard. That feels miraculous.
  3. I’m proud of the degrees I earned (BA, teaching credential) and the degree I didn’t get. I didn’t walk away with an MA because I couldn’t handwrite fast enough. Because when I was a child in school learning handwriting I had the misfortune to be in a place where people were beaten for their handwriting. Mine will probably never improve because I have such tremendous issues around the whole subject. But those elitist cock suckers can’t take my education away from me.
  4. I am proud of myself for prosecuting my father. Even though it caused so much pain and trouble. It was the right decision. I was worth defending.
  5. I’m really proud of the running. I have almost certainly run more than a thousand miles so far. I’m going to run a lot farther and faster before I am done.
  6. I’m proud of myself for never feeling like I had to stay in a relationship just for the sake of having a partner. I left people who treated me in ways I didn’t want to be treated. I’m proud of that.

Even if I feel worthless, I don’t think that is a logical conclusion. I know I feel inadequate all the time and I know I feel terrible and bad and like people would hate me if they just knew. And the reality is that some would hate me. Some wouldn’t. Most really don’t give a shit one way or another.

I don’t need to be afraid of what people think of me. That is the freedom and luxury I have now. It is weird.

So the social gaffe I did on Friday? That I felt bad about? Talked to said person again. There seem to be no lingering of discord on her end. She’s anxious to forgive me and move on.

But but… it’s not ok for me to treat people that way. If I don’t think people will hold boundaries with me when I’m a cunt then I overstep. This is why I have so many friends who carry around 2x4s in the form of personalities. I feel safe.

I feel scared about my own impulses toward bullying. I hurt Anna very badly not that many years ago. I hurt Sarah. I could keep going on but my whining gets old.

I’m not a very nice person. I was talking to a friend about that. She said it is an American thing. In Russia they understand that sometimes people are assholes.

I think that basically everyone can be an asshole. Including my wonderful children. They are not monsters. They are not demons. They are not terrible. They are not bad. They are not horrible.

But sometimes… they are assholes.

It happens to the best of us.

I feel like living with them and learning to manage our asshole-self-interest conflicts is my death march toward functionality. And that ties back into my belief that I “owe” people the appearance of happiness.

I’m really kind of an asshole. Ok, no I’m a big asshole. A lot. A terrible one. But I don’t like the social and social-political backlash of being widely seen as an asshole. There are consequences. I don’t like them. So I try, very actively, to be perceived as not-an-asshole.

But then I come along aside a puppy. I see kicked puppies and I’m just like everyone else. I first want to help them. Then I notice that the help I am giving isn’t actually the help that they want or need and they want more than I can give and I feel a rush of shame and… I want to kick them.

I do this with friends. I’ve done this over and over and it is a pattern I need to not continue. Just because I see patterns in peoples lives and behavior that gives me no right to pronounce what I see. I’m not a god damn seer.

Where are the boundaries on fixing things for people? Well my kid just told me at dinner that I was rude for going through our friends dresser and rearranging the clothes. Err… she gave me permission! She wanted me to do it! I was nice! I wasn’t being rude! Oh. Oh…… But if you tried to do the same thing you would get in trouble. Got it.

Yeah, this is a special case. I knew her for a long time and I asked and she gave specific permission and that’s different.

Consent, baby. It’s important.

My pantry really kind of is a thing of beauty these days. I like what I’ve done with it. Ok, I’m proud of that too.

A long time ago, when I spent waaaaaaaay too much time on Mothering.com (before the bad site redesign) and there was a woman I made friends with. Once I asked her what she was proud of doing in her life. She said she didn’t take pride in anything.

I found that inexplicably sad. I could name many things. She had many children. She had left an abusive spouse and remarried someone who has been a fabulous partner. She thinks that because she is poor she has nothing whatsoever to be proud of. I couldn’t talk her out of that view.

Is my worth based on Noah’s paycheque? That’s a sobering thought. When I list off the things I’m proud of… Noah’s job doesn’t hit the list. I have nothing to do with that. I do feel proud of how I have managed the money put in my care. But I don’t feel proud of having the money. I don’t feel like having it says anything good or bad about my character or self-worth.

It just means I’m a lot less likely to ever be homeless again. That’s cool. But I … don’t feel “proud” of it.

I don’t exactly feel shame about having been homeless in the past. It is simply one more adjective that I’ve worn temporarily and then taken off. Kinda like “kid”. I was once.

Why isn’t “bad” like that? Why isn’t “monster” like that? Why isn’t daughter like that?

I don’t know. Maybe when you learn something strong and hard enough when you are young you can’t unlearn it.

So every day my children wake up to me smiling and saying, “Good morning! I am so glad to see you again!” No matter how I feel. Even if I’m crying. They don’t know what I am feeling or thinking they only know that I am mostly very gentle with them and when I am clumsy and I hurt them I apologize immediately.

Am I a monster?

Can a thing done ever be undone?

I don’t know.

This entry might be a little extra disjointed from usual. I’ve come in for three separate sittings and it is hard to keep flow going at that rate. I also go through periods of HAVING to tag and periods where I feel like rereading the entry to know how to tag it is too much work. Hilariously lazy.

Wake up. It’s another day. Today is Wednesday. Today we have swim class and Pam. Pam is still inviting herself over after knowing me for almost 18 years. She can stay as long as she wants.

Pam asked me about crowded cultures versus this American luxury of space. How do people who grew up in a country where boundaries are laughable luxuries not available at any price learn to understand the physical affront it feels like to crowd people who are used to more space? Is either side doing something “wrong”? How do we learn to get along?

I am looking forward to visiting Asia and India in particular so I can feel in my body what people who live there are used to. Hopefully I will be less presumptuous in my discussions. Or maybe I will be worse.

Asia in general (I would like to go to Thailand and Taiwan and a few other Asian countries) has more crowding but my understanding is that their cities will feel like such a different scale of human interaction that I will barely be able to absorb it. India I want because so much of my life involves Indians.

Cultural appropriation is a funny thing. There is some amount of it that is BAD and the internet tells me so. I can’t tell when or if any parts of it are allowed to be done without insult.

There is a store at our local mall that sells the pretty caftans and leggings the Indian ladies wear. I would love to shop there. Is that cultural appropriation? If someone who is Indian wears blue jeans and an American Eagle t-shirt–that’s not cultural appropriation. Is it cultural appropriation if I start wearing traditional Russian peasant clothing? It’s harder to buy in my local area.

Why don’t I just wear the traditional garb of my ancestors? Well… which ones? Mostly because my ancestors weren’t smart enough to wear comfy leggings and a nice A-line caftan that ends mid-calf. They wore much longer dresses and that gets to be a pain the neck.

What are people allowed to do and be without causing pain to the people around them? Must we all stay in our own little same-colored pods doing the same things so we don’t offend anyone? That doesn’t seem better. Cross-cultural contact involves people getting offended. Sometimes because of conscious actions on someones part and sometimes because someone doesn’t observe a taboo you think they should. Sometimes they are just passively not doing something you think they must.

I am going to offend people. I have to be ok with that. I’m an asshole. Most of the people I respect the most can be assholes. By asshole I particularly mean: someone who has very clearly defined boundaries and they are willing to proactively insist on their needs being met.

I know a lot of assholes. Go them.

A spider has the audacity to be slowly lowering itself about six inches in front of my face. Oh thanks a lot.

I am very sad it was raining on April Fools Day. I couldn’t do my painting-the-fence-thing. I also haven’t seen that neighbor outside in weeks. I’m pretty bummed.

But there are no cats in America and the streets are paved with cheese. I live in the time and the place where I can have unlimited dreams. They may not come true. They may be a figment of my imagination but that’s how the American Dream works.

I used to imagine that some day I would have a home and a family and that people would love me. I used to imagine that some day people wouldn’t hit me any more. I used to imagine that some day I wouldn’t be a piece of shit.

There are no cats in America and the streets are paved with cheese. Well, at least some dreams come true.