Therapy Homework: Manifestation

My therapy homework for the week is to think about… document(?) – (who remembers?), what I want to “manifest” in my life. The problem is, I don’t believe in that shit anymore.

Equally big problem is, I don’t know the answer.

Are we talking fantasy ideal here? Then that’s easy. I want Alan, healthy, happy, willing to work at a relationship with me, in my life, in my heart and in my bed, for the rest of my life.

More fantasy? I want a millionaire husband who is happy to take care of me for the rest of our lives.

Hell! If we’re really talking fantasy, lump it together. I want Alan, as a millionaire, healthy, happy, willing to work at a relationship with me and happy to take care of me, in my life, in my heart and in my bed for the rest of my life. Done!

But…. reality? I have no idea.

Why do we have to have answers to these questions? Why isn’t it enough to just live and let life happen? Why must we have preconceptions about what “should be”? Isn’t that actually UNhealthy?

No connection

At some point between the time I last looked at Scruff last night and when I woke up this morning, Alan’s profile disappeared entirely from my favorites screen. For all intents and purposes he hasn’t been online since Labor Day, however at some point a couple weeks after Labor Day he went in and deleted his profile pictures, but now he is gone entirely.

It’s quite possible of course that he has blocked me and returned to his normal usage, but I don’t and won’t ever know that. But given his pattern of late, it’s more likely that he has deleted the account.

Either way, this is distressing to me for two reasons. One, because however irrelevant, Scruff was my last remaining connection to him and now that’s gone. And two because I can’t help wonder what could have prompted him to give up Scruff? Has he actually started dating someone he cares enough about to stop being on Scruff? And if so, why couldn’t he do that for me, unless the answer is in the question and he never cared much about me in the first place.

Fine Lines

There is a fine line between rumination and reflection.

There is a fine line between distraction and diversion.

There is a fine line between healthy and unhealthy emotional dependence.

There is (apparently) a fine line between expressing your interest in or feelings for someone and being “needy” or pushy.

There are many fine lines. We are just scratching the surface.

#takeaknee

Let’s get something straight. The American flag is a symbol. Nothing more, nothing less. Whether one chooses to participate in saluting the flag during the national anthem or not, doesn’t make one more or less American and really has nothing to do with patriotism. Playing the national anthem at the beginning of sporting events has nothing to do with patriotism. The demand and expectation that everyone, players and spectators alike, should participate is peer pressure and in no way a measure of ones patriotism.

The flag is supposed to represent a great nation, only our nation isn’t great; not anymore. This country was founded on a basis of freedom. Freedom of religion. Freedom of speech. And civil liberties which we used to take for granted but are now threatened at every turn. This is not the country the founding fathers hoped it would be. Yes, in many ways it is better than what we started with, but in so many more ways it is SO. MUCH. WORSE.

Choosing, in a very public forum, NOT to salute the flag or stand for the anthem, is, in fact, a VERY American thing to do. It exercises your freedom of speech, your freedom to choose your own actions, and your freedom to criticize what has become a very corrupt and anti-freedom, dare I say anti-American, government.

From my very youngest days in elementary school, when we started each day in “assembly” and as an entire school, together, sung the national anthem while saluting the flag, I couldn’t understand why we were forced to do this. I remember standing silently, with my hands at my side, because I believed it was wrong. And I remember getting in trouble for it, being ordered by the nearest teacher to put my hand over my heart and recite the words.

Refusing to participate also exercises your freedom of religion. Yes, even that!

You see when I was a young kid unwilling to be coerced into something in which I did not believe, I was aware, even then, that there was a problem. The Bible, in which you have the good fortune to choose whether or not to believe, clearly states in Exodus 20:3-5 “Thou shalt put no other gods before me. Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image… Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I am the Lord thy God.”

Even as a young child, I could see that mandating a pledge of allegiance to the flag of the United States of America was tantamount to worshiping an idol, a false god.

As an adult, I refuse, unilaterally, to salute the flag, to recite the pledge of allegiance or to acknowledge the National Anthem as anything more than a ritualistic song sung before many events (usually badly) that is deserving of no particular deference. This doesn’t make me unAmerican. It doesn’t make me less patriotic. It doesn’t matter at all.

This country is in trouble. Serious trouble. Overpaid athletes choosing to publicly protest the demands for a show of “patriotism” (I would argue they may be the most patriotic people in the stadiums) and cow-tow to an orange faced, hate mongering, violence inciting lame duck “president” are THE LEAST of our problems.

A Turn of the Tides

Today is the last day of my first week on my new job.

I.  Am.  Exhausted.

My commute ranges anywhere from 50 to 100 minutes, each way, depending on the day, the traffic and the route I take.  I’m not complaining, mind you, I’m tremendously grateful.  It’s a good job, with a lot of opportunity for growth and advancement and it couldn’t have come at a better time.  I’m just really tired.

I have less than one month’s expenses left in my savings account and I was moments away from making the dreaded call to my sister to find out if it was still an option for me to move to New York to live with her and her husband, four kids (a fifth on the way), their cat and miniature pony, when I got the call for this job.  It’s the job I referred to in my recent post.  The one I didn’t get.  It seems their first candidate, for whatever reason, didn’t pan out.

Last week, I went shopping to buy appropriate work clothes.  I plan to get promoted sooner rather than later so I’m implementing the “dress for the job you want, not the job you’ve got” philosophy.  And since I didn’t have to wear dress clothes in my last job, it’s been well over a year since I’ve dressed for work (other than the white-dress-shirt-and-black-slacks penguin suit I wear when I’m bartending).

I haven’t gotten up this early on a consistent basis, in a very long time, and tomorrow I have to get up early again, though a little less early.  I’ll probably get to “sleep in” until 7:00. I’m bartending (and lead/sign-in person) tomorrow morning at the Cal football game and I have to be there at 9:00 in the morning.  Tomorrow night I have a date.  That’s a whole different post for another time.  And then Sunday I have an outing with Lil’B.

Who needs rest anyway?

Mr. On Time Strikes Again

I’m terribly behind in my blog reading and just stumbled upon a prompt from WordPress’ Daily Post from 27 days ago. It’s about unintentional flubs that cause laughter.

Not many people know what spoonerisms are. Simply, spoonerism is when you take two words and swap the first letters. For (a bad) example, butterfly becomes flutterby. (Bad example because it’s technically one word. Whatever. You get the idea.)

When I was in my early teens, my little conservative, Christian family fell into a habit of spoonerizing, a lot. One evening we were all at home in the living room. I think we were about to leave to go out for dinner. My mother was in the process if scolding my eldest sibling for something. I have no idea what. In those days he did a lot to warrant such reprimands.

After my mother made some statement about his behavior, said sibling argued, “you make it sound like I’m a (insert complaint here.)”

“Well, if the shoe fits,” my mother replied.

Without missing a beat, my goodie-two-shoes sister, who had been trying to focus on homework throughout the exchange, without looking up from her textbook said, “or if the foo shits.”

No sooner had the words left her lips, before her head popped up, her jaw dropped, and her face was bright red. Given that she was not prone to such language to begin with, and the amount of spoonerizing that had been going on in the house already, she did not get into any trouble for this apparent slip. This did, however, let the wind out of my mothers sails, and the scolding session was over.

I wonder if the eldest sibling ever thanked my sister.