Category Archives: Writing and Not-Writing

August and everything after (and other things I love right now)

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[Preliminary Note/Disclaimer:  Here’s the thing — I’ve been sick in bed for a full fucking WEEK with the perfect storm of awfulness, i.e., bladder infection, some kind of cold/sore throat thingie, an apocalyptic peri menopausal period (sorry, you know how I am about compulsive disclosure), a pimple the size of a goiter on my neck (this didn’t send me to bed, per se, but I just want you to have the full picture of how my week has gone) and then, to top it all off, debilitating abdominal cramps (to be distinguished from the debilitating menstrual cramps solely by the location of the UTTER AGONY) from, it turns out, unhappy little creatures living in my intestines.  My point is that I’ve been cooped up and on a lot of drugs, ergo THIS POST MAY NOT MAKE SENSE]

[On the other hand it may make perfect sense.  Because drugs.]

[But what you should really know, is that I signed up for NaNoWriMo – National Novel Writing Month – which started on November 1 and which I  never even really  committed to (in my mind)  – partly because of my inner “fuck-you” (I’ve talked about her before, the one that says “Oh, you think I should do “X”, the thing that I already wanted to do?  FUCK YOU, I’m not doing it.”) and partly because of the bad memories from the last time I signed up for NaNoWriMo (to wit: my artistic genius mommy (with great hair) slipped and broke her hip in mid-November (2011) and I stopped writing and then she died a few weeks later and then I never ever wanted to go back and look at what I was writing, or even think about it, really,  because maybe, instead of writing, I should have been spending more time with her in what would turn out to be the last time she was ever happy in her life.  SO THERE’S THAT.  Fuck.  But my point here is that I signed up for NaNoWriMo and it’s Day 9 and I think the part of me that doesn’t want me to write actually sent the perfect storm of FUCKING AWFUL PHYSICAL AILMENTS to prevent any writing  from happening and now I’m starting to feel better physically (Yay medicine!), so instead of doing the NaNoWriMo writing, I’ve suddenly got  the urge to blog?   Right.]

[Just so we are all clear on why I’m suddenly blogging after being a horrible blogger for the past year: I’M WRITING THIS TO AVOID WRITING THAT NOVEL THAT I’VE BEEN MEANING TO WRITE FOR MY ENTIRE LIFE, PRACTICALLY.]

[It just occurred to me that perhaps my next soul retrieval thingy should be to find out who the inner “fuck you” voice is?  Is she the same as the inner avoidance queen?  If so, they are fucking bad ass.  I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to convince them to just fucking COOPERATE and play nicely with everyone else.  It seems they would rather almost kill me (ok, slight exaggeration, but I’m trying to make a point)(it did suck, though) than let me write?]

[And why am I acting like any of this is new?  Isn’t my blog called “avoiding my Brilliant Writing Career”?  Hello.]

[Still.]

I was going to write about how, in my mind, there was August (and it lasted f-o-r-e-v-e-r) and then everything else flew by and somehow it’s now November.  And I was going to write something philosophical about how time seems to be changing and/or my perception of time seems to be changing and how I wonder if this is just what happens when you start easing towards the end of life, rather than springing from the beginning – the trajectory changes and the weight of it behind you serves to accelerate life until it’s all a blur and then there’s an end, somehow. But I don’t really have much else to say about that.   Time.  It seems to be changing.  The end.

So I guess I will write a list  instead (act surprised and delighted, “a list! what an unexpected surprise!”) :

1.  Yes.  Yes, I am using the name of a Counting Crows album as my blog post title today.  I might as well just go ahead and confess that I’ve never gotten over “August and Everything After”…. I still love it.  Serious love.  I listen to it at least once a week.  It’s always on in my car.  (Except when The Cure is on) (but that is another blog post)

2.  And if you must know — I am flat out in love with Adam Duritz (lead singer, Counting Crows) based solely on the fact that he writes brilliant lyrics (and sometimes dresses up in a pink and white bunny costume)(and talks openly about struggling with mental health issues)(and is a white Jewish boy rocking dreads like nobody’s business)(and I’m pretty sure we had a moment (well, I know I had a moment) when he was looking right at me during a show at DU a million years ago)(which I’m quite sure he remembered when I saw them again at Red Rocks, like 10 more times…)(all that aside, it’s his words that get me)

3.   I am a total lyrics person.  I don’t even understand people who can say they like a song, but don’t know the lyrics.  What is the point?  Although, to be fair, there are probably a (very) few songs that I can say that I like, but don’t know the lyrics.  Like that Blinded by the Light song, which seems to say “wrapped up like a douchen of a runner in the night” but probably doesn’t…  Don’t get me wrong, I can sound it out and pretend I’m singing those songs, but I have no fucking clue what they are really saying.  But mostly, in life, I know the lyrics.

4.   Like these:

I step out the front door like a ghost
into the fog where no one notices
the contrast of
white on white
 And in between the moon and you
the angels get a better view
of the crumbling difference
between wrong and right…

(Round Here)

(The contrast of white on white?  The crumbling difference between wrong and right?  Adam fucking Duritz y’all)

4.  Also:

It’s 4:30 a.m. on a Tuesday
It doesn’t get much worse than this

 In beds in little rooms in buildings in the middle of these lives
Which are completely meaningless…

(Perfect Blue Buildings)

(Fucking Tuesdays, man.  Tuesdays and institutions and wondering what the fuck the exact point of all of it is.  I get that.)

5.  And I might stop after this one:

I’m almost drowning in her sea
She’s nearly crawling on her knees
It’s almost everything I need.

(Sullivan Street)

(It’s almost everything I need.)

6.  Sorry.  But did you see the warning/disclaimer above?  I feel like you should’ve known something like this could happen. (Plus I’m barely even scratching the surface of the Counting Crows lyrics that I love.  It feels wrong to stop here.  But I will.)

7.  Everyone should read this book.

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Well.  Everyone who has a sense of humor.  This isn’t any kind of “official” link — I don’t get money or anything if you buy it.  I just really believe most people should buy it and read it.  And laugh.

8.  What else?

9.  All that italicizing wore me out.

10.  I guess I should start thinking about what I’m going to write, you know, for real.  Maybe I should go back and read what I wrote in 2011?  I wonder how hard it is to write a good sex scene?  And by “good” I mean SO MUCH BETTER than that 50 Shades of Grey crap (which I read every word of, in all three books, so …..)  Hmmmmm.  I do have some Captain Kirk fantasies to explore…. 🙂

xoxo

kim

p.s.  Have I mentioned the rain?  It’s been crazy rainy here, pretty much since June.  There were a few weeks in the middle of the summer with no rain, but other than that?  RAIN.  Heat + Rain = Steamroom = Soggy/Grouchy/Kinda depressed Kim.  I’m ready for the amazing weather to come back.  That would be great.

p.s.s. or p.p.s. if you’re an English teacher or whatever… So ya, it seems I have parasites/amoebas/whatever in my gut.  Lovely.  Lucky for me, there’s medicine for that.  I’m starting with an 8 day regimen and hoping that is all I need.  And after this mess, I think I will do the preventative medicine every six months, like the doctor recommended when I first moved here, but which I failed to do, because sometimes I just don’t follow directions very well.  Or at all.

p.s.s.s.  I don’t just love Counting Crows lyrics.  In case you were wondering.  I just have “August and Everything After” on the brain tonight.  And to be honest, I’m not even sure Adam Duritz wrote all the lyrics I quoted, but I’m too lazy to look it up right now.  And it doesn’t matter.  Unconditional love, Adam.  That’s what I’m offering.  Or, you know, just sex.  😉

p.s.s.s.s.  Is it wrong to proposition a rock star via a postscript on your blog?  And then to entertain the fantasy that he has set up a google alert on his name, sees the proposition, proceeds to obsessively read everything you’ve ever written (on the blog), decides you’re fabulous and how interesting that you live in an awesome little town in Mexico (just like the girl in “Holiday in Spain” – avid fans will know what I’m talking about….) and how tired he is of dating fabulous (young) actresses and how you kind of remind him of his one-time lover Mary Louise Parker (in a fluffier, more middle-aged lawyer turned real estate agent/wanna be writer way) and decides it would be cool to reach out and say hello?  Is that wrong?

p.s.s.s.s.s.  I have a vivid fantasy life.  It’s entirely possible that Adam Duritz is a total dick.  Perfect.

p.s.s.s.s.s.s.  Is anyone still reading?  It occurs to me that my post title doesn’t exactly match my post.  I mean, I’m not really talking about all the things I love right now.  But I’m too tired to figure out another title.  Fuck it.

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Filed under Oh Mexico..., Uncategorized, Writing and Not-Writing

The elephant in my head moved over a bit, and then things got a little woo-woo around here.

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[Note:  this one is a little woo-woo, and pretty serious, and won’t make much sense if you haven’t been following along, or at least haven’t read my last post about talking with the elephant in my head who wouldn’t let me look at my issues.  and, as always, some of the best stuff is in the post-scripts… enjoy!]
 

So.

I’m still dealing with the fallout from the conversation with the elephant in my head.

She’s moved over a bit and I’m working on stuff.

(and I realized that I love the elephant for protecting me)

(and I also realized that she might be Ganesha, the elephant headed Hindu deity revered as the mover of obstacles and the God of beginnings…. Isn’t that awesome?)

It’s been a difficult time and I’m feeling very raw and vulnerable, but some good things are happening.

Really good things.

I’m working with an amazing woman, who somehow miraculously lives in this tiny village in Mexico at exactly the same time that I do and exactly when I need her the most.  She is a shaman, energy healer, therapist and a saint, probably.  You know how some people just exude love and peace and presence?  She is one of them.  And I get to work with her.

(thank you, universe) 

I think of her as my teacher, rather than my doctor or counselor or healer — as  I have finally realized that no one else (and, no magic pill, apparently…) is going to come along and heal me.  I can be guided and supported, but I am going to have to do the heavy lifting all by myself.

Sigh.

The teacher approaches everything from three (seemingly, but probably not) different perspectives — energetically (chakra-ish), from a shaman perspective and from a more traditional, Western, psychotherapy viewpoint.  It’s perfect for me, because I am more familiar with the Western view (having been the recipient of years of that kind of therapy/self-help), but am open to and have benefitted from energetic healing and am fascinated with the work of the shaman.

And I need help.  So, at this point, I’m open to all possibilities that allow me to live a life that doesn’t involve repeating the same negative behaviors ad nauseum and despising myself until I die.  Alone.  Under a bridge.  Unloved to the end.

(see how I think?)

Just a little drama to lighten the mood…. 🙂

Anyway.

So, it turns out that I have been on the right path!  The teacher is thrilled that I’ve been identifying and having conversations with parts of myself (kim, kimmy and Kimberly, the walls, the monsters, the elephants, oh my!) and writing about it here on the blog, which in turn thrills me, because I am nothing if not a girl who always wants to be the teacher’s pet…. (hello, people-pleasing ISSUES)

And she thinks that I may need to befriend a few more parts of myself.  Which immediately makes me nervous.

There are more?

(and then I start thinking about Sybil, and multiple personality disorder, which isn’t called that any longer, now it’s dissociative identity disorder, but really it’s the same thing and how many more parts can I identify before I start qualifying for a little “rest” at a clinic, which of course I can’t afford because I don’t have medical insurance and..)

And I’m resisting this idea because I’m pretty sure I know what led to my tragically low self-esteem, which, it seems, is the root of everything I’m dealing with now and, knowing that, I thought that all I needed now was to learn new ways to behave, not dredge up the old crap.  Not find new parts of myself to chat with.  Ya know?  Why go over it again?  I’m so tired of my story.  Seriously.

But the teacher explains that it is not enough to have a general idea of when and why things started falling apart — i.e., it’s not enough to say “my parents were alcoholics with huge boundary issues, on top of that, my mother was a  manic/depressive artistic genius and my dad was a charming, brilliant womanizer, and don’t even get me started on the sadistic step-mother, of course I’m fucked up!” — you have to go back and investigate what actually happened.

Fuck.  Why?

(and also, “how can I do that when I’ve got so few memories of my childhood?”)

She says that when there is trauma early in a child’s development, a part of the life force/soul/psyche becomes trapped or locked away.   And while the child/body continues to grow and function, a vital part is left behind and if the pattern is repeated (and it usually is, because for most of us, life can involve some trauma…), the body/soul/psyche  can become depleted, exhausted, unrooted from the source, literally split apart.

And that is where I am, folks.

I can feel the truth of it as soon as she says the words.

I am tired.  I have no passion, no energy, no life force to work with.  It’s depression, but not depression.  If that makes any sense.  When I first met with her I described that I feel unrooted.  Lost.  Like I’m watching this person, in this body that I don’t even recognize, living my life and I don’t understand her.  I don’t know her.  I’m completely disconnected from my body.  I don’t know what I’m doing here.  And not just what I’m doing here in Mexico,  I don’t know what I’m doing on this planet.  I don’t know my purpose.

It occurs to me that this might be far beyond simple low self-esteem issues.

And I’m scared.

So.  The teacher explains that the goal is to try to find out when parts of your soul/psyche/energy were affected by traumatic experiences and to try to retrieve that energy and return it to the whole.  Or release it back into the whole.  Something like that.  In shamanic terms, it’s called Soul Retrieval.

And it looks like I’m going to have to do it…

The teacher wants me to identify when, as a child, I was the most terrified.  This freaks me out because (a) as mentioned above, I have few memories of my childhood and (b) for as long as I can remember, I’ve been worried and scared, so it’s hard to pinpoint which thing has been the most terrifying, when my experience has been that pretty much everything is terrifying.

Also I have this sense of loyalty to my parents — I quickly tell the teacher that I’ve never been “traumatized” — I wasn’t beaten or locked in a closet and I always had food and shelter and clothing, I mean, who am I to even complain about anything, really?  So then we have to deal with THAT.  Shame.  No, I’m not like many of the kids that I spent my career in child welfare law trying to “save”.  Those kids were traumatized.  And what about the kids who don’t have food or clean water and die of AIDS?  That’s trauma.  And she helps me see that we all came here (to this earth, to this plane of existence) for different reasons and I shouldn’t trivialize my stuff, just because it doesn’t seem as bad as other stuff.  It’s mine, it’s painful, and I’m here to work on it.

So, we decide to talk to four-year-old-me.  The teacher helps me — she walks me through trying to find the four year old — What is she doing?  Where is she? What is she wearing? What does her hair look like?  What is she feeling?  Will she come back to you? — and here’s what happens:

Me:  (I find her — four year old Kimmy — under a table, in a blanket fort of sorts, holding a doll) — “Hi Kimmy, do you know who I am?”

Kimmy:  nods yes and scoots back so I can sit down

Me:  “I’m you, but I’m all grown up now.  How are you feeling?”

Kimmy:  “I’m worried.”

Me:  “You’re only four, Kimmy, what are you worried about?”

And then it all starts flooding out — Kimmy isn’t talking (umm, obviously, since she’s in my head…) but I’m somehow remembering what happened when I was four — my brother was born when I was barely four and I was excited but then it was scary and there was a fire at my dad’s office and there was fighting and locked doors and my mom was unhappy and she painted a bad picture with a knife and blood and she cleaned out our house when my dad was out of town and we moved away from everything – away from my dad, away from my grandparents, to a new town and she was sad and she was angry and I wanted to stay in my house and I wanted everything to stay the same but she said I had to come with her because I had to help her.  She needed me.  And the baby needed me.  But didn’t my Dad need me? And I didn’t understand.

Me:  (crying)  “Wow. That’s a lot, Kimmy.”

Kimmy:  “Who is going to take care of me?”

And there it is:  WHO IS GOING TO TAKE CARE OF ME?

And then I really fall apart (in real life, lying in the middle of my teacher’s loft office, while she gently holds space for me) and I see that little girl was so scared and she was too young to even comprehend what was happening, much less to soothe herself and she had no one.  All the adults who were supposed to be taking care of her were caught up in their own drama and their own mental illness. And then I start getting mad:

WHO THE FUCK IS GOING TO TAKE CARE OF ME!!!!  I’M FOUR YEARS OLD, PEOPLE.  I’M THE CHILD.  YOU ARE THE ADULTS.

And eventually something comes over me and I start to feel a little energy come back.  And I started to remember that that was then, and this is now and that it’s ironic that my biggest fear has always been “who is going to take care of me?” when the truth is that it’s always been me who has taken care of me:

Me:  “Me.  I am going to take care of you, Kimmy.”  And then I start showing her that we grew up, and we were ok, and we kept taking care of mom and then we had a baby (sweet Austin) and we took care of the baby and he grew up and we kept taking care of mom, and now she doesn’t need us anymore.

Kimmy:  “But I can’t go with you, I have to help mommy and that baby.”

Me:  crying again — she doesn’t know mom is gone.  Is there really some part of me that doesn’t know, hasn’t completely accepted that mom is gone?  And so I try to explain to her that we did help mom, and now she doesn’t need us anymore and that baby brother grew up and now he has his own baby to take care of and we even had a sister after that, and we took care of her for as long as we could and now she is all grown up and has her own little girl.  But Kimmy still doesn’t want to come.  She doesn’t want to leave mom and she isn’t sure about me.

Kimmy:  “How can you take care of me?  You don’t even want to take care of a dog.”

Me:  …… (thinking: well that was a low blow, Kimmy…. but you’re right – everyone in this dog crazy town is trying to get me to adopt a dog and I keep resisting because I don’t want the responsibility of another living being, I’m done with taking care of other people/beings for awhile, I’m tired, I don’t trust myself to meet their needs…. but YOU are ME — I want to take care of you, I need to take care of you and I need your energy.  Maybe if you come back to me, I will find that I have the capacity to take care of a pet, or not.  Either way, I can take care of you.)

Kimmy:  (climbing into my lap and wrapping her arms around my neck)  “Are you sure?”

Me:  “Yes.”

Kimmy:  (clinging tighter)  “I’m scared.  This is all I know.  Are you sure mommy will be ok?”

Me:  “Mommy is ok, Kimmy.  And we are going to be ok, too.  Will you come back with me?”

Kimmy:  “Yes.”

*****************

So.

That was huge.

I’m not quite convinced that the four-year-old is back with me.  But the teacher says to talk to her and comfort her and be patient while my body/psyche try to make space for her.  She says to rest when I need to, cry when I need to and to write all I can.  So that’s what I’m doing.

xoxo

kim

p.s.  I think the picture is the elephant with kimmy… isn’t that sweet?

p.s.s. I realize this is a bit woo-woo, and I’m not asking anyone else to believe in what I’m doing or take a position on shamanic Soul Retrieval or anything else, for that matter.  It’s just me, dealing with my stuff, the best way I know how.  And I’m sharing it with you, just in case it can help.

p.s.s.s.s.  We all have issues with our parents, don’t we?  I felt angry for the four year old, but the forty-eight year old knows that you do the best you can with what you have at the time — my parents were sick for most of the time I was growing up — and they did support me financially and they did love me and they did try and I know they wished they had been there for me (and my brother, and my sister) while growing up because they both told me that while they were alive.  I love them both dearly.  Maybe this should be a whole separate blog post, but it seems to be coming out here…. Anyway.  I don’t want to discount my parents, or my extended family who did, and still do, provide me with unconditional love and a place to call home.  I just need to sort it all out now and put the ground back under my own feet.  And part of that is looking realistically at the bad stuff that happened.

p.s.s.s.s.s.  And if you’re wondering how this post and the woo-woo work relates to the last post and the self-esteem stuff and the repeating patterns of trying to get my needs met by other people (read: usually men) join the club.  I mean, obviously it’s related, I just didn’t pull it all together here.  Stay tuned.  I will work it out… 🙂

p.s.s.s.s.s.s.  One of the very last things my sweet mommy said to me was “I think Mexico is going to save your life.”  I wonder if this is what she meant.

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Filed under My Big Book of Me, Writing and Not-Writing

The worst part about all this is that I’m *not* a lesbian.

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*Dear Reader – I say “fuck’.  A lot.  Especially today.  Just a friendly warning!  Also, I’m ranting.  I don’t usually rant.  Well, sometimes I rant.  Non-ranting posts aplenty can be found in my archives over there on the right side of this page.  Kim”

The original title of this post was a somewhat uninspiring “Status Update.”

And the “update” was that I finally felt like writing enough to sit my ass down and start touching my fingers to the keyboard and making words after, like, 5 months of intense not-writing.

And then I felt a list coming on, and then I started the list, and then I started ranting and lamenting the fact that I am not a lesbian and, well, you can read it for yourself.

Anyway.

It appears that today is the day that I stop not-writing.

Yay?

List of Shit I’ve Been Doing and/or Thinking About Since the Last Time I Blogged:

1.  Becoming a Radical Feminist.

2.  So.  I’m not even really sure what “feminist” or “feminism” means to me, much less what it means to other people, but I think I’m becoming one.  A feminist.  FEMINIST.  Maybe even a Radical Feminist.  And I blame the Republican party for pushing me here.  Fuck them.  And really, fuck men.  Who put them in charge?  When was it ever a good idea to let men be in charge?  Maybe during our early existence on this planet when somehow they got better at fighting off predators?  MAYBE.  But then we should’ve reined them back in.  Because now we have zillions of years of being fucking burned at the stake and controlled and patronized and shamed and used and sidelined and double-standarded and, to top it off,  they’ve destroyed our planet.  Not alone, obviously.  But most major money grubbing asshole corporations are controlled by men and the governments who allow the destruction of their natural resources/our planet are primarily led by MEN.  But I digress…  Mostly they have just completely fucked and enslaved women, literally, for eons and now that we are finally inching out way out of it and into a more equal status quo, Republican men (and Republican women, who shouldn’t even EXIST, honestly) are going batshit crazy with rage at our audacity.  Fuck them.  Seriously.

3.  Yes, Mom, I appreciate the irony.  After years of teasing you about being a man-hater, it appears that I have finally seen what you were struggling with.  Not men, per se.  The entire fucking patriarchal system.   I’m sorry you’re not actually alive to say “I told you so, Kimmy!” in person, but believe me, I can hear you.  And I love you.  And I miss you.

4.  And I’m not a man-hater.  I love my son. (Even though he thinks he is a Republican right now, which, I have to say, is a bitter fucking pill to swallow.)  And a few other select men who haven’t been total assholes over the course of my life so far.  I love the possibility that better men will come out of this period in our cultural growth.

5.  I’m serious, I don’t hate men, generally.  But my level of tolerance for their bullshit is extremely fucking low at this point.

6.  Also, my hormones might be acting up.

7.  But fuck that!  Why do I have to apologize for having hormones?  I hate that I even felt like I had to throw that in.

8.  Exhibit A of how they have criminalized BEING A WOMAN.

9.  The worst part of all this is that I’m not a lesbian.  Yep, I’m annoyed out of my mind at fucking men and their fucking attitudes and total bullshit and yet I’m still attracted to them.  THEORETICALLY, I guess.  It’s been awhile since I’ve actually had that twitterpated feeling.  You know, the feeling which generally results in ill-advised casual sex that I rationalize that I can handle because I’m a modern woman unfettered by cultural bullshit expectations that I don’t really like sex and “shouldn’t” be having it outside of marriage and/or the possibility of a second fucking DATE.

10.  Oh.  And I should mention that part of my own personal Radical Feminism revolves around the fact that women have been complicit in our own doom.  We accept.  We ask for fucking permission.  We ostracize and belittle and shame other women who don’t fit into the entirely unrealistic (it turns out….) vision of the perfect woman that MEN have imposed upon us.  We don’t stand up for ourselves or other women.

11.  And the only way we succeed is by pretending to be men. “It’s a man’s world.”  “Don’t show your feelings!”  “Never let them see you sweat!”  And we do it.  WE DO IT.  And we still don’t get paid the same, treated the same, promoted the same.  And if, somehow, a miracle happens and we do succeed?  “She fucked her way to the top.”  “She’s a ball-breaker.”  “She’s a bitch.”  “Her poor children.”

12.  How am I not a lesbian?  Honestly.  If only it were a choice….. 🙂

13.  Deep breath.

14.  I didn’t know that whole “Radical Feminism” thing was coming when I started writing today, I promise.

15.  Well, I knew it was brewing.

16.  What else?

17.  Oh, in addition to becoming a Radical Feminist, or whatever, I went back to Colorado (Colorado!) for a few weeks.  It was AWESOME!  There’s nothing like being with family and old friends to ground you and remind you of who you are, who you were, unconditional love.  That is the hardest part (for me) about living so far away — no one here has known me for any length of time.  They only know the Kim whose life has totally changed in the last few years and who doesn’t know what the fuck she wants to do.  They don’t know Lawyer Kim who worked her ass off for years.  They don’t know Mommy Kim or Married Kim or Kim who lives in her own house, or Kim who drives her own car, or Kim who loves Prince (a/k/a College Kim!) or Kim with a house full of dogs and a cat named Max, who is the only cat she’s ever loved.  It’s ok.  It’s just weird.

18.  When I’m in Colorado, I want to move back there.  And when I’m here in Mexico, I can’t imagine leaving.  So there’s that.

19.  Which doesn’t make anything any easier.

20.  Thinking about moving back to Colorado made me consider the fact that I have pretty much the perfect situation right now, in many ways.  I have a job that, for the first time in many years, isn’t horrifically depressing and doesn’t take up my entire life.  I can do my job and still have plenty of time to do other things.  Like, for example, WRITE.

21.  So that’s what I’m doing.  And I started today.  Yay!

xoxo

kim

p.s.  guess what else happened when i was in colorado?  new baby.  quinn maxine  who is my second cousin, arrived super-early and scared the crap out of all of us, but she is beautiful and is doing really, unbelievably, well and weighs 4 lbs. now!

p.p.s.  i’m not sure where i’m going with this whole “Radical Feminist” thing, i mean, i’m not saying women are “better” than men or that all men suck, i’m just saying that the centuries of oppression of women have totally sucked and fuck you, men for benefitting from all that and trying to keep us “in our place” even today.

p.p.p.s.  i’m pretty sure i’m going to have to re-think this whole lesbian thing, as i will probably never have another “date”/sex opportunity with a man after writing this…. i really didn’t want to become a bitter man-hating woman but the republicans have pretty much forced me into it.  a waiting period and ultra-sound to get BIRTH CONTROL??????  changing the time-stamp on the texas vote on the abortion bill??????? and those are just the most recent events…  fucking outrageous conduct leads to outrageous consequences.

p.p.p.s.  i haven’t even been able to process how i feel about our government spying on us on account of the republicans, but i’m pretty sure i’m a little upset about that too.  stay tuned.

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Filed under My Big Book of Me, Uncategorized, Writing and Not-Writing

One thing leads to another and the next thing you know you haven’t posted on your blog for 5 months and then it’s National Margarita Day and you read something heartbreaking and raw and then you decide to write something yourself.

Margarita step threeOh hellooooooooo.

Hello blog.  Hello blog people.  Hello world.  Hello to the part of me who has always been a writer but who doesn’t always get to write.  Today is your lucky day, sweet pea.  We are writing.

Why now?

Honestly, it has a lot to do with this http://therumpus.net/2013/02/it-doesnt-mean-very-much-at-all/ — not the feminist part, but the part about how she writes and I flinch and my brain tries to cover my eyes but I can’t stop reading because it’s so so so so goood.

And also because it’s about feminism and sexuality and how women are supposed to hide their sexuality, apologize for it, repent, speak in hushed tones, play a game.  What would it be like if we were allowed to revel in it like the boys?

Anyway.

I mean, I have all these thoughts about it (sexuality, specifically mine), but I can’t even write them down and say them out loud because (eek!) I’m a woman! and (gasp!) I have a son! and (the horror!) I live in a small town! and (egads!) what would people think?!

So.

Mostly I just love how that woman writes and she inspired me.  I didn’t really plan on exploring sexuality or feminism or anything.

Actually.

On the other hand, I do have some, ummm, situations that I want need to explore in writing, but can’t/won’t/ok might because of the aforementioned fucked-upness about women and sex (but probably mostly because of the small town)(which I should probably get over, right?)(or move…)

So don’t try to make me.

Other than to say that my entire life might be a cliche right now.

In other news – hello!

I’m still in Mexico, y’all…!

And, in keeping with tradition, here’s a list of shit I’m doing/have done/am thinking about, etc.:

  1. It’s National Margarita Day (in the U.S., but we’re celebrating it here too)(I haven’t started drinking yet, FYI…)(I don’t love tequila, but I do love lime and all things lime-related, so, I guess I’ll have a margarita today…)
  2. Did I tell you guys about how I went back to Colorado for Thanksgiving and my one week trip turned into almost 5 weeks because I was also applying for my visa that allows me to work in Mexico and Mexico just changed their entire Immigration system but forgot to tell their employees how to do it and I just happened to be one of the first people to apply under the new system and no one in Mexico or  Colorado knew what to do?  Limbo.  It sucked.  But was also awesome because Colorado and amazing son and family and friends.
  3. It was weird though because Colorado was warm.  I only saw like 10 snowflakes one morning out of the entire 5 weeks.  I love it here,  but I long for a quiet snow morning with hot tea and snowflake contemplation and warmies.
  4. Anyway.
  5. Then I came back and my first renter arrived (from Norway!) and she turned out to be batshit, certifiably, fresh out of a mental institution and obsessed with the end of the Mayan calendar crazy….  For. Fucking. Real.  She had a lot of names, but one of my favorites was Mooki.  Luckily I’ve had some experience dealing with people who are actually nuts, but Mooki was kinda scary.
  6. And now I play “Words with Friends” (a/k/a Scrabble…) on FB with Mooki’s ex-husband…. ? (Who appears to be terribly good looking but also “in a relationship”… just my luck.)(He’s also pretty good at Scrabble…)(Which makes him even more attractive….. HEAVY FUCKING SIGH.)
  7. I like smart men.
  8. Ha. Oh God.  I can just imagine what you’re thinking.
  9. So.  What else.  My son is IN LOVE for, I think, the first time and it’s very cute.  I’ve stalked the girl on FB (naturally….) and she seems cool/smart/pretty.  He’s funny.  He says she’s stubborn and dramatic.  I tell him that she is perfect for him because he has so much experience with me as his mommy.  He laughs and agrees.  God help me I adore that kid.
  10. It’s hard because she’s probably going to break his heart.  It’s nothing personal!  I just mean,  statistically speaking, she’s probably not going to be “The One”, so I probably should just skip the getting to know and like her part because of the whole “bitch broke my sweet pea’s heart” part, right?
  11. Is being a mother ever going to be less fraught with emotion?
  12. Is that even a proper sentence?
  13.  I LOVE MY JOB.  Remember how much I hated practicing law?  That’s how much I love this job.  I’m making ZERO money so far, but the people I work with are amazing and the clients are interesting/annoying/hilarious.
  14. Ohhhhh, wanna see the Studio apartment at my house?  It’s very cool and people who have visited seem to love it!  I have it listed on FlipKey and Airbnb – here’s a link:   https://www.airbnb.com/rooms/686258?preview=true
  15. Come visit!
  16. My sister and niece came to visit and it was awesome and they left with a DOG that they adopted from foster care here in PoMo… I’m not kidding.  It was a fun visit, but way too short and also, the dog thing??  It took up a LOT of our limited time.  Still.  Everyone is happy now.
  17. My 30th (THIRTIETH) High School Reunion is coming up.  WTF????  Don’t know if I can go yet.  Must diet.
  18. I listen to KBCO out of Boulder, CO every morning via the miracle of the internet — I love it because I love the music and I love hearing the weather report and the traffic report and going “HA HA!” and sometimes they make my whole day by playing one song.  Today it was this one:

How did I get here? Once in a lifetime… 🙂

xoxoxoxo

kim

p.s.  are you happy now irene?

p.s.s.  yes, natalie, i know there is no such thing as a “p.s.s.” but i like it, so i’m gonna use it.  get your rules off my writing!!  xoxoxo

p.s.s.s.  i’m a little giddy because I WROTE SOMETHING!  FINALLY! it’s been awhile and this isn’t even a real post, but still…

p.s.s.s.s.  you were nervous when it looked like i was gonna talk about sex and stuff, weren’t you?  admit it.

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Filed under My Big Book of Me, Oh Mexico..., Uncategorized, Writing and Not-Writing

Dear Mexico, I love you. Also, I’ve been cheating on you.

So, I know I haven’t written in, like, FOREVER.

And I really don’t have much to say now, except that I’ve had a monstrous case of writer’s block (i can’t write, it’s too hot, my keyboard isn’t working right, why did i ever think i could write, fucking Republicans, i used to be funny and now i’m not, i’m too old to write, i’m too young to write, i’m fat, i should be at the beach, i haven’t been reading and if i’m not reading, stephen king says i shouldn’t be writing…) and my keyboard has been acting up, seriously.

BUT.

As we’ve established, I suffer from Compulsive Disclosure Disorder/Obsessive Honesty/Can’t Keep Mouth Shut Disease.  It’s a burden, y’all. And it is forcing me to write today.

Here is what I need to say out loud:

I have been cheating on my beloved Mexico. With Pace Picante Sauce. And I’m never, ever going to stop.  I know it’s practically sacrilegious to live in Mexico and admit to liking, much less LOVING, Pace Picante Sauce, but I cannot deny my love any longer….

There.

It’s done.

I don’t have a car here in Mexico and I don’t have a lot of money (thanks pendejo who stole my car and other stuff) but I have located one (1) store in Cancun that carries Pace Picante Sauce at a ridiculously high price (actually it’s not that high, I’m just trying to add drama to my story) (and the store is Chedraui at Las Americas Mall) and I can guaran-damn-tee you that I will get myself to that store and stock up on that shit on a regular basis.  Even if I have to ride the scary bus.  Alone.

Also, Mexico shouldn’t be too upset with me, because even though I do totally love Pace Picante Sauce, I’ve had to switch from the Mild mix — which I used to think was almost too hot for me but now tastes too sweet for me — to the Medium mix.  Bravo Mexico!  My taste buds are toughening up!

And another thing Mexico should be happy about is that having Pace Picante Sauce in the house is actually encouraging me to cook more.  Yes.  ME.  COOK.  Why?  Because now I’m all “hmmmm, I’m out of chips… how am I going to get that Pace Picante Sauce into my mouth without eating it directly out of the jar like some kind of heathen?  I know, I’ll cook [INSERT FOOD ITEM MADE MORE YUMMY BY ADDING PACE].”

Win/win.

🙂

xoxo

kim

p.s.  The scary bus to Cancun is not scary at all, according to everyone who has ridden it.  It’s just scary to me because I’m a scaredy-cat about public transportation in general (I have no idea why) and new experiences that subject me to feeling lost in a hostile world…… and that, my friends, is a personal issue because Cancun is annoying and crowded, but not hostile.  Probably.

p.p.s.  OMG I STARTED MY NEW JOB AND I FREAKIN’ LOVE IT!  So I guess I could write about that.  And I probably will, just not today.  www.MayanRivieraProperties.com

p.p.p.s.  I am a little stressed because I have to write an introduction of myself for the Mayan Riviera Properties blog and I don’t know what to say and I can’t use the “f” word, supposedly.

p.p.p.p.s.  So, I haven’t been reading or writing, but I have been obsessively watching LOST.  I didn’t watch it when it first aired but I am loving it now.  Mostly because I’m all “WTF?” after nearly every episode.  I’m at the end of Season 6 now.  Yes, I have a problem.

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Filed under Oh Mexico..., Writing and Not-Writing

Yes, this is a new blog theme. And yes, I’m a little cranky. Surprise.

(Note:  This post has nothing to do with Frida Kahlo (as far as I can tell…) but she looks cranky (I think it’s the eyebrows?) and I’m cranky, so the picture resonated with me and voila! here it is, on my blog, without permission from anyone.  I’m sorry.)

I’m not even sure why I’m writing this except that I just spent HOURS trying to find a new blog theme that worked better than the old blog theme and I finally found one I kind-of-sort-of like and I installed it and I feel like I should write a post acknowledging that yes, the blog looks different.

So.

Yes, the blog looks different.  I kinda like it.  I wanted to make it easier to navigate and easier to see the comments and also to leave comments.  Let me know your thoughts, por favor.

In other news:

UGH

There is no other news.

I’m a wee bit cranky, y’all.

For one thing, I think my body and brain are very confused about the fact that we don’t live where there are seasons anymore.  Colorado = 4 seasons.  Mexico (as far as I can tell) = 1 season + some rain sometimes… Last year was the first year I pretty much totally missed winter (except for a few weeks) and now I’ve also missed Spring and am missing Fall.

I hate missing Fall in Colorado.

The days are warm and the nights are cool.  There is excitement in the air.  The quality of the sunlight is different from any other time of year.  It’s completion, harvest, preparing for winter-time.  Fall has always been my favorite time of year.

So I’ve been a bit down about THAT and also just in general.  I mentioned to a friend that I was down and that I was not sure why and she was all “ummm, you’ve had a few losses recently…?”

Oh yes, loss.  Now my mood makes a little more sense.

In the “totally obvious” category is the loss of my artistic genius mommy (who had great hair!)(and who I miss every single damn day, damn damn damn damn) and then there are the other losses — my home, my career (yes, I hated it most of the time, but still, a career of 20 years is over and that is hard in it’s own way), my son (not dead THANK GOD but away at school and, because of the douchebag who stole all my shit, I got to spend virtually NO time with him before I had to come back to Mexico), my home was violated by a person who masqueraded as a friend, double-whammy, and then another friendship that meant a lot to me seems to be over for reasons unknown to me.

LOSS.

It hurts.

And I hate the conversations that go on in my head about this shit:

*****

Me:  “Mom died and I’m so sad.”

Asshole in my head:  “Everyone dies.  You knew she was sick, you had plenty of time to prepare for her death. She’s in a better place. Move on.”

******

Me:  “I miss my baby boy!  It’s like an ache that never goes away and I just want to see him.”

Asshole in my head:  “He’s 20.  He’s in college.  He’s fine.  Why are you living in Mexico if you’re dying to see him?  Kids grow up.  Get over it.”

******

Me:  “I can’t believe that pendejo pretended to be my friend and then systematically stole all my stuff and tried to rent my house to other people and still lied when I conronted him!  That hurts!  I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach.  I feel violated.”

Asshole in my head:  “It’s your own fault, you idiot.  You should never have trusted the pendejo.  Everyone else knew he was a bad seed.  You deserve what you got.”

*****

Me:  “I miss my friend.  I’m sad.”

Asshole in my head:  “You have other friends.  If she were really your friend, she would tell you what is wrong.  You don’t need this drama. Move on.”

*****

You get the picture….

 

Here’s what I want to say to the asshole in my head (and anyone else who thinks like he/she does):

“What you say may be true, and it still hurts. It’s not the end of the world, my life isn’t over, I’m not spending every day lying in bed just waiting to fucking DIE, but it still hurts. So here’s what we’re going to do, you are going to shut up and I’m going to acknowledge the pain, wrap my arms around myself and tell myself everything will be ok, it’s just a little pain, and then I’m going to go the fuck on with my life and try to keep remembering that you are just an asshole voice in my head who clearly wasn’t loved enough as a child.”

🙂

And yes, I realize that I’m talking to no one but myself.

Is that weird?

xoxo

kim

p.s.  so, the pendejo is still “at large” but i finally received the electric bill that he racked up while living here (electricity is very expensive here) — $500 — so that sucks, but i’m glad to get it because once i pay that bill (ouch) the last of HIS damage will be accounted for and over.  expensive lesson.

p.p.s.  i haven’t been to the beach in AGES which makes no sense since that is why i wanted to live here.  i’ve got lots of reasons but none really make much sense.  not sure what is going on there….

p.p.p.s.  partially i haven’t been getting out much because it’s HOTTER THAN FUCK here.  but if i went to the beach it would be breezy and cooler, so that is dumb.

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Filed under grief, My Big Book of Me, Oh Mexico..., Writing and Not-Writing

Angels in the architecture. Also, Sons of Anarchy. Related topics? Probably not.

I’ve been thinking about angels lately.

Not necessarily in a religious way.

Or maybe that isn’t true, I mean is there any other way to think of angels?  But for religion, would there be angels?  I think not.

But it’s not something I want to analyze and argue about.

What does it matter what I believe to be true anyway?  Isn’t it only important to me?  Does it hurt anyone else if I do or do not believe in angels?

In any event, I think I do believe in them.

I believe in them in a woo-woo way and also in a flesh and blood way.

Or maybe I’m confusing things.

What I’m trying to say is that I can see that throughout my life I have often asked someone out there (God? Angels? The Universe?) for help and it almost always shows up in the form of a person.  Did God/Angels/the Universe send the person, or is the person God/An Angel/The Universe.

The answer is probably YES….

Anyway.

I see angels in the architecture of my life.

And I’m so very grateful for that.

(moment of silence…. thank you)

And this is coming up for me now because, if you’ve been following along, I’ve recently had a little trouble (read: total fucking nightmare situation triggering huge fear, shame, anger, vulnerability, panic…it’s bad) which comes on the heels of losing my artistic genius mommy (who had great hair) to stupid fucking cancer, like, just yesterday. (ok, she passed in December, but usually it feels like yesterday) and other related horribleness.

So, in the middle of some pretty intense darkness, some completely unexpected help arrived and blew my mind.

An angel.

I have no other way to describe it.

And this Angel came to me through my blog.

Which blows my mind on so many levels (I have a blog?  I write?  I write about intensely personal  and oftentimes super-uncomfortable shit and other people actually read it?  And they laugh at the same shit I laugh at? And they take time out of their day to actually write me back? And they aren’t offended by how often I use the term “fuck”?  And now they offer to help me without having ever met me in person???!!)

I’m humbled.

I’m grateful for all the angels who have appeared in the architecture of my life (but I’m afraid to start naming them out loud because what if I forget one and hurt their angelic feelings?)(and then what if they get super pissed and start using their powers for evil?)(I would be fucked.) and today I’m especially grateful for the sweet angel who is helping me out based solely on the fact that we found one another on the worldwide interweb and we share some awful experiences and she isn’t offended by my vulgar language, presumably.

Thank you.  Hand-on-heart thank you.

On a lighter note:

Is anyone else around here obsessed with Sons of Anarchy?

My sassy Virgo seester turned me onto the show and I CAN’T STOP WATCHING.

I’m on Season 4 now and I’m trying to pace my viewing so I can enjoy it for a little bit longer.

Ha.

Top Ten Things I Wanna Say About Sons of Anarchy:

1.  Jackson “Jax” Teller.  If you don’t know why that statement is number 1 on this list, do yourself a favor and take a peek at this dude.  (ok, if you’re a guy, you might not be as excited about this, depending on your sexual orientation)  He’s ridiculously good looking.  Not just that, he’s dead sexy.  Also, the actor who plays Jax is British (or something like that) trying to play a California biker dude — it’s interesting listening.  He mostly nails it, but some stuff is… off.

 

2.  I don’t even really like giant back tattoos, or blondes, or stringy hair or guys who wear lots of big rings (so they can cause more damage when they hit people….) and I would totally do Jax Teller.  In a heartbeat.  No questions asked.

3.  Did you know that if you ever get kicked out of a motorcycle club (read:  violent gang) they peel off your huge gang tattoo?  Or they just kill you.  Honestly it’s best to just not get kicked out.

4.  According to Sons of Anarchy, motorcycle gang dudes hug each other a lot.  Like, they are very loving to one another.  Sometimes they even kiss.

5.  It turns out you can’t just join a motorcycle gang — you’ve got to be, like, an apprentice for a seriously long time and then they might let you join, assuming you survived the apprenticeship.

6.  Motorcycle gang guys take their leather “cuts” very seriously.  Do not fuck with a biker guy’s leather jacket.  FYI.

7.  You should probably not ever touch one of their motorcycles either.

8.  Horrific violence is less horrific if there’s a great soundtrack going on while the violence is happening.  It’s weird.  It becomes more dreamlike and less patently offensive.  Bravo, Sons of Anarchy?

9.  Women who love motorcyle gang dudes are basically fucked.  These guys are constantly up to outlaw stuff, never call home and are surrounded by skanky chicks who wanna have sex with them all the time.  And you’re not really allowed to question anything they do….  Oh, and if they are in jail, you are totally allowed/expected to fuck one of the other motorcycle gang dudes.  I would suck at being an “old lady” to a biker dude.  At least I know that now…..

10.  If you’re gonna be a woman who loves a motorcycle gang dude, fall in love with the head honcho cuz then the other bitches have to show you respect…. Ha!

 

xoxo

kim

p.s.  yes i’m still in puerto morelos and NO, they haven’t arrested the asshole who stole all my shit…. the good news is that i haven’t seen him around town or heard from him so maybe he is really gone.

p.p.s.  my baby boy turned 20 this week.  WTF?

p.p.p.s.  oohhhhhhh, i experienced my first almost-hurricane (Ernesto) — yikes!  i was scared but everything was fine – lots of rain and wind but very manageable.  i am stocked up and ready for the next one though…..

 

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Filed under Oh Mexico..., The Caregiver with the Dragon Tattoo, Writing and Not-Writing