Occupying

North American “Occupiers” are whining that the police are being unfair to them. Meanwhile, Egyptians are being detained, sexually assaulted, beaten and blindfolded. Children’s eyes are being burned with tear gas. Systematic police brutality, coupled with a totalitarian regime, is a more compelling reason to protest than the majority of the “Occupiers” claim. There is legitimacy to their beef, but it has become a dog and pony show with the entire point being missed. Revolution must happen in order for our society to evolve, but too many clueless drama-queens jump on the bandwagon and dilute the message into obscurity. Okay, rant over.

OMG an actual new post!

What has been WRONG with me?

I had a little "drug problem". Kidding.

I was in jail. Not really.

I've got so much to tell about what goes down where I work but I can't tell you anything because it's "confidential" and I have to be "professional" and writing about work in a blog is the stupidest thing to do.

So yeah, things happened. I didn't write about them. Because most of my writing is basically just whining.

Stuff that happened to me that was not work-related:

• Okay, first: I got my eyes lasered. YES! I agreed to being put under a LASER and have it cut into MY EYE! I did this on two separate occasions - mostly for the T3s. Now I can see. It was weird at first, going to take my contacts out at the end of the day only to happily realize that I wasn't wearing any! It's a similar euphoria to realizing that you aren't wearing underwear.
  

• Second: I got put on a waiting list to have a hysterectomy but now it's been so long that I've convinced myself I don't need one. Hello uterus - could you please get yourself together? Thanks. I'd appreciate it if I could have a few more years before going menopostal.
  

Work: Ah. There is so much to say. But it's "unprofessional" to talk about it. So ...I guess my whole post this time is going to be: "Hey! I've got a great article about this crazy parent at our school but I can't tell you anything. You're welcome."

Which is pretty much why I haven't written anything for so long. I'm SHACKLED by professional confidentiality. There's got to be a way around this...

Given what I do for a living, an outlet for rage is important. Nay, critical. Because otherwise it turns inward and you become the Crazy Ass French Teacher (CAFT), and everyone has had one of those.

Consider me to be on the slippery CAFT slope.

Save me!!!! Alors, tout le monde....conjugez le verbe etre.....AAAAARRRRGGGHHHH!

Drinking Poison

"Resentment is like drinking poison and waiting for it to kill your enemy." -Nelson Mandela.

A beautiful Sunday morning. Happy children playing in the park, dogs chasing each other in the enclosure. Then, hot coffee thrown in my face, body pushed to the ground and kicked while my terrified children screamed “Mommy!”

After the shock subsided, the police report made, and the children safely tucked in to bed, I clenched in fear, anger and disbelief. I need to be free of this in order to have any kind of peace.

Today, my boss told me that forgiveness was the key to letting this go and allowing me to sleep at night and feel safe again.

I thought about that. My attacker will never know if she is forgiven or not, and probably doesn’t care, but I deserve to be free of this evil.

I have a responsibility to myself and to my children to show that the obstacles she tried to create were not significant enough to affect me. The gift she gave me was the knowledge of just how much I am loved and cared-for by family, friends, colleagues and my social circle. Moreover my husband’s devotion to me was made evident again.

I learned again that, for all the bad press they endure, the police are here to keep us safe.

How to forgive: When the attack comes to mind, I have to send my attacker a blessing; “May she find the help she needs,”. Honestly, this is hard and it doesn’t feel authentic at all. But I’ll keep doing it until it’s gone.

And last of all...I will not tell this story any more.

The Revolutionary Cure-All

Since I last posted, a few things have happened.

My dear grandfather passed away. He was 101. You never think the death of someone that age will shake you, but when it's someone you've known your whole life, it is deeply unsettling. However, it was most definitely time. Unlike my mum, who died way too early at age 63, and had so much going on, Grandpa was ready to go. He had often said so himself, and was calling out for his late wife in the hours before he passed on. May he rest in God's peace.

Speaking of death, the seventh anniversary of my mother's just passed. I try not to 'commemorate it' as it's not a day I care to think about too often. But oddly, it is carved more deeply into my psyche than her birthday - which is really the day I ought to be remembering.

Perhaps it's all because I seem hard-wired to be depressed.

And though I hide it from most except those closest to me, it has been getting worse - along with a crippling anxiety. I have the same conversation with myself almost daily. It goes like this:

I'm anxious.
You're just sweaty.
No, it's freezing. My heart is beating too fast.
So take an Ativan.
But, what if I get addicted?
That's possible.
What if I take the wrong dose?
Oh dear God...that would kill you!
What if it's really rat poison?
I'm pretty sure it's not
What if...
JUST TAKE ONE AND SHUT UP ALREADY!

A good chat with a mentor is a potent elixir in those sorts of times, and this weekend, I came away with the realization that I need to be a little easier on myself.

Interestingly, today I read that Kristin Neff, leads a field called "self-compassion". She says that "people who find it easy to be supportive and understanding to others, it turns out, often score surprisingly low on self-compassion tests, berating themselves for perceived failures like being overweight or not exercising."

Uh. Check!

And it goes to show that kindness EVEN FOR YOURSELF is the revolutionary cure-all.

One way this calls back sweet memories of my mother is to think of treating myself as she would treat me. She was not a big 'advice dispenser' and would hate it if I ever said she was. But of the memorable things she said to me when I was stressing out, and not eating properly, or sleeping well, was simply:

"Take care of your little self,"

The fact that she said, "little self" made me think of myself as her child. And now, to know the love and concern you have for your child, I know what she meant; she could no longer care for me, it was up to me, and would I please please be nicer to myself.

And the day I got married she said:

"Marriage is work. The only way to do it is to be kind to each other. Always."


Take care of your little selves.

You matter.

Operation Basement Storm

We're done.

Snark

The only reason I ever feel compelled to write here now is because what I want to say is inappropriate for Facebook.

And I've learned a bit about 'appropriateness' on Facebook. Ahem. I'll leave it there.

I feel like this blog is a one-sided thing I've got going here...And one-sided things are annoying. Like people who talk, endlessly about themselves. Which, I realize, is this entire blog. Ahem. Remember, if you recognize the hypocrisy - it's not as bad.

Today's compulsion comes from sitting through yet another session of ballet. There's a woman at the Little Girl's ballet studio who needs a big steaming cup of Shut The Fuck Up. I sit there for an hour, every week, and listen to her yammer on and make furtive eye-contact with other people too polite to strangle her. I can't promise that person won't be me.

It's one thing is she's blabbering about something interesting, i.e. not herself, but holy mother of God, that woman is annoying. And if it wasn't filled with tales about how perfect her child is, I wouldn't hate it so much. But honestly, a little dose of humility is a good thing.

There. I'm done.

Thank you for reading/listening/leaving spam comments.

Peace out.

Enough already!

The problem with assholes is that they wind up having kids. And kids learn from example.

Reproducing is easy. Parenting, not so much. Having sex doesn't qualify you for parent-hood any more than having a big fancy party prepares you for marriage.

We went to a charity hockey game last night. One of the most memorable aspects of it was the row of kids behind us who were incapable of holding popcorn bags upright. I am sympathetic to physical disabilities - until they wind up on my head. Twice. Then you might want to HOLD IT FOR THEM, YOU FUCKING MORON! STOP GIVING THEM MORE!

What is WRONG with you?

CONTROL YOUR SPAWN! Now, I know that I can be be Sourpuss Bitch, (I'm not bragging, I'm just stating a fact) but am I overreacting if I leap over the seats and try to strangle them after ten minutes of saying, "Hey, don't kick the seat, okay? Thanks!" and they're still doing it, as well as crashing into my kids' heads...?

I know this might sound crazy, but as the parent - you are actually responsible for your children.

Just sayin'.