Today I reached out and touched somebody. I normally don't, because it's messy. And because I generally don't want people reaching out and touching me-I assume they would appreciate the same distance.

But today, I went against my natural urge to just ignore the woman crying in my pilates class.

I mean sobbing. She came in and calmed down extremely fast for someone who went from sob to total pilates torture, but she was in pain nonentheless. As we were all getting dressed in the locker room all I did was ask her if she was "ok." She shook her head and her eyes started to tear up, so I said "bad day?" Then she started crying. And she told me everything, and it sucks, and she just genuinely needed someone to listen. She has two children who need counseling because of all the suckness, but can't afford it. So I listened, and comforted, and then talked to her about the counseling resources available to her and her children for free. And she started crying again because it's just so hard, and then just threw her bag down and hugged me. So I hugged back and held her until she was ready to let go. Then I offered my husband's expert house vandalizing skills (a.k.a. "tp-ing"/donuting/forking/all around good hooliganness) and she laughed. We talked some more and when she was ready to go face the world and her sucky stuff, she got up and went.

Psychologically people feel better about themselves when they help others. Which sadly is one of the main motivating factors for most people to just do "random acts of kindness." Andrew and I had a discussion about that idea, the one of "random acts of kindness." I feel that there should be no such thing. It's sad that people so rarely do the right thing that it's considered random when it actually happens....but do I feel better? Yes. I feel better because now she knows she has someone she can talk to, and even though I have no idea how she's feeling-that's what she needs right now. I have always considered going to school to become a therapist. Something along the lines of those who can't do teach, which in the field of psychology means: If you're messed up you are DRAWN to helping other people hash out their crap in hopes that it will help you. So I try to stay away from the idea, I don't want poor unsuspecting strangers to be a part of some warped subconcious attempt to reach a level of normalcy. Above all things I have for a long time been convinced I could not counsel adults...they're too whiny. Like me.

But she made me realize that there really is good to be done by just listening, and that doing it for a job wouldn't be all that bad. I would still prefer to go into medicine, and if my patients ever need an ear I'll break that professional code and listen...but IF I must do something else. IF we get pregnant and are given a blessing from the Lord in the form of a beautiful child before the time we have planned for it (like 10 years), then I could definitely see myself finding fulfillment in counseling. Even if it is hard, and there really is no solution, I could try.

So today was good. And I'm not always right (which if you know me, you'll feel vindicated that I just typed that...but if you TALK to me, you'l l know I have no qualms saying it out loud..). From now on, even if I'm scared, I'm going to reach out.

College and stuff

The more time passes, the more I realize I really have no desire to do anything else. I can honestly say that while I like the outcome of adoption facilitation-I could not handle the inordinate amount of desk work. I would love to be a social worker...but yet again, boring desk work...not to mention the fact that it would probably not be good for my well being as after all the threats I would make to abusers, one of them would inevitably fight back and hit me/stab me/piss my husband off and then he'd end up in jail..etc. etc.

I'm reading three (or four) books right now, as always, and one of them is "Learning How To Play God." It's written by a practicing physician who is head of the board of admissions for some college, and is also the Chief of internal medicine at some hospital...I know, so clear right...anyway, he wrote about his entire training from applying to medical school through his residency. Reading it, and I'm not even past the medical school part yet, really affirms my heart. It makes me feel like I really have a chance. Which I think is pivotal to anything.

A career, I've discovered, just consists of a new language. You want to be a doctor? You have to speak medicine. You want to be an astronaut, learn physics. You want to be in sales, learn marketing....which seems self-evident, but I had never thought of anything that way before and when I broke it down like that-medical school became suddenly attainable. I always imagine reaching certain goals as jumping through hoops, doing a thousand things before being considered, but really all I have to do is study. And that's it. Well, study and volunteer and get two amazing recommendations, but either way study a lot. Learning languages is easy for me, as long as I take the time to approach it in levels. I want to be a physician, but first I have to master chemistry, physics, and more chemistry. Biology is also important, but I do not struggle with it at all, so I'm focusing on the things I will have to STUDY for. I start with basic chemistry, then move to organic, then inorganic, then physics...all of these contain labs though so I'm sure my physics will not be completed until pretty close to graduation, but it will be done nonetheless.

I did not grow up thinking I wanted to be a doctor, I grew up wanting to survive. When I was in the second grade I told Robert I wanted to be a marine biologist, and he told me I could only be a doctor or a lawyer. I told him I wanted to be a teacher, he said the only acceptable schools were Ivy League, or MIT preferably....and quite honestly, if I had stuck to it-I could have done it. But instead, from the time I left his home to high school graduation I spent my energy proving him wrong. That I could waste my gift and become something more ordinary. Can you believe that? I was shooting for mediocre!?! Not that being a physician is this horribly out of reach thing, which is kind of what my entire point is, but in his eyes it was. So even now I kind of bristle at the idea of becoming what he always thought I should, but there is nothing else I really want to do. I want to be a mother, but that can come later. Andrew and I have no need to genetically procreate, so adoption can wait until later when things have settled and we're financially in a position to. We want to spend our time traveling, and learning, and growing. If I get pregnant between now and then, we will do what God obviously wants us to-be parents above all else. If it were up to me, I would rather finish school first.

I want to be able to work with Doctors Without Borders, I want to help children and their families, I want to know what is behind things scientifically, and my base desire which takes total honesty to admit-I want to have the answers. At least for something, I just chose something rather large. I want to be a physician. So I'm ready to study, and get it done. School for some reason is now no longer the chore it always was before, it is the means to a beginning.

I hope I can go through with it, I know it will be hard.

I love my husband. A lot.

Hollywood is not America...

I've always been one of those people who is involved with music. Not in the fact that I play an instrument or anything, but I mean in relationship with-involved...I hear a song and I'm in it. I don't know how else to say that.

Anyway, lately I've been in a funk. Which is nothing new to me, but it's one of those funks where you just feel ugly and fat and disgusting...and where you go "if I was still single I could look like (insert your friend from growing up that is slutty/ultra hot here)." Which is stupid. I am amazingly blessed, to the depth of my soul I've been loved by the Lord, and here I am wanting to look like this girl I know who is a stripper and goes to the Playboy mansion all the time. What the hell is wrong with me? I don't even LIKE that look! I have always been a white cotton dress in the summer kind of girl...this is so trivial...

Then all this builds this wall up between Andrew and I. He's so attune to my feelings that he picks up on my oddities within a day. So he feels now like he's done something wrong...when in reality he hasn't, it's me, and I don't even have the energy to be what I know he needs me to be-reassuring and lovely. He went to the Blazers game with his friends tonight, which he needs, and before leaving he moped around with me and kept saying that he would stay if I would just ask him..I know-he's amazing..I told him to go spend time with his friends.

So I am now just home alone. Which I can say with conviction I've had enough of the past four weeks not being able to drive and then snowed in to top it off...if I do see people they're Andrew's relatives or friends...I could poke my eyes out. I need out of the house. Tomorrow we might go to Powell's, Andrew got me a gift card for Christmas. I want to get my tattoo colored in finally, and then get another. I want I want I want...I'm so everything my generation was raised to be. Gross.

Andrew did everything in his power to make this Christmas amazing, and it was. For the first time in a very long time, I didn't cry! Which is good, and he held my hand when I called my mom...he got me a sewing machine from a friend of his family's from the 80's, but it works perfectly-I just need to figure out how to use it!...lol. So affectionately, softly, and materialistically God blessed me with Andrew this year-He loves me that much.

Which makes me feel like the ultimate ass for being in this funk.

Frustration

The bane of my existence in all forms seems to be my in-laws. They are nice people, with good intentions, but my gosh if these boys have NO MANNERS! Throughout the years Melissa would always sing the praises of my mother-in-law, along with anyone else who met her, and tag her a saint for doing such a wonderful job with these boys. While I will not begin to dive into the other issues that have arisen due to certain parenting tactics, I can say that the manners are a problem.

You know how most teenagers even in their angst will at least spit out the "right thing" to say? They'll say it through gritted teeth as they get the stare down from their parents, but at least they have received the instruction along the way to know what it is....these boys, have not. They are rude to their parents, selfish, and have an overall disregard for the welfare of others. I will not even say that my husband is exempt in this area, and many times I have to privately request a different choice next time. I am blunt, outspoken, and abrasive. These things are true about me-BUT-if I go to someone's house and they make food for me, I will offer to help with the dishes. Ask if there's anything I can do. Please. Thank you. Your welcome....If I sojourn to a friend or loved one's home, I will spend time with them while there. Not the whole time on their computer, not ignoring them and their guests, but spend time with them. Even if this means just sitting in the room silently and wishing I were in Marseille.

This frustration has only leaked to blog inducing anger because two of Andrew's brothers are here staying with us during the snow. They spent the night last night and will be here tonight. One of them we have over all the time, who also happens to be the most lacking in manners of all the brothers, which of course pisses me off quite frequently...and the other is the youngest so is better than the rest as far as appropriateness is concerned as he was "the baby" and recieved more attention and work than the rest. During lunch the boys began to recount the stories of their childhood to me, one when he was five stabbing another in the leg with a cheese knife because he refused to help cut his cheese. The oldest somehow managing to be left alone in an upstairs room with a window that had bars on it because the child (even though he was the only one) was unable to be controlled, and was then found dangling OUTSIDE the window, seen from the backyard below....boys being left alone in the basement and successfully spilling 10 paint cans all over the floor, etc. etc. Please do not get me wrong-boys will be boys. When you have five especially, stiches will ensue and brotherly comraderie can turn into bumps, bruises, and broken bones along the way. None of this would be an issue IF these boys had grown into respectful men. Presence and hard work is necessary, and quite possibly actually enforcing punishment...the youngest told me that spanking is illegal. That was his comment when I said my "no, actually, these stories are not amusing because you didn't grow into men with manners. They're more frustrating than anything." Response, "well, that's what happens when you raise five boys, it's in our blood," to which I replied "No, actually, if my children behaved that way as children or spoke to me now the way you speak to your mother, I would spank the crap out of them."

"Well spanking is illegal."

"Then they'll hold books, sit in time-out, write sentences." Or any other form or rebuke that is deemed appropriate by the bleeding hearts still ascribing to the (failed) mantra of Dr. Spock.

Because I feel this way, because I believe in structure and none of that "One...two...don't make me say three..." nonsense-my children will be hellions and all other parents I have ever come into contact with will find retribution.

But you can bet your bottom my little hellions will help you do your damn dishes!

I Am...Sasha Fierce

I'm not being funny-I really like Beyonce's new album. Yes, really. I like that it's not all R&B and I can hear-what is that?-an acoustic guitar?-in her songs....I'm such a teenager always in my heart.

I'm realizing that I also still have a hard time letting go of the people I always thought would be so easy to release once I met Andrew. I see them everywhere....I pray that fate does not befall my future children, my daughters explicitly.

We watched this French subtitled movie last night "Love Me If You Dare." It was a cute movie that both Andrew and I enjoyed until the end....but good nonetheless. I recognized this universal feeling that it is generally the man who kills romance with his plans and desires before being willing to love. That I am not alone in that idea. That was comforting and disheartening at the same time.

Oh, and my husband is definitely the man who would fight for my honor. You know, if I was a princess in medieval times and he was like a competitive jouster or swordsman or something. I like that. (Take five steps back from teenager now and throw me straight into a little girl.)

Weight.

Last night my husband introduced me to someone he went to high school with as his "beautiful wife." I like that.

Something that has also been happening in my marriage is that my husband is diving into who I am. I'm learning about his vulnerabilities. The entire experience is wonderful, and I continue to hope that even though we are now in the "real" phase where honeymoon-ness has worn off and we have our disagreements now, that this feeling of appreciation of how wonderfully and perfectly matched we are for each other doesn't fade. Even when I'm angry at him now, I no longer need to call someone else to tell them that I'm hurting. Our marriage is ours alone and I love that we're growing together. I know that it will only get harder, and we have many mountains to climb, but I love my husband and the way he edifies me continually.

We were discussing something last night that I never tell anyone and somehow touched upon the subject of this little boy Kyle I used to play with as a very small child. His mother was friends with my mother's second husband Neal. After I was old enough my mom revealed that one of the reasons we spent so much time with Kyle and his family was that his mom was Neal's drug dealer...my second "dad" had a touch of a hash problem and evidently that was the source. Aside from that though, I never really think much of Kyle and his mother. I more specifically never think of his father. Ever.

We spent holidays with this family. We rode the Christmas tree train with them, I went to Kindercare with Kyle where his mother was a teacher and she babysat me on the weekends. My mother worked hard always so that we would never have to be on welfare, so I spent a lot of time in daycare as a child...but this woman was amazing. She was rather rotund and always smelled of cheap perfume, but gave the biggest and most consuming hugs. Whenever I hug rather rotund women now I think of her. She was the one who always cut my hair and of all the punishments I recieved up until the time of Robert (another story for another day) I hated most when she would put me on this little chair in this little corner for "time out." Oh boy did I hate time out...

It was around this time that I had a dream. I had never told anyone about this dream until last night, and I had never realized the signifigance of it until I spoke it out loud. I was about four or five, so this has always been one of the few vivid memories I retained as most of what you remember from four or five is sparse and fuzzy. I just know it was before kindergarten, but after my mother met Neal, so somewhere between 3-5 but three seems a little young. In this dream I was in the room at Kyle's house I would always take my naps in when I was bad. It was the room that people would now use as their computer rooms, but the average person didn't have a computer in the early 90's so it was kind of empty except for an ironing board and a closet. Whenever I would take naps in this room I would just lay down on the floor with a blanket and pillow and that was it. I remember waking up screaming in the dark in this room after having the most horrific dream but I have always remembered exactly what caused that panic.

In my dream I was in that room and a man came in and locked the door. But he had green skin and horns, and little brown spots all over so that his skin looked like mint chocolate chip ice cream. He came at me and pulled my pants down and pushed me on the floor with his tongue hanging out of his mouth and this crazy grin on his face. As a very small child I had a dream that I was raped.

I was in counseling for 6 years after the time of Robert and this never came up. I have always known that at some point I was violated sexually as a child, but thought it was Robert and I was just fortunate to have a memory that very conveniently suppresses itself. A couple of years ago when I began remembering things Robert had done to me, beatings I had forgotten, I lived in constant fear that I would start to remember other things too. But I never did. I know that he used to force me to take naps with him, and that at the time I was too young and naive to know what it was pushing into my back through our clothes, that he used to make me sit on his lap and I wasn't allowed to moved, that he told me he thought of me more than a wife than a daughter..but the only time I have ever remembered anything past that was when I was 14 the first time I was making out with my boyfriend and I had this vision of this man over me in a dark room and I thought it was Robert. That poor boyfriend of mine...he couldn't even decipher a word through my sobbing, but he was kind enough not to turn and run..

But as I was discussing this terrible dream I had when I was four or five with Andrew I realized something: Little girls do not have dreams of being raped. They do not fear something unless they know to be afraid of it. They do not have nightmares of men locking them in rooms and pulling their pants down. They do not by any stretch of the imagination spend every single day with people and then years later block them out to the point that their own husbands have no idea who these people are when they are mentioned. I have never discussed Kyle, his mother, or his father with anyone. Ever. And then Andrew said something-he said you know Heather, sometimes children create alternate situations in their minds to avoid the scary and dangerous things. He said that the monster with the horns was probably not a monster at all, but actually a man. That man. Kyle's father that I can't even remembers name because I've spent my entire life trying to forget him. I was so young. So little. So helpless and vulnerable. This man worked at Burgerville and was in charge of gathering children to ride on the Burgerville float in parades...so I was in a lot of parades when I was little...but I never felt more dirty than I did last night.

Than I do now. I looked at my foot and saw a tattoo, I lifted my wrist and another was there. I felt like I had finally found the weight that had been binding me to the ground and making me feel like marking and changing my body was necessary. And I know it was him. Now. I know without a shadow of a doubt that it was him, and that even though I was abused to limits that even social services were appalled at by Robert, without him I would have been around Kyle's dad for longer. If my mother wasn't the woman she is, if she hadn't cheated on Neal with Robert, and we hadn't then moved in with him, I would have been around the man with green skin and horns up until and age where I would remember vividly, where I could recall the pain.

When I was 12 my mother took me to the doctor to have my first girl check-up. Because I had started my period a couple of years before and was having some abdominal pain. When he was done he told my mother quietly with me in the room that my hyem was and had been torn for a very long time, but that it could have happened riding a horse or playing sports. But he said some other things to her that I have never heard I never will. She doesn't remember anything negative from the past, and when I asked her once what else that Doctor said she said she didn't remember the appointment at all. She also neglects to remember any of the abuse suffered that landed me in my grandparent's custody for five years...but you deal with what you have and I suppose this is just her way of dealing.

I can't even tell anyone. There is nothing I can do at this point. I don't even remember his name and even if I did it's far too late. And what would I say? "Hi, yes I would like to report inappropriate activities performed on a child....well, no, I have no solid evidence but I had this "dream" when I was little..."

I prefaced this with I love my husband because I know that God loves me even through the darkness. Even after everything that has happened to me, that I have done to myself, that has surrounded my life-there is hope. Because I have never had anyone in my life truly love me unconditionally I am constantly in fear that I will lose Andrew just like everyone else in my life....but even if that does happen God gave me Andrew to show me how much He loves me. He brought me to top of a waterfall on the Gorge to sit at the edge and stare at a meteor shower through Andrew not because my husband is amazing, but because He is. I will never forget that night and how much I was loved by the man God created to be my mate, and by my Creator.

So I hurt right now. A lot. I hurt so deep I haven't even been able to cry yet. I just feel empty, and dirty, and scared. When Andrew left for work this morning I had to turn the light on just to half-way fall back asleep. I'm sad but soon I will be angry. Soon I will be able to appreciate that even though I am on the floor I feel lighter. But it hurts. I hurt. I'm hurting.

That's about all I've got right now.

Something that angers me that will only get worse..

For this election I did not choose Barack Obama. Everyone who knows me knows this to be true, and aside from my crazy notes on the Apocolypse, I had many other political reasons not to personally vote for him.

With that said, after Obama was announced as our next figure head, Andrew and I watched his acceptance speech and then got in the car to drive home. We were both ridiculously silent as we're both terribly competitive and even though this wasn't us trying-we still felt like we lost. I turned to him and said there's no use crying over spilt milk so we will not complain about a very fair win, and that we will just support our future president and not whine like our opposers have for the past eight years. Life is life and you deal with what you have.

So we/I...Andrew is still having a hard time letting this one go...lol...have not complained. I have surprisingly not made any jokes or written any satire. I have accepted what has happened, as that is my lot. But what really irks me is that many conservatives (very surprisingly) are doing the same thing this election. Accepting defeat and announcing that as this is what has happened they will support Obama as he is now everyone's president, not just those who voted for him. And do you want to know what the idiots at CNN did with that? They showed a clip of someone who fought tooth and nail for McCain-even though he sucked too-saying that she will now get in line to support Obama and that she recognizes the great victory achieved for all Americans through the historic election of a black man. Then they said that they were really surprised and that they're glad she finally sees the light and that she's not the majority in this country anymore and that she needs to get in line behind the man who will change the world.

It is one thing to lose with dignity and respect for your successful opponent and it is another thing entirely to "see the light." While the Republican party lost due to poor decisions made, which was a necessary step to reconstructing the party that has completely fallen, I will not say that I now believe that conservatives are the minority. I will say that neither option was truly conservative so Obama won purely because he is not a copy cat of Bush and can present himself well. If he had lost after spending 600 million dollars on his campaign I would have sought him out just to slap him. After countless tirades about improper spending and saving the world, then throwing 600 MILLION DOLLARS at a political campaign...he could have stopped at 300 MILLION and told his supporters to then donate to the causes they think he will somehow champion...do you know the "change" we could have seen occur???

So this irks me. Obama won, he is now my president elect, and I will support him and pray for him continually. But this in no way means that I have changed my mind and think I was wrong all along. This in no way means that in 8 years after the reign of The One Barack Obama we will not see (finally) a truly conservative candidate. It means that there was a race and he won fairly without a shadow of a doubt. Even if he had won by a lesser margin I wouldn't be out pounding the pavement...because a win is a win is a win and I would never want to look as petty and ridiculous as the democrats and liberals alike have for the past eight years.

This is more than I've said to even my own husband on this issue, and this is where it ends. Politics are no longer a topic of conversation for me, and will remain so for a while.

My mother in law and I have taken 20 steps backwards as far as relationship, and my sister in law is still evil. C'est la vie right?

But oh my is my husband amazing and worth every minute of it.