I'm finished
Some Things Never Change
Dunder-Mifflin
Reclaiming the Abandoned Parts
" Creativity is neither the product of neurosis nor simple talent, but an intense courageous encounter with the Gods." ~ Rollo May
As I near the end of chemotherapy, I'm feeling more creative than I have in years. I've started to reclaim some of those creative parts of myself that I left behind because of my father. Unfortunately, my father was not only psycho, he was an extremely gifted person. His entire family had extraordinary talent in music and art. When I was a child, I thought he was an excellent storyteller.
My father was the most narcissistic person I've ever known. That's saying something, because I tend to attract narcissists in droves. Under my father's tutelage, I learned how to effectively manipulate them. But that's another story for another time. One of the ways my dad's narcissism manifested itself was an inability to tolerate anyone else doing anything better than he could. He had the artistic thing wrapped up and was probably somewhat gifted mathematically. I lost my interest in math very early because of some childhood incidents involving abuse. It was a terrible paradox. How to be good at things without threatening my father, who required high academic achievement from me.
Some things just got abandoned along the way, as a coping mechanism probably. I gave up art when I was around 15. I gave up music at about the same age. I hung on to my superior verbal skills, though I kept them to myself for the most part, unless I was at school.
I started to reclaim my math skills about ten years ago and finally came to understand that I'm not a complete math idiot. I'm actually pretty good at it. I never let my dad know that I had discovered my abilities. At about the same time, I decided to pursue my interest in science, specifically, the TOT and cosmology.
I gave up creative writing when I was around 30. That was more a result of a dearth of time and imagination than a response to anything my father did. This journal serves as a means of reawakening my commitment to writing, if only for my own pleasure.
About a month ago, I decided one night to draw one of my huskies as she lay on her bed in the living room. Suddenly it dawned on me that I used to draw pretty regularly and that I miss it. I also found myself led to learn how to create mosaics. I'm awash in creativity.
Before I started working again about 15 years ago, I used to spend a fair amount of time crocheting, knitting and doing crossstitch. I didn't stop doing those thing becase of my dad, but because of the heavy toll my job took on my energy level. I plan to crochet a throw for one of my friends at work. I've just been looking for the right pattern.
It's surprising and exhilarating to find the parts of myself that got lopped off along this journey. It's almost too much to bear. There are so many things I wish to do, so few hours in the day. I don't know where the surge of creativity has come from, but I'm embracing it with all my heart.
America held hostage day 1506
Bushism of the day:
"Listen, I want to thank leaders of the - in the faith - faith-based and community-based community for being here."
— (The White House, "President Meets with Representatives from National Voluntary Organizations," Sept. 6, 2005.)
Grammar. Elucidated.
" To be loose with grammar is to be loose with the worst woman in the world."~Otis C. Edwards
I'm not a stickler when it comes to grammar; anyone who's read much of this blog is already aware of that fact. However, from time to time, some grammar mistakes become so widespread and are so egregious that I'm almost unable to bear it.
Myself. I'm flabbergasted with the pervasive misuse of this word. I confess, I can't stand it anymore. Here, then, are the proper uses of the word, "myself."
- That one identical with me.
- Used reflexively as the direct or indirect object of a verb or as the object of a preposition: I bought myself a new car.
- Used for emphasis: I myself was certain of the facts.
- Used in an absolute construction: In office myself, I helped her get a job.
- My normal or healthy condition or state: I'm feeling myself again.
"My wife and myself took a drive on Sunday." Wrong.
"As far as myself is concerned..." Incorrect.
"He gave it to myself." No.
I'm certain that if I gave myself enough time, I could come up with numerous other examples of the misuse of that word that occurs every day by people on television, in the newspaper, in magazines, etc. Even people who are well-educated seem to forget the correct usage.
Okay. I feel better now.
America held hostage day 1588
Bushism of the day:
"I believe that the great city of New Orleans will rise again and be a greater city of New Orleans. I believe the town where I used to come, from Houston, Texas, to enjoy myself - occasionally too much - will be that very same town, that it will be a better place to come to. That's what I believe."
— (MediaChannel, "In Bush's World, PR Equals Action," Simon Dumenco, Sept. 13, 2005.)
It's a State of Mind
"A cancer is not only a physical disease. It is a state of mind." ~ Michael Baden
My next to last chemo treatment is scheduled for next Tuesday. This should be a relatively happy time since the end is now definitely in sight. Unfortunately, the part of my brain that's keeping track of how bad I feel is screaming at me, "Don't go! Don't go!" As if I had a choice.
It's gotten really hard for me to keep putting this out of my mind. I was so good at that for such a long time. Fuck.
My toenails are turning black. One of my thumbnails is also turning back. The last time I was at the hospital, I had a discussion with a patient (which I did not wish to have) who told me that her nails turned black and fell off. Apparently the good news is that, when that happens, it doesn't hurt. Yay.
Just in case my week wasn't already crappy, my brother in law is spending the night at my house tonight. I'm spending the night at my mom's condo. I just don't have the stamina to deal with him.
Hell, the truth is that I'd be going to my mom's condo, no matter what the circumstances. I really don't like "Baby Hughey," as my therapist likes to call him. He reminds me a lot of my dad, although my dad was psychotic. Baby Hughey hasn't worked in the past 30 years, was spongeing off his mother's social security payments when she was alive.
Somehow he's managed to find someone else willing to support him. He's living in a shelter, but the rent is $250 a month. How does that qualify as a shelter? I thought those were usually free. Oh well. The important thing is that he's not moving in with me.
Lately I find myself thinking about what great times I used to have in high school and college. That's just an indication of how bad things are now. Even worse, I just searched for images of my first boyfriend. I found one. It's hard to connect him with the young man I loved. This is just sad.
Okay. Enough whining and complaining. I'm getting on with the day.
America held hostage day 1581
Bushism of the day:
"Put the off button on."
