Posted on by Anelemc

Been a long time…

It’s been a long time since my words made their way onto a page.

Transitions continue to subtly move within mi alma and guide me towards the shifts needed to move from a mind-numbing rut into a forward moving , thinking with anticipation, embracing the changes strut. images[7]

I enrolled in an online vet tech program, in the process of completing my first semester of full time classes, gave two week notice, verbal and written at the 40 hour a week MICA shelter, began a part-time Sunday only vet tech assisting job, sent out resumes too numerous to mention, went and hopefully will continue to go on interviews and it’s all good. Being in my late 40’s, going through the changes and no, not menopause, makes it all good.

There have been kill-joys who wrinkle their noses upon learning of yet another of my career changes and that’s all good too. At least, I am blessed to have had the opportunity to explore and indulge where my passions take me-blowing in the wind.

But sometimes…

The wind may die down and you drop where it stops and fall into a hole. The hole can feel like a big soft blanket, safe and comforting of the most anesthetizing kind. Food, alcohol and e-books are easily delivered with a click from the keyboard or a cell phone call.

And eventually…

You realize the hole is just a hole with no forward or backward movement. It starts to become smaller and the big soft blanket now has scratchy fuzz which scrapes on your dry skin, waking you from the anesthesia you thought you had. Delivery food gets expensively boring and the alcohol makes you fat, while the unread e-books take up space on your Kindle.

I prayed and prayed, cursed, than prayed some more for guidance and HE gave it.

I slowly climbed from the hole and dusted the food crumbs off my body, got on the internet and researched on working with animals. My compassion and dedication to those who have difficulty defending themselves shifted from people to animals. This is now my forward motion and it’s all too good.

My two mini schnauzers have taught me many lessons : unconditional love, patience, understanding pain when it’s not expressed, getting rid of vomit stains, breaking up dog fights, cutting black nails, cleaning out ears, picking up feces , this can go on but it stops right now. I am grateful to them for their influence on my decision to embark on this career transition.

Thank you Tobias and Pi-Patel who incidentally, refused to get in the hole.

pihr5 pihr8

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Counting…

My days at work are numbered?

My days at work are numbered.

That statement no longer is the question I often turned it into when the thought of leaving this place first surfaced. Fueled by the unknown (can I find another job?), accelerated by the uncertainty, (how will I pay my bills?) and strangled by the fear of hopelessness and danger (NO HEALTH BENEFITS!), I remained at this depressive and stagnated job for two years.

The Director I adored working with is gone, driven out by VP’s who were not impressed with her leadership style and fancy excel data spreadsheets. She made the place tolerable and kept me busy with work, so busy that no time existed to socialize with staff I did not care to socialize with. She was fair and treated staff who gossiped about her horribly with fairness even though she overheard what they said. She understood my personal trauma, took the time to find out about its source and although we did not discuss it, it was understood that working at this place was in some way therapeutic.

The Director who took her place does not deserve to earn 70 grand a year but he is here and she is not. He had connections and smooth talking ways. He’s a peacock. peacock-new-zealand_10933_990x742[1]

All fluff, wearing all the colours of the rainbow suits lacking in substance. He’s also a pimp daddy for he wore a full-length mink coat all winter.

imagesCA3ZZ6SWTo wear such a get up to a homeless, mentally ill and substance abuse women’s’ shelter, in my opinion is disrespectful and insensitive.  But, I guess he can for he is the Mack daddy-who can’t work a Xerox! He gossips about staff, mimics the speech of clients’ in front of them, and passes his workload down the line of staff until it is all gone. Then time to sit back, close the office door and watch movies on the tablet.

I do not work for a city shelter. I work for a non-profit organization that is funded by Medicaid and the city. The ex CEO is under investigation for embezzlement of Medicaid funds and earned approximately 60 grand a month while the staff received no cost of living increases or raises. Our Christmas party was potluck!

I will miss the clients who at times are inspirational in their
accomplishments against such unfavourable odds.

I will miss my easy 2-mile walk to work.

Will I miss working for this company when my day comes? No. Will I miss my co-workers? No. Will I miss Big Peacock Daddy? H to the ell and n to the o!

Most importantly, I will not miss the metal detectors that greet me every time I step through the doors of the place I will not affectionately remember as ‘the place where I used to work’.

 

**Pictures courtesy of the internet.

 

 

 

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Food, Glorious food…

I absolutely adore food.

Food does not adore me. Actually nutritious food does adore me, junk food…well…

I have problems with portion control.

Food has no problems with control.

I gravitate towards food when I’m depressed, stressed, or bored.

Food gravitates towards me when I’m depressed, stressed and not bored.

Food turns into a hip hugger. 20130605_184357

I turn into a ‘clothes don’t fit’ bugger.

Food can be soft, warm and cuddly.

I prefer not to be soft, but I can be warm and cuddly.

Food is my nemesis, my savior and salvation.

I am my worst nemesis, definitely not a savior and salvation has been quite iffy lately.

I joined Nutrisystem and received my first box of food.

I quit Nutrisystem and returned my first box of food.

I thought I put food in its place, portion wise, with that initial order.

The food from Nutrisystem obviously put me in my place when the preservatives in the food wreaked havoc on my digestive system in a very public place.

I give up.

Food does not give up, go away or stretch for two days’ worth of servings.

I give in.

Food wins.

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This is my hair…

I went to our church’s after service Bring a Dish Dinner on Saturday. After gathering a small sample from the variety of food brought I sat down at the table with about 12 parishioners. We are a multi-cultured and multi-faceted sometimes too complacent group who regularly attend Saturday services. At times, as we eat, conversation involves  politics, the sensational headline of the week, who said what to who or whom or the rantings of verbal word hogs, who cannot or will not shut up.

I sat at the table, sampling the variety of food brought and sipped at my half filled/half empty cup of wine. The conversation was lively with advice on handymans, cats and animal behaviourist, wine, why such and such wasn’t recommend for such and such and then BAM out of nowhere…

Parishioner #1-“Hey, did you go to the salon? Your hair looks short.”

SILENCE

Me-“Yes. I went to a curly hair salon”.

SILENCE

Parishioner #1-“Oh. Well its short.”

Parishioner #2-“I thought you were wearing a wig.”

Me-“I’m not wearing a wig. I went to a curly hair salon.”

Silence, and change of subject as I extinguished the hot lava of verbal words not appropriate for church from my vocal chords.

My hair, normally tied captive into a puff had gone through its emancipation from the cotton bandana the week before during a visit to the Devachan salon in NYC. It was finally free to curl up into tight corkscrews drenched in the best moisturizer (Devachan One) that I EVER, EVER, EVER used and the most expensive condition I EVER, EVER, EVER bought.

It was worth it, and not like Loreal .

Since I did not have the emotional strength to relay the trials and tribulation of having the hair which no advertisers for commercials will show swinging in the breeze during prime time television-I use this forum to vent.

In pictures…

This was my hair on the ‘creamy crack’ when it was long.

Assisting through 013 (2)

This was my hair on the creamy crack when it was short.

Short straight

This was my hair in locks..boy how skinny I was back in the day. Maybe this is the start of another post, ‘This is my body when…’

Locks

This was my hair all gone.

Shaved off

This is my hair growing back.

Growing out

This is how I hid my hair when it was growing back.

Hiding the hair

This is my mom’s hair which in no way shape or form resembles mine.

Mom's hair

This is my hair, now…in its puff-a-souras glory.

Puffasaurous

This is my hair when it is wet…I wish it would look like this when its dry-actually it does look like this !

wet hair

This is my hair when we run.

Hair for running

I once had blonde locks before it was in vogue, as well as a Gerry Curl in all its goopy, dripping glory that left its own gelatin calling card behind on every headrest it encountered

My hair as I stated before, represents who I am and where I come from and I do not apologize for its refusal to fit into what society’s obsessiveness with European looks wants it to be.

‘nuff said.

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Feeling groovy…

Groovy –adj. groov·i·er, groov·i·est Slang Very pleasing; wonderful.

In the realm of my being it is not very often, the feeling of ‘groovy’ in my world comes around.  Actually, it’s rare.  But when it does, it tends to stick on my shirt sleeve for about an hour or so before moving on to its next honourary recipient (depending on how one views this, for feeling groovy is not good for those who are quite content to wallow in misery).

Feeling groovy for me is as the definition above states: very pleasing; wonderful. For a few minutes I am in bliss, over an accomplishment, thought, a good read, a good piece of writing, a really good sermon or Pi Patel not engaging in negative dogspeak with the brown Piti at Ppark to name a few.

This is how I feel when I am feeling groovy as demonstrated by Pi Patel.

This is how the boys act when I’m feeling groovy. groovy

Their reaction does not matter for it is my groovy and not theirs. They feel groovy at biscuit time, bath time, Ppark time, feeding time, sleeping time and especially at belly rubbing time. Bless them, for they have no triggerings to get them to their state of groovy and once there, it lingers well past an hour before naptime.

I wish my feeling groovy was in sync with those around me, than a massive groovy fest could occur.

Unfortunately, groovy is as groovy does not as groovy as one wants it to be. When I feel groovy and others do not, I see them and their views as raining down on my groovy. I long to seek solitude and surround myself with incense and singing bowls in order to keep my groovy as long as I can while creating a chain link fence of spiritual strength to block out the ungrooviness of others.

Right now, at this time. I feel groovy.

Slow down, you move too fast, you’ve got to make the morning last
Just kickin’ down the cobble-stones, lookin’ for fun and feelin’ groovy

Feeling groovy

Hello lamp-post, what’s cha knowing, I’ve come to watch your flowers growin’
Ain’t cha got no rhymes for me, do-it-do-do, feelin’ groovy

Feeling groovy

I’ve got no deeds to do, no promises to keep
I’m dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep
Let the morning time drop all its petals on me

Life I love you, all is groovy-Simon and Garfunkel

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The Sun will come out tomorrow…

I am sitting here at work listening to a client screaming profanity of the most creative kind at the staff. She is upset, very upset and frustrated at not hearing from the housing agency on whether she was awarded a place to live.

I do not know if the hope for a better tomorrow pulsates in the heart of this client or if the hope is snuffed out with just another day of scamming, lying, cheating, drinking, smoking and scrapping.

I am sitting here at work listening to a client crying hysterically because she left her cell phone charging in the cafeteria to go to the bathroom and upon her return the phone was gone. Her anger and rage were not directed towards the loss of the phone but rather what the phone contained-the pictures of her son and lawyer contact.

I do not know if tomorrow will solve the location of her phone or if the loss of the pictures is the final push into severe depression and chemical abuse.

I am sitting here at work listening to a client singing a Whitney Houston song. She sings loudly off key and I secretly wish for earplugs to muffle the sound. But, I have no earplugs and the singing, (or more like a banshee in heat wailing) continues.

I do not know if tomorrow will bring the same happiness this client felt while singing or if the singing is replaced by extreme depressive outbursts once the drugs run out and wear off.

I am sitting here at work listening to the outside sounds of the neighbourhood I work in. It is a mixture of police and fire truck sirens, car horns blaring, garbage trucks rolling and loading, yelling and screaming with an occasional laugh thrown in.

I do know tomorrow will bring the same sounds, the same sensory abuse of the nerves and whether I am sitting at this desk or in another country, the same sounds will continue to repeat.

So goes another Monday morning of normal activity at the shelter. Rainy weather tends to brings out extreme emotional reactions as the clients are cooped up inside a cement block building with little activities to keep them occupied or distracted. The same holds for some of the staff who work in this same environment-forty hour a week.

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To be or not to be…

I am THE self-saboteur of the most unflinching kind. The irony in honouring myself with the title lies in my inability to realize when my self- sabotaging occurs. I guess that’s why I’m so good at it-it takes years to discover the outcome of the self-sabotage but only seconds to execute and dissolve what might have been.

At this time, going into specifics and personal details of my past self-sabotages, would only ignite sadness. Picking through the rubble of horribly made decisions and rediscovering the skeleton remains of their consequences is not a good thing for the alma (soul). A quick backward glance at the past does permit clarity and sometimes answers into the cause of the self-sabotage but as long as the glance remains a glance. Wallowing in the realization of the destruction caused by self- sabotage can do permanent harm.

‘Googling’ a fixed definition on what self-sabotage is, resulted in endless hits of personal sites with personal testaments too endless to write in this blog.

Instead, I will write my own.

The act of self-sabotage is personal and involves disrupting the outcome of a possibly good thing unfolding for the self. For example, take an attempt to climb the corporate ladder. The credentials and degrees are in place, the years in the biz accumulated and the references secured but the interview for the VP of such and such departments takes less than 10 minutes. By wearing sneakers and not removing the large silver hoops in the nose piercings, the candidate sabotaged the chance for promotion. One could say, the forgetting to dress appropriate is legit, but seriously, if you really want that job or feel you truly deserve it, you would not forget to remove the piercings and most certainly would endure the pain of five-inch heels or shoe tip pinchers to get the job.

Of course, this is sedate compared to how far and deep self-sabotage can go.

Relationships can be self-sabotaged when one wants more than the other wants and seeks to cement an inseparable bond as in a pregnancy, which appears unplanned though really planned.  Feelings of worthlessness and creating situations which reinforce these negative feelings are usually led by self-sabotage as in: I’m fat, so I’ll keep on eating, since I’m fat anyway, and I’ll never get skinny, I might as well keep on eating, Lay’s potato chips, one chip at a time until the whole bag is gone…and then since I gained 10 pounds, I’ll get another bag…this ends here.

Is there a solution towards ending the self-sabotage reign?

I guess acknowledging the sabotaging is the first step. Then a search for triggers, which is what makes it happen to begin with, and then analyzing the possible root cause behind the self-sabotage.  And finally, finding help in coming to terms with it. stop-self-sabotage-behaviour

For me, self-sabotage is about control and negative feelings. Often, my worried state of mind tends to frolic in the past, skip through the present and sit anxiously awaiting for the grass to grow in the future. It is critical for my state of mind to be in the present.

As the sage Oogway in “Kung Fu Panda”, said to Po Ping, “…You are too concern about what was and what will be… Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift…that’s why it is called present…”

 

*illustration from the web

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Thoughts on meditation…

As I continue my meditation practice, I‘ve come across writings, chanting, music, attended meditation sessions and the 14th Dalai Lama (no, we have not met, just through his writings). Needless to say, I am in the Buddha zone of the most delightful kind.

Exploring Tibetan Buddhism continues to be an adventure in discovery, critical thinking and practice. As I read various writings and teachings by lay persons and lamas, I gain clarity and new perspectives. Of course putting what I’ve learned to physical practice is different than reading about it.  Words in print can be glorified, oohed and awed over. Trying to get them to leave the page is another matter!

The Eightfold Path is one of many tenets within Tibetan Buddhism and shares similarities, in a strange way, with the Ten Commandments in that both are implemented towards spiritual growth and an enlighten way of life. The difference between the two, in my opinion, lies in presentation and tone. The Eightfold encourages changes which strive towards enlightenment while the Commandments, command. Do good, go to heaven, do bad…well we know where that leads to.

I was baptized a Catholic, attended Jehovah’s Kingdom Hall while a Catholic, later confirmed as an Episcopalian and now meditate as a Buddhist (or attempting – after all I am in the beginning stages). And no, I’m not imitating Pi Patel’s religious dabble from the book but at times it feels as if curiosity fuels the skipping, stumbling and jumping down the spiritual journey path.

The Eightfold

  1. Right View-See things as they are not what you wish them to be
  2. Right Intention-commitment to ethical behaviour
  3. Right Speech-abstain from false speech, no lies or deceit, abstain from harsh words or slanderous speech or to speak maliciously against others, abstain from idle chatter that lacks purpose of depth
  4. Right Action-abstain from harming sentient beings,
  5. Right Livelihood-no dealing in weapons, in human beings (slave trade/prostitution), raising animals for slaughter, working in meat and production and butchery, selling alcohol or drugs
  6. Right Effort-to prevent unwholesome states
  7. Right Mindfulness-contemplation of body, contemplation of feeling,
  8. Right Concentration-meditation

The Ten Commandments

  1. Do not worship other gods
  2. Do not worship idols
  3. Do not misuse God’s name
  4. Keep the Sabbath holy
  5. Honour your father and mother
  6. Do not murder
  7. Do not commit adultery
  8. Do not steal
  9. Do not lie
  10. Do not covet
Posted on by Anelemc

If I frustrate you, will you frustrate me…

imagesfrus•tra•tion
[ fru stráysh’n ]

1. dissatisfaction: a feeling of disappointment, exasperation, or weariness caused by goals being thwarted or desires unsatisfied
2. frustrating of somebody or something: an act or instance of causing somebody or something to be dissatisfied or unfulfilled
3. something that thwarts: something that blocks, thwarts, and upsets somebody all at the same time

-Frustration begins as a speck on my eyelash then erupts into a sty

-It consumes and attaches to the muscles in my neck and back with a vice-like grip, akin to a dog’s teeth holding fast to rawhide

-Seldom does a dog get frustrated at the rawhide, for the rawhide slowly unravels and dismantles under the endless gnawing leaving the sated dog justified

-My neck and back muscles clench up in the kind of tightness a heating pad will not ALWAYS dissolve

-My tolerance towards frustration is low, extremely low –Frustration+Low Tolerance=Stress

-AND that leads to mass consumption of Pringles original which adds layer upon layer of fat unto my belly which makes it difficult for my Gastroenterologist to feel my organs and let’s not mention what my Gyno goes through!!!!!

-Frustration is worse than the green-eyed monster for it is colourless and obscure, seeking shelter beneath all other psychological stuff, while jealousy…well it’s almost always apparent and it really is green!

-Cartoon characters are consistently forced into frustration in order to make the reader laugh, like poor Charlie Brown’s obsession with the football and its outcome

-or the Coyote

-the Wolf with the pigs

-Elmer Fudd

-Sylvester

-this stops here.

-If payroll is due by 5pm Tuesday and the supervisor in department A turns it in on Wednesday at 12pm would I be arrested for giving him/her Ex-lax disguised as Hershey?

-Frustration will be here FOREVER. How I choose to deal with its effects on me is my problem-only…

**image from the internet

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The Christian thing to do…

At one time, I thought being a part of a church would lead to spiritual growth.

At one time, I thought parishioners cared about the health and well-being of one another.

At one time, I thought attending services would lead to understanding and deeper appreciation of the Holy Scriptures.

I thought wrong.

Just because one is, a Christian does not automatically make them one and then again, my definition on what a Christian should be is just that, my definition.  My Christianity or what I believe defines me as one, are based on my own experiences and interactions within the church. No two experiences are similar, nor are scripture interpretations, prayers said, if at all, after communion, or what hat is appropriate for Easter. Christianity is a self-thing not communal as I once thought, which, proved to be wrong as well.

The Ten Commandments are a Christians’ guide to living life, but what one perceives as coveted could be another’s’ striving to attain the American dream. (Although the six room mansion with an indoor pool and marble bathroom is a bit much). If we truly loved one another, we would put forth the love we’d like to receive and not bear false witness with gossiping, lying, and acting incredibly cruel because we can. We would not cheat, murder (squashing an idea before it has roots is murder of the mind kind), or say, “OMG” at the slightest impulse or adulation of whatever.

Lessons I rather not learn are learnt. 551-001

Christians or parishioners are not the apostles, nor is the preacher, Jesus or God.

At one time, I thought, at least at my church, we, the parishioners were to mimic the apostles in spreading the good word and treating each other with love and kindness, as Jesus taught.

At one time, I thought the priest, preacher, rector or whatever the correct pc title is, were the instruments of God and through Jesus’ life and preaching would lead by example.

I thought wrong.

What I find are parishioners who are mean, afraid and quite frankly, lost. What I find is conflict and abusiveness with the leadership. What I find is a person, me, who once so adored her church, torn with a lack of trust in what is said and done. Well, what is said and not done or what should be said and done or not doing or saying anything at all.

I don’t know if I am the Christian I would like to be. It is hard to tear away the layers and see the truth that maybe in some way I am like those whom I criticize. Worse, is seeing the truth and not knowing what to do with it.

Transitions continue, welcomed or not, bearing good news or showing up the ugly truths.

Instead of participating in this Lenten season, I find quietness, comfort and solace within my Forward Movement, at home with a bag of Frito lays.