How does that make you feel?

It's a soft, coolish gray morning here in South Fort Myers; kind of refreshing.

How does the photo make you feel? It nearly made me laugh out loud, it made me feel silly and light. It's the canine version of the intro for Sex and the City.

Our bodies tell us what we need to know. I never thought of that until I was coming off my years of emotional abuse with the exBF. (A beautiful man I will always love who cannot get out of his own way and will ultimately crush anyone who attempts to get close.)

I first learned of the concept while reading "The Emotionally Abusive Relationship." The author says when a victim starts dating again, they should pay attention to what their body tells them. Your body will alert you to danger.  I've started practicing this body awareness with a lot more than dates.  These are stressful times, we're all on overload. Some of what we take in is unnecessary. 

Try this new awareness with acquaintances, phone calls, all communications really. Do a body check - queasiness in the tummy, shoulders headed up towards your earlobes?

Does the intereaction make you feel better or worse?

Is it essential or can you let it go?

After the election, I went from political junkie to political hermit. Well except for some health care skirmishes that strike me where I live - and would like to continue living - in this body for as long as it lasts.

But mostly, post election it was time to put my head down and let the shrapnel fly. I knew change would take time; you don't turn an aircraft carrier on a dime.  It was going to get ugly because a lot of people would be angry for a very long time. I would wait it out.

I had no idea that so many of my friends, while growing older, had become bigots and haters. I guess it's like nose and ear hair, the reality of what's in a person's heart is revealed with age. Some cloak their waning "personal power" by embracing Christianity, which - to some - grants instant implied spiritual superiority with a hot steaming side of judginess.

I continue to remove those people from my life. It's a painful process. I'm up front, I give warning before I close the door, but ... well, at this age, people are pretty much who they have chosen to be. I was feeling like crap about it until I read this in one of my buddhist books, The Dhammapada (this thousands of years old text translated by Ananda Maitreya with foreward by Thich Nhat Hanh):

"Should a traveler fail to find a companion equal or better, rather than suffer the company of a fool, he should resolutely walk alone."

I think the two concepts - how a thing makes us feel and who we should associate with - are crucial to our emotional well being. We should associate with equals or better - people who make us feel good. We walk away from these people feeling the warmth of love and acceptance. The lessers wear us down.

It's the same with media. The media we choose is "a companion".

This morning I did what I did pre-election - turned the TV on the second I woke up. Meredith Viera, my favorite, is looking too thin, gaunt. Much older. Has it been that long since I watched? I guess so. I hope she's not sick.

The stories were either sickening, saccharine or stupid. I wonder if the Today Show's planners have those three in a pie chart every night before the next show. Today it was the little girl who has been lost for a year - her father's girlfriend was arrested under drug charges and they're hoping to get information from her. The ex-girlfriend (now ex-wife) looks like a little girl herself.

And there was some silliness about office irritations - dirty microwaves, food stealing and the like.

And the scorned other woman who was plastering photos of herself with her married man ex BF on BILLBOARDS ACROSS TOWN! It did not escape notice that the scorned woman is a model or actress - what a great way to screw your ex one last time while promoting yourself. Sure, throw his wife under the bus and ruin his life while you're at it.

What a horrendous waste of my time. What a crappy way to start the day. And how did I feel? HORRIBLE after watching the little girl's grandmother cry. TWITCHY with empathetic discomfort at the stupid questions she was expected to answer. AWFUL for the cheating man's wife. DISAPPOINTED at the Today Show for granting the conniving ex-mistress priceless press coverage.

The last time I watched a few minutes of the Today show was in the aftermath of the earthquake in Haiti and there was the man whose daughter (?) was caught there somewhere. He was pleading, yelling at Obama to do something about it.

That made me ANGRY. They kept cutting to the man ranting ... you know what? If my son went to a foreign country and there was a natural disaster, I wouldn't assume MY country had an obligation to go in there and find him. Our children make choices; are their choices the responsibility of this country? I don't think so.

Much of the media is lesser. My role in actively WATCHING the programming left me nauseated, depressed and hopeless. Here's the quote again:

"Should a traveler fail to find a companion equal or better, rather than suffer the company of a fool, he should resolutely walk alone."

So, Today Show, two strikes and you are out. I will get my news online and from NPR. NPR gives the news in an informative way that keeps you apprised without making you feel like a quivering mass of hopelessness.

I turned off the TV and took the dogs outside. You know what? QUIET is a beautiful thing. Birds. The breeze in the trees. No radio, no cell phone, no TV. That feels really good.

The hopelessness a lot of us feel sometimes? It goes away when we help someone else.

I was driving out to the beach yesterday and there was a skinny, bearded old man (my age probably) with a cardboard sign "veteran needs help". There were about 8 cars at that light. I scrambled in my purse for a few bucks and honked to get his attention. I gave him the cash and he said "God bless you" - I said "God bless you too."

As I drove away, I realized he looked a lot like a man I had seen lying on the grass on San Carlos one morning. Passed out, drugged out or homeless? Would my little bit of money go for food or booze? If it goes for food, it sustains him. If it goes for booze, it will numb him from the shameful reality of a country that really doesn't take care of it's veterans. I'm ok with that.

Helping one person eye to eye in my little world made me feel really, really good.

The Last Republican

Nature's answer to Southwest Florida's wild hog problem; photo taken on River Road, next to I-75 & U.S. 41, just south of North Port, Florida. That's within an hour's drive from South Fort Myers.

 It's a warm, lovely day after a long cold spell. This is welcome after a difficult week spent brooming or alienating more "friends" than I unfriended in the whole of last year.

My New Year's Resolution is simple; if your words or actions make me feel inadequate or "less than" in any way, you are ushered back to "acquaintance" status. If your actions were mean spirited or deliberate, you are out of my life.

Seth Godin's blog helped me understand the national mindset:

http://sethgodin.typepad.com/seths_blog/2010/01/the-false-solace-of-vilification.html

Author and marketing guru Seth says:

I've never once heard someone say, "things are really lousy, but I got a chance to really devastate someone today, deliver some choice barbs, some personal attacks, some baseless innuendo and ruin their day, perhaps even their career. Boy, I feel great."


People don't remember how you behave when everything is going great. They remember how you behave when you're under pressure, stressed out and at wits end.

Emotional maturity is underrated.

He ends his blog with:

"The long term solution for marketers (and those that believe in civil society) is to make it socially unacceptable to vent like this. Acknowledge the rage but cease to engage, whenever possible."

I've been doing that. I think. OK, sometimes I get pissed.

Then again, maybe I'm more sensitive than most - I did come off seven years in an emotionally abusive relationship. Maybe I DO have more buttons than a West Point cadet.

I blogged about my first love who came to visit for five days this past December and drove me completely nuts. In the 70s he was a mega-hot Wise Guy; today he's a bloated white Republican with an almost undetectable rug who has found Jeezus and (of course) Fox News.

The two go together like ... kkk and lynch mobs.

I didn't want an old white guy in the White House; and I don't want one in mine either. They are OUT OF TOUCH.

When he was here he belittled me for being a Buddhist as compared to his having Jeezus and me the animal lover/vegetarian to his carnivore/animals belong on our plates mindset.

He had prostate cancer, so I suspect he's shooting pool with a rope; I have not been inclined to check it out. Although he wanted me to.

I locked my bedroom door at night and right now I'm throwing up in my mouth a little.

After blowing up at him at the Sunshine Cafe his last morning here, I thought ... hoped ... we were done being friends. But no, he started calling every few days again like we were an item or something. Like he has some kind of ownership.

He had a project for me, so I told me "this is business - be nice, put up with some shit." The last time I did work for him he waited a year to pay. But we were friends. So it was ok - then. Based on his constant shots, it's NO LONGER OK.

In between talking business - waste management and recycling, what else?? - he has been making subtle accusations that I'm a cougar (I never liked younger men) and he has accused me of looking for Mr. Goodbar. That outdated 70s reference is the story of a sack hopping nympho who came to a bad end. When I met him, he WAS Mr. Goodbar.

I do go out with friends and I would love to meet a wonderful man but I do NOT engage in those behaviors. I remind myself that he's overcompensating - typical behavior for a man whose oak has turned to balsa.

Like the guy on POF who came onto me. His screen name is ORALALAN.

Throwing up in my mouth a little again ...

Note to men: we see through that shit.

Well, Mr. Waste Management Recycling Professional should know a thing or two about recycling. He never heard of the plastic sea. When he was here I promised I'd send him links. This past week I was being nice, creating his recycling promotions while laughing at his shots through grinding teeth.

He called on a Sunday from a bar and told me he needed the brochures Monday morning. I called him a mothereffer and pretended I was joking. Many a truth ... we laughed.

Late Sunday night I sent his brochures as promised, then I sent him a link about the plastic sea. A link that showed birds dying of starvation from ingesting plastics that look like their natural food source. I see it as one of the planet's worst tragedies, unfolding before our very eyes.

How did he react? He wrote back that it was all well and good that I care about animals but he cares more about the people who are dying in Haiti. This is the guy who asked me if I had to choose between my granddaughters dying and my dogs dying, who would I choose. WHO ASKS A QUESTION LIKE THAT?  I would choose the person who asked the question.

Well, in that one last self-righteous superior holier than thou email I was done with his shit. I sent an invoice and said pay as much as you like in monthly payments if that's convenient.

And I sent another email that said I was not a cougar, never was a cougar, that he had been Mr. Goodbar when I met him, that I was not looking for Mr. Goodbar (and in fact had "world class" sex right here from a mega hot Greek God of a guy whenever I wanted it) and that as a RECYCLING PROFESSIONAL he should know a fucking thing about the ENVIRONMENT. Although I warned him the people who CARE about it tend to be the people he hates most - animal lovers and democrats.

He responded with a few emails and I won't even open them. FUCK him. Put a fork in me, I am done.

There seems to be a theme here.

I'm on match. About a year ago I met a man who was very handsome in his photos. I drove out to see him and pretty much needed a machete to hack my way from the car to his front door. I was afraid to get out of my car. (Note photo ... it was taken pretty close to where he lives.)

He was six years older than his photo. They had been very hard years, including the big hurricane ripping through his house, hurting him (as he protected his elderly mother) and wrecking his boats and cars. The insurance company screwed him over, paying a fraction of the true damage.

He and his property look like it all happened yesterday except that he has aged at least 10 years.

And - aside from beating hearts and opposable thumbs - we had nothing in common.

This is where that accursed Michigan politeness forced me to stay JUST AS LONG as was socially acceptable. I followed him on his tour of the vegetation and inwardly beat myself up for not wearing jeans, boots and DEET. Who knew???

He had bought steaks for dinner - fairly presumptuous, but generous. I believe I lied about having other plans and said well sure, we'd have to do this again. When hell freezes over.

Did he get a clue? No. He kept writing as if I cared. (I know how mean that sounds, but "polite" should have a recommended shelf life of two weeks or something.)

For a year I have heard almost daily about the weather and the vegetation and what he's repairing. It has been horrifically boring and excruciatingly irritating. But I thought to myself "this man has no one. I should be kind."

But then we all know I'm a heartless bitch who only cares about animals.

Well, then it got cold down here. Early in the week he wrote what a bunch of assholes those people who talk about global warming are. He laughed about the polar bears and made some insulting comment about the black guy "those fools" got into the white house.

And I wrote back "Do you realize you've been talking to a liberal Buddhist Obama supporter all this time?" Note to self - just start saying that up front.

I haven't heard from him since:-)

Let me say here and now that when I cast my vote for Obama, I knew there was no way he could turn this country around in a few short years. Too much damage has been done. I also knew less intelligent people would have unrealistic expectations. I just didn't realize the social ugliness would amplify to this degree.
 I finally met a fascinating guy this week - I mean really fascinating. He initiated communication. Sounds like a forensic psychologist who works with the police. He bared some of his soul and before writing back I checked his profile. His says Conservative. Mine clearly says Liberal.

I shared information and added "by the way - I'm a liberal Buddhist whose car was slathered in Obama bumper stickers pre-election.

That's the sound of crickets. Haven't heard back.

Talked to another friend today. She said "could that be the reason I get weird emails? Is it because my profile says liberal?!" And I said "yup."

I don't know whatever happened to respecting other peoples' differences. But I do know a friend is someone who makes you feel primary, not secondary - adored, not tolerated - better about yourself, not worse.

One of my last Republican friends jokes and spars while making it clear I'm someone who matters despite our differences. His take? "People are watching too much Fox or too much NBC."

I wrote back "I'm watching Celebrity Rehab because it makes me feel fortunate."

Thanksgiving, 2009; Lessons Learned. (Humor)

The Safe Place

Sunset from my bedroom window, January, 2010.

It’s about 65 degrees outside. The sun is shining, the palms are making swishy noises in the breeze and the squirrels are up in the trees chattering like apes. I am off a sleepless night after IMing my goose farmer friend. She is one of two friends on this planet I trust enough to tell anything.

I will start at the beginning. That's usually the best place.

I was with my singles group before New Year’s. I am lonely. I never meet anyone. And if I do, there is no click, no spark. Not since … well, he knows who he is and he will read this.

Someone was talking to a blonde member of my group that night. I was lonely in the crowd, trying to hide my despair by forcing myself to flit from person to person, working at being social and involved. It was a stretch.

I heard a voice high above me say “don’t you ever LAND? You are a social butterfly.” And I thought “well, I have one person fooled.” And I looked up from a geeky plaid elbow and I got that open-mouthed, OMIGOD HE’S SO CUTE ball of discomfort in the pit of my stomach. It doesn’t matter whether you’re 15 or 59, that feeling never changes.

To make a long story short - every remark was a direct hit, like it was scripted. Brilliant, writer, been here three years, dabbling in Buddhism … well, the writer thing concerned me because we are all weird as hell. And then came the name. “Randy.” The discomfort in my stomach became sick queasiness. The name always does that. I shrugged it off.

We exchanged cards and agreed we would both love to go out. I had company coming for five days, we would meet after my company left.

I emailed The Goose Lady later that night and said “and worst of all his name is Randy.” Because Randy is the one man on this planet who tore me up and made me question everything about myself. He nearly destroyed me. And I have trouble getting past it. The surgery is complete but the wounds have not healed fully.

I heard from New Randy the next day. No big deal, an excuse to get in touch right away. Which I love, which is so thoughtful, so NOT game playing. And the next day I get an email from the member of my group, the blonde he was talking to before we connected.

She has “Randy” in the subject line of the email. My heart stops.

She writes that she knows I was talking to him, but he had invited her to listen to guitar music somewhere and did I mind. I was instantly jealous and immediately ashamed of myself. I wrote back that he was a sweetheart and that she should go. That I had no hold on him but if/when he asked, I WOULD go out with him! What refreshing honesty, I was so proud of myself. Acting like a grown-up, dontcha know.

The morning my company left, I got a call from New Randy. We would be going out the next evening to a nice dinner. I was beyond excited. The date was awkward but fun, he spoke in multiple syllables (so refreshing) and the attraction in the parking lot afterwards was … wow.

I am ashamed to say, when I got home the first thing I did was go upstairs to my bedroom, slip into something comfortable and - yeah, google him. To my dismay, he has more google references than me! Then, on a whim, I decided to google myself. Which feels dirty and nasty somehow.

And what turns up? Me on the Yahoo “End Verbal Abuse board” from April 10, 2007. The night after Old Randy threw me out of his house lock stock and Shih Tzu. The night I was afraid he was going to hurt me. I had never seen him like that. It was one of the darkest 24 hour periods in my life and reading my posts - especially this one - brings it back.

http://health.dir.groups.yahoo.com/group/End_Verbal_Abuse/message/43934

So I think to myself “if New Randy reads this, he won’t be interested in me because I’m damaged.” Then I tell myself "who am I kidding - we're all damanged." And I am more than a little upset that part of being a writer is being an emotional exhibitionist. And I wonder if it serves any purpose beyond just making you look like a fool.

I wonder if there’s any way I can go back in there and delete those posts, but … well, everything happens for a reason I guess. Even stuff we feel stupid about.

And it turns out I needn’t have worried about New Randy because we are strictly buddy material. His demons are bigger than mine. In a shared space, we'd probably make a whole 'nother dimension explode.

That was weeks ago. I emailed New Randy yesterday because I needed to learn more about a specific type of writing. He recommended a book. I wrote the name on a sticky, put it in my jeans - and, naturally, changed jeans before I went to Barnes & Noble. Well, whatever, I found an alternate book, met a friend, drank the good Starbucks and came home.

I turned the light off around midnight. The dogs were curled up on the bed snug as a bug in a rug. It’s weird to need three quilts here, but it feels wonderful. And damned if I don’t pick up my Blackberry to see if I missed any emails.

And there in the subject line is “Randy.” My heart stopped. Only it wasn’t about NEW Randy.

“Hi there,

It matters not how I found you. What matters is what you shared almost 3 years ago about your experience with verbal abuse.

Well put my sister. I will consider your words every time I'm tempted to call. And the man you speak of is the man I've been in a relationship with for, well, I guess, more or less since you.

Thank you. It would seem that the Universe has intervened on my behalf. But, then again, it always does....

Kathy “

Shocked speechless, I forwarded her email to TGL, the one person who would understand my extreme emotions.  TGL IM’d within moments of my sending the response. She asked "did you notice he chose another woman who's as smart and sensitive as you?"

We IMd until 3:30 in the morning. By the end of it I was crying. For both of us.

She helped me sort out my pain. She is now caring for the mother who beat her as a child. We both agreed that somewhere somehow we want to be to blame for the shitty things the people we loved and trusted did to us. Because we’d rather believe it was something we did than believe they were ever that bad.

She thinks that’s weakness on our part. I don’t know. I think it may be extreme compassion.

We talked about when we were children. I don’t remember people because I was always painfully shy. She remembers watching them like a hawk because she was in constant danger of physical attack.

TGL is snowed in in her valley. Her life is sheer hell, from a dying mother and management of a farm with dogs and geese and ducks to her own poor health and what the cold weather is doing to her 20th century luxuries like mobility, heat, water and toilet. (All four have failed her and her mother in the past week. Her despair is palpable.)

We talked about feeling safe. I said “at least you know where you’ll be a year from now. I’ve started telling people I’m on vacation with my furniture because I never know when I'll run out of ways to pay for life here."

Where is the safe place? Chances are good we are either in that place where the big scary decisions sent us or that purgatory of not having the balls to leave something we KNOW is awful and face the unknown.

Sometimes when we let the world see our naked pain, we help other people.

TGL and I went to the darkest places in our souls until about 3:30 a.m. Then I turned on Celebrity Rehab so I could have one shot at feeling fortunate before I went to sleep. Yes God - Jumala - The Universe - I do thank you for my roof and my heat and my functioning toilets and healthy family and furry friends. Yeah, blessed. In a safe place right now and now is all there is.

The REAL safe place is that place in the soul that trusts a higher power or karma to prevent life from becoming unbearable. What is it they say in AA? Sometimes you have to Let Go and Let God.