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12:12 p.m. - 2012-05-11
Battling Back With Flowers and Fish

YAY! The lawn kids are here! If the 'kids' thing sounds flippant it's only because anyone under age 35 or so is a 'kid' to me. Even cops and nurses. So while these young men are professionals, heck one of the guys is married and has a daughter, and they are legal adults- to me they are kids. I'm delighted they're here too; it'll be a lovely surprise for Mick. I wasn't expecting the lawn kids until Wednesday (which is their usual day on our bi-weekly schedule), but the recent rain sent the grass sky-high and mowing is done at their discretion. Now the place will be fantastically tidy for the weekend. Mick swore he can relax if the yard is shaggy because he knows it'll get done by the landscaping service eventually, but his coming home to a neatly clipped lawn will be nice for him.

Heh, this'll show you where I'm at these days. I have no make-up on, my hair is scraped back in an Alice band and my hoodie is clean but extremely wrinkled from sitting around in Laundry Mountain downstairs and I still went out to greet the lawn kinds and give them a couple of bottles of sweet tea. Even as recently as a few years ago I would have gone nuts and run to futz with my hair and make up my face and changed into a more presentable shirt before going outside. Not because I wanted to be thought beautiful by the lawn kids, but because I was too uptight about my appearance to do otherwise. It was part and parcel of my lousy self-worth. I was so ashamed I existed at all that I was compelled to be as perfect as possible at all times just so maybe I'd hang onto the right to be here. One burnt meal, being late for an appointment even by 2 minutes, a wrinkly shirt, and I was doomed. I'd failed. There'd be a lightning bolt with my name on it showing up momentarily. And even if I wasn't vaporized by cosmic reprisal you can be certain the abuse I'd heap upon myself would be so scathing, so acidic, so brutal I'd be a puking mess by lunchtime. I'd barf and cry and then spend the rest of the day in an agony of frantic atonement. Cleaning, baking, anything I could think of to 'pay' for my horrible failure.

I'm not kidding. It used to be that bad with me. My inner dialog was so hateful and harsh that the Westboro Baptists would be angels of kind mercy by comparison. The really sad part was this was my normal. I didn't even know what I was doing to myself, I never saw how bad it was until I stopped. Lord knows I'm still not best pals with myself, most of the time I still feel like a fuck-up and a failure but I have some clearer perspective about it. At least these days I can see that I'm pretty good at some things, that Mick isn't a deluded fool for loving me, and I can stop with the hateful stuff when I start to spin that way.

Though I will admit to doing something so exquisitely stupid yesterday I'm still reeling. I found my younger sister on FB and sent her an olive branch. I don't know why. All I do know is I am regretting it. Big time. Got my fingers crossed she ignores it. I don't want to go backward.

Where do you think I learned to hate myself so much in the first place? My family. It was their words I played in my head. They dinned and echoed so loudly that I kept on hearing and repeating them long after the mother and sisters and their mockery were gone from my life. They never 'got' me and never, ever let me forget just how awful and embarrassing I was to have around. Why on Earth would I want to sign up for that shit again? A self-destructive impulse brought on by a momentary lapse in judgment and a pinch of loneliness. But I need to get involved with my family again like I need colon cancer. Both are horrifically painful and will ultimately kill me dead. So fingers crossed, everyone, that my sister is just as unwilling to say anything to LA the Worst Thing Ever as I am unwilling to be subjected to that shit again.

Wow, I've been a bundle of happy, happy, happy today, eh?

Feh, dark moods happen. Holidays tend to bring out the worst in a lot of people, this includes me. By Monday I'll be past this weird ugly patch and be my more usual snarky dippy self again. In the meantime I think I'll go paint. I'm currently working on florals and fish. Not together in the same painting, of course. But I definitely think busting out my brightest pigments and putting brush to canvas is a very good idea. Painting a new flower and maybe some more of those goofy cartoonish smiling fishies would be excellent therapy and antidote to the blahs.

Picasso not Van Gogh, ~LA

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