I don’t have a lot of fond childhood memories of my family.  Friends, sure.  School, yes.  Summer time, definitely.  Just not many warm, fuzzy, feel-good family memories.  My parents weren’t warm, fuzzy, feel-good people.  It wasn’t an awful childhood, but it left a lot to be desired.

The occasional happy childhood memory makes me smile.  It also makes me sad.  I wish there had been more of those good memories, more positive moments to hang on to when being an adult feels like too much work.  Unfortunately, the bad overshadows the good most of the time.  But, you grow up and you move on and you don’t worry about it too much.  It is what it is.  I envy people whose memories of childhood are filled with love and comfort.  That’s a wonderful thing, the kind of security that comes from getting a good start in the world.

I was thinking today about how we used to go to my grandmother’s house for Sunday dinner.  That was not a warm, fuzzy, feel-good experience.  More like peace talks between enemy nations that always ended in a shaky stand-off until the next Sunday.  The trip to grandma’s set the tone for the evening-- my brother and me in the back seat, fighting; my parents in the front seat, fighting.  Pretty family picture. 

On the way home, though, it was different.  Dark, quiet, miles of highway and nothing to do but curl up and go to sleep.  I can remember pulling into our driveway some Sunday nights and faking being asleep so I wouldn’t have to get out and walk.  More often than not, I’d get a nudge and a terse order to get in the house and go to bed if I was so tired.  But once in awhile, my pretend sleeping was convincing enough that I was left alone and my father carried me in the house. 

It’s really not much of a memory-- my father opening the car door and shifting my not-so-sleeping body into his arms and carrying me to my bedroom.  Hardly something I should remember with such joy.  But it was nice, those few moments between the car and my bed when I didn’t have to do anything for myself.  Nice not having to worry about putting one foot in front of the other.  Nice to be carried, though I was capable of walking.  Nice to be taken care of.

I guess I’m thinking about that memory because I’ve been feeling so rundown the past few days and I wouldn’t mind letting someone else take care of me.  It would be nice to be carried, just for a little while.  (I mean that figuratively, of course.  I wouldn’t want anyone to throw their back out.)

Sometimes being sick is a temporary break from the world, a time to be alone and slow down and recharge.  And sometimes it’s just a reminder that I’m an adult and I have to take care of myself.

Posted by Kristina in Essays in Life at 06:35 PM Permalink

The world as we know it is changed forever.  The earth is tilted on its axis.  Hell is surely freezing over.  I am using sick leave because I am unwell.  Alert the media.  Oh, never mind, they’re busy analyzing the social and moral ramifications of Janet’s nipple exposure in a post-Cold War society.

I’m taking a little sick leave break to get over whatever is making me feel like a kitten in a clothes dryer (there’s a visual, huh?).  I’m sleeping like eighteen hours a day, but it’s all in ninety minute increments, it seems.  I can’t do the math on that because I’m too tired, but basically I’m not sleeping well and it’s making me feel worse. 

I’m a big believer in sleep as a restorative.  Keep the drugs and give me ten solid hours of sleepy time and I usually feel better.  I just can’t seem to get the rest I need thanks to my insomnia (I solve all the problems of the world while tossing and turning in my flannel sheets), the dog barking (at cars, other dogs, the wind, the voices in his furry little head) and lovely, wonderful people (some of whom are truly lovely and wonderful, they just have bad timing) who start calling me at nine in the morning and don’t stop calling until sometime in the middle of the night.  It’s so nice to be popular.

Part of my problem is a lifelong illness for which I need to find a cure.  I need to learn to say “no.” “No” to doing things I don’t have time and energy to do; “no” to people who will take everything I’ve got and leave me running on empty; “no” to anything that isn’t going to be good and positive for me.  Maybe that’s selfish, maybe it’s just self-preservation.  Elton had it wrong-- I can say “sorry” from now until forever, my problem is saying “no.” It can be, and has been, exhausting.  Self-inflicted, but still exhausting. 

Until I figure out how to say “no” in other areas of my life, I’m going to say “no” to work tomorrow.  It’s a start.

Posted by Kristina in Musings in Life at 10:34 PM Permalink

Verbal communication is not my strong suit.  I’m sure that’s because, well, I’m a writer.  Duh.  I could write a ten thousand word essay on the extremely deep subject of my complicated emotions, but if forced to verbalize my feelings, I am likely to mumble, “I’m just upset.” Or, better yet, I’ll ignore the question and pretend nothing is wrong.  That works, right? 

I am not anti-social, I am not lacking in self-esteem.  I can sustain a phone conversation until I’m hoarse, so it’s not like I don’t like to talk, but confrontation of any kind has always been difficult for me.  I’m sure that stems from some deep rooted childhood issues and a fear of abandonment.  Go along to get along.  To which the obvious response is: get over it.  The thing is, it’s not a game I’m playing; it’s not some passive-aggressive attempt to get what I want.  It goes against my nature to tell someone they’ve made me angry or hurt my feelings. 

It’s taken me most of my life to figure out that confrontation isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  I’ve lost friends because I didn’t want a confrontation but couldn’t deal with the situation any more.  Of course, I’ve lost friends as the result of confrontations, as well.  Still, I’m learning that silence is never the answer if it’s something or someone I care about.  I think, I hope, I have gotten better about expressing myself.  I’m working on it. 

I also realize my opinions can be taken as confrontational whether I intend them that way or not.  I know some of my beliefs are unusual, and I know that can be threatening.  I also know that if I say or write something, I have to be willing to defend it.  That is not always easy, especially on days when I feel like I’m the freak in the crowd.  It’s not hard being me, but sometimes it’s hard to explain who I am.  I’m still figuring that out for myself.

I’d rather make love than war, but if a brawl is inevitable, I’ll put on the gloves and try to fight fair.  Just remember I have a glass jaw, okay?

Posted by Kristina in Life at 11:21 PM Permalink

There are days when I write here with the knowledge that other people are reading.  So, I strive to write something interesting or informative or just funny.  There are days when I need to rant about something and I know I have an audience-- at least a small audience-- who will appreciate my rants.  There are days when I simply need to write and my creative efforts here will eventually be spun into something else, somewhere else.

Then there are days when I’m writing entirely for myself, which is today.  So, for the sake of sparing everyone else my ramblings, I’m putting my thoughts down below.  It really isn’t of any interest to anyone but me, so feel free to skip over to some other more entertaining web page today.  You won’t be missing much.

Posted by Kristina in Essays in Life at 05:24 PM Permalink

I am not going anywhere this weekend.  I will not venture beyond my front door except to retrieve a) my newspaper or b) my barking, muddy dog.  I will answer the phone if and when I feel like it; I will check e-mail at my whim and answer it at my leisure.  I am in homebody mode and intend to remain here until Monday morning.

It is 2 o’clock in the afternoon and I am still in my pajamas.  I did not even get out of bed until 12:30.  There is chili cooking in the crockpot, brownie ingredients in the pantry, wine in the fridge, a stack of DVDs by the television, half-started books all over the house and a manuscript long overdue to be edited.  I am going to do a little housecleaning when I finish this and then I am going to spend the rest of the weekend doing exactly as I please. 

I love my life.

Posted by Kristina in Life at 01:13 PM Permalink