care

i'm sure we've all heard the old adage that in order for someone else to truly love you, you have to love yourself. it always sounded like a bunch of horseshit until i realized the truth in that statement.

tonight i had the displeasure of going through what i like to call a mini-breakdown. it included panic, fear, loathing, hate, loneliness, fatigue, anger and a whole bunch of hurt and self doubt. this happens to me when i least expect it which makes it hurt all the more. i mean, really, iris....don't you know yourself well enough to know the warning signs? apparently not.

i've had a rough couple of weeks. between opportunities at work literally knocking down my door (which is a great thing but scary) to my kidlets being away from me pre-christmas to them being home with me post-christmas to being alone with my thoughts during those two weeks, well, i've been living in my head more than usual. this, if you know me at all, is not a positive thing. you see, the voices that are in my head are not particularly nice to me. granted, they've improved drastically but still, they don't sound great. i've said many times that although i want them to sound like barry white and woo me into a seductive trance, wafting at me and making me love every inch of my beautiful soul, it doesn't happen. the voice sounds more like courtney love after a bender...or maybe before a bender. either way it's a gruff, smoky, ugly bitch of a voice that scream obscenities at me and plays really bad grunge music which smearing lipstick all over her bruised face. it aint pretty.

so here i am. alone in my big house. it doesn't feel like a home right now. what makes it a home is my family. and right now they are 1/2 a mile away at dickhole's house, likely asleep and happy in their beds which leaves me with a real joy. if they're happy then that's all that matters to me. and the other part of my life that feels like home was off fixing a car somewhere for a friend. and here i sit. desperate to figure out how to care for myself. if i'm worth caring for. if he understands just how much care i need sometimes. if i should even ask for such care from someone other than myself?

unfortunately the answer is far too clear when it comes to my sweet westley. he isn't here. he's just not here. and i'm not sure he can be here the way that i crave. for a warm body next to me to lull to sleep. for a kind word or a sweet glance when i'm on the verge of tears. for a conversation that will get me out of my head and back to a place where i can listen to my real voice, not the ugly post grunge 40something in my head. she's ugly and i don't like how she treats me.

instead i told him. i told him how disappointed and hurt and angry i am that i'm never at the top of his to do list. i suggested we take a break and see where things unfold. see where i fit into his world. where i fit into my own. and you know what...i deserve more. i deserve to be the center of my life. i deserve to be the center of my own fucking life and i deserve companionship and love and support. but who am i to look for it in someone else, through someone else? who am i to demand such a powerful love when i can't love myself in that same way? i mean really...what the fuck! i know it's not in someone else, even the love that he give and that has become a part of me. i have it within me. yes, i still see there being a real problem when it comes to feeling like i'm part of his everyday but it's my problem, not his.

when push comes to shove, i have it deep within me. under the ugly courtney love voice is a melodic, powerful voice that resonates and pushes her out. it's loud, it's fucking dial goes way past eleven and although i can't put a name to the voice, i know her. she tells me that i'm loved and that i contain a multitude. that i'm fine just as i am and that all of this, all of this that we do everyday to stay above water, is for a great reason. a greater reason than i will ever understand and that i need to trust the process, not just the immediate result. but fuck, it's so hard sometimes. sometimes i just have to have my mini-breakdown and say "i want the entire story, straight up, in front of me for me to control and know and see and feel and touch and understand".

so tonight i'm not dulling the pain or the voices with a pint of mint chocolate chip...although a swiss cake roll would be my fucking bitch if i weren't already in my jammies!!! instead i'm writing about how i feel. i'm crying, i'm weeping, i'm beating my fist into my pillow and i'm feeling all of it. i'm writing about being hurt and feeling ignored. by him and by myself. enough already. i won't be ignored, i won't be a burden, i refuse to be a martyr and i refuse to be anything less than iris.

for whatever reason, i want to run. i want to run and feel it and ache and become breathless and feel it and feel it and feel it. all of it. i think it's time i start caring. i want to care.

from salmon to mint chocolate chip....

for dinner, this evening, i had a maple glazed salmon over kale that had been cooked with pinenuts and garlic. it was amazing. during the dinner i had three glasses of "house" merlot which was anything but house. it was steele merlot and it was fucking good. at the end of the night i wasn't sure how i would get home. i couldn't help but hold onto my dinner date for dear life, not wanting to let go of his hug because it felt like a person. like a companion. was i too drunk to drive? was i still hungry? was i full? was i fucked?

all great questions and i'm now in a semi-sober position in which to respond. before i forget...this is the first time i've ever blogged while intoxicated. ever. fer realz. i've never made a decision to blog after having a few beverages but tonight seems especially fitting. i feel like all my thoughts and emotions have risen to the surface like the fat off of the gravy at thanksgiving dinner. separated, coagulated and divided in a real way...not just in my way.

so here i sit. buzzed. okay, nevermind. inebriated. not buzzed. buzzed is an understatement. and on top of it all, i have a ton on my mind. from new frontiers and opportunities at work to my physical well being to the man i thought i would love forever, well, nothing seems real anymore. i went to dinner tonight with a great friend, a good friend, a male friend that i love and respect. there's no sexual tension. it's just us being us and i love having a male friend again that can relate to me, understand me, laugh at me and with me. and as we were talking, as we are discussing what we want out of life, out of our "mates, i discovered something real and yet highly uncomfortable.

i have a crazy fucking idea of what i want!!! i want someone with whom to spend my life, to share my joy with. to sit and watch a goofy fucking will farrell movie, someone to make me a romantic dinner, someone to pull my hair and fuck me like they stole me, someone to help fold laundry, someone to cook with, someone to love and someone to love me. isn't that what we all want? the ultimate partner that will provide all the parts of us with all the parts we want? i mean really. who has that?

i don't. i have a wonderful man in justin, who loves me and treats me as if i'm the only woman in the world, but only when he can. otherwise i'm on my own. what does that mean? i'm on my own? i watch stupid movies alone, i eat dinner alone, i fold laundry alone. and i'm not happy. i'm fine with being independent but being lonely, being lonely when it hurts....i'm not happy.

what i've come to realize is that if i'm unhappy there are a few things that can happen. 1. i can remain unhappy. 2. i can do something to change it.

we all know i'm all too familiar with option #1 and it is no longer an option. NO LONGER AN OPTION.

option #2, however, is something i'm considering...and trying to figure out. what can i do to change it? do i move forward with this wonderful man yet stand my ground and demand more time, more attention, more of what i need to thrive? or is it the opposite. do i demand that i have more time to myself, more attention for myself, more time to figure out what i really need to thrive as an individual.

what a strange and empowering question. one that is muffled by a pint of mint chocolate chip followed by a pint of orange swirl sherbert. between the 2 pints of ice cream, the glazed salmon and the tears, hopefully there will be a new day tomorrow that will continue to open me, enrich me and lead me to an answer. what do i really want and what do i really need. fuck if i know!!!

2012 begins...

ah yes. we meet again my dear blog. i've been struggling for months trying to write. not figuring out what to write but how to write it. i suppose i could call it writers block...if i considered myself a writer. but i don't so i'm referring to it as "expressive" block. after all, that's the part that has had me stumped and without words for a while. my expressiveness has nowhere to go and even if it did, has lost it's map.

instead i'm sitting down tonight, on this second day of 2012, and just gonna let it go. like the good old days, for those folks who have read my entire blog. i have been know to sit down from time to time and just let it all go. all the fucks, all the fears, all the loathing and hate and love and sin and life just pours out of me and onto my little virtual paper. and it feels so cleansing when i'm able to be that in touch with myself.

you see, the turning of another year has left me stumped. where am i in my life? who is that woman in the mirror that i see everyday? where is she going in such a rush? why can't she eat just one cookie? so many questions and it all seems like a blur.

here goes nothing: i had no job, no prospects, no direction. i wanted a home to call my own and nothing else. i waited and waited and waited some more for the house, then i got it, then i started to fix it, and paint it, and fix it some more, and paint it some more and then i moved in, and then it all fell quiet for a short while. then i decided it was time to seek out what i needed next. i got a job. a good job. a part time job in a contemporary art museum, i worked, nights, weekends, days, whenever and wherever they needed me. and they liked me. they even promoted me and will likely be doing it again soon. i had a financial awakening and gave my mother all of my bills, past, present, future and asked for her help. she helped and has been pivotal in my spending habits being scaled back. i'm more comfortable, happier, more free financially than in my entire adult life. it fucking kicks ass knowing i'm going to be alright. i started working more. a bunch more. the kids finished school and the summer began. one week with me, one week with sperm donor and it was exhausting, frustrating and altogether uncomfortable. until finally it was comfortable. i've given up on trying to control what happens when they are with him. only focusing on the time i have with them. again, such relief from that stress i can't express it. my sweet westley and i celebrated 2 years since we indulged in that wonderful pulled pork sammich lunch in july. things are still magical but more complicated. real life romance is difficult to protect and maintain. but i love him and i still get those silly butterflies when he kisses me just so. kids went back to school in the fall, i've been running from here to there to here and then back to there. work. school. activities. laundry...oh, the fucking laundry. i'm over it. i've decided that hell is just a big laundromat with piles and piles of dirty laundry that never gets any smaller. halloween, thanksgiving, christmas holidays and now a new year begins - and there's still a shit-ton of laundry to do - but i digress.

somewhere in the middle of it all, i've maintained my sanity (partially), i've continued to be medicated for my depression and anxiety but you know what, i don't feel nearly as anxious, or as frequently uncomfortable. i'm still in love and loved, i struggle with relationships and feeling accepted but it's starting to feel normal, the eating has continued but becomes less and less a part of my daily life. granted, i'm no supermodel but i'm coming to terms with the fact that it will take time. lots and lots of time. it took me 15 years to put it on.....it's not coming off in 1 year. i've rekindled and maintained some amazing friendships, i've watched as my children have grown, i've watched as i've grown, i'm working, i have some incredible opportunities on these spinning plates and i'm in a place in my life where things are finally beginning to gel a little. there's still lots of cracks and wiggles and weirdness but that's just fucking life. no way around it. if you want the great stuff, the a-ha moments in life, you have to come to terms with all the other things that go along with it. the ugliness, the selfishness, the criticism, the self doubt, the anger, the resentment but what you end up getting, or at least what i've received this year, is enlightenment, love, understanding, beauty, humor, forgiveness and what it means to be alive. truly alive and owning your energy, your life, yourself.

my new years resolution: continue to live. one fucking day at a time. so far, it's turning out to be a beautiful ride and one that was well worth the wait!

the fixer

anytime i use the term "fixer" when describing someone i generally have the image of mr. wolf in pulp fiction. a tarantino staple of the film. a man who gets called in to fix other people's problem. in the case of pulp fiction, he is called in to fix vincent's brain splattering fuckup in the backseat of a car. slowly, calmly, mr. wolf appears and directs, orders, fixes the situation.

now, this may seem like a real hipster reference for me, and we all know i'm nowhere near being labeled as a hipster, but it's just the example that's on my mind. and just so i clear something up from the get go here, i'm not a catagorizing sort. i hate to be put in a box and doubt anyone else likes a label attached to them either. it's just that there's a pattern. a real pattern for me and my relationships with "fixers".

i was at a drinks/dinner function with folks from work the other night. a lot of fun. there's one colleague in particular who i find myself most comfortable and most engaged. it's a man, no real surprise there, and i appreciate and love having men as friends. always have and now is no different. we were talking on a deeper level than just "shop talk" and in the course of our conversation it hit me. i'm attracted to people who are fixers!

when i say attracted, don't misinterpret. i'm not attracted to him in a romantic sense. he's attractive, yes. he's bright, funny, kind, easy conversation,etc. but just as friends. with that disclaimer out of the way....he makes me think outside the box. really interesting guy. so here we are talking and comparing life experiences and the way we look at things in general. we have similar philosophies and ideals. we have similar approaches to problem solving and then it hit me. he's a fixer. justin is a fixer. i'm in essence deep down a fixer too.

in usual iris style, i started dissecting my past and present only to find that i've always been drawn to fixers. certainly this love i have with ownsastud is rooted in that quality to come in and overhaul. to start over. start fresh. fix the broken parts. this had me thinking: am i attracted to "fixers" because i am one myself? is it just that birds of a feather flock together or is it something deeper?

so this all started friday evening and here i was, sunday morning, still wrestling with this fixer realization. and when i say wrestling, i mean really losing sleep over the whole fucking lot. i wasn't feeling like myself. a pissy version of myself. so justin comes over, we go out to have breakfast and it happened again. that collision of conversation that we so often share and it hit me. right there in the middle of eggs at the suburban village inn on a sunday morning. i am desperate to be fixed. i want my flaws, my problems, my life, my shortcomings to be fixed by someone, anyone, anything. that's what i've always wanted. to be fixed. to have a fatal flaw corrected. to just be someone else. and i've been looking for it in other people for as long as i can remember. wow. pick me up off the fucking floor with this epiphany!

no wonder i haven't been able to give up using food to cope. it's my fixer. it's my fixative. it reinforces just how much i don't accept the core of who i am. with all the fat layers over it, nobody can see what i see. nobody can get to what i can get to. nope. nobody can get deep down into me to see the ugliness. where the hell did this fear of self come from? when did it start and how do i get it to stop? when will i stop trying to fix what is not broken?

those are all questions i can't answer right now. perhaps i never will answer them and frankly, i don't know that they need an answer. just acceptance. i'm not broken and i don't need anyone or anything to fix me and i know that. my logical self knows this as fact but emotionally, deep down, i still see myself as broken.

instead of seeking those that fix, i'm going to take some time to myself. i'm purging my brain, once again, of the negative feelings and the way i see myself. instead i'm trying on a different pair of glasses and looking hard, really really hard, for what other see in me. if you see me walking around squinting and complaining that everything looks blurry, you'll know that i'm still working hard at trying to find myself. just hope it doesn't turn into a search for waldo. i don't look good in stripes.

what i miss about 100lbs.

there's a saying that goes something like this...that the past is always sweeter in your memory than it was in reality. i have to say, i think that's a general truth. past lovers who you have lost but didn't want to lose always seem more amazing in your memory than in the reality of that moment. if it's a happy "past" experience, we tend to dwell on the positive. same thing can be said for a negative memory. a trauma. a time we would like to forget yet it haunts us with it's reckless negativity. things are never what we imagine. good or bad. we don't have accurate raw memories. it just doesn't happen.

i've noticed lately that many of my stories of the past begin with "but you have to understand, i was skinny back then". or "back in the day" before telling a sexually explicit tale of indiscretion. as if being skinny makes it justifiable or more acceptable that i won a wet t-shirt contest that helped pay my rent in college. yes, true story. somehow though, i feel like i have to set up the story so people understand that i wasn't in a wet t-shirt contest while weighing 222lbs.

now, if you didn't pick up on that number then you need to look again. yes, i'm admitting my weight. here, on the world wide whack, for everyone to see. the enormity of my weight current day is around 222lbs. and i own it. i'm not afraid of the number. instead i'm still astounded by it. this number i have in my head and the number i see on the scale are so largely out of proportion to each other that it seems insurmountable sometimes. it's easier to think in past terms of a skinny version of myself. one that i remember but that i question in my minds' depiction. was it really all "that"?

i began wondering, what did it feel like to be 125? how did it feel to live in that skin compared to this one? granted, it's 100lbs. different but what did that feel like deep down as well as on the surface? what do i miss about that triple digit difference?

what i miss about 100lbs. less of iris!

- small bras!!! or at least considerably smaller. i had a breast reduction and at 125lbs.with the new rack complete, i was a nice round firm 34C. i now ring in at a 40G. i miss those more manageable tits. they were nice.

- a waist line. oh, how i miss that part of my figure. not that i was ever one to have a total six pack abtastic crunchorific mid section but fuck, i always had a small waist and a fairly flat stomach.

- seeing my toes. i could easily look down and see my toes. i miss being able to do that.

- trimming. yes, i said trimming. and no, i don't mean those toenails i could easily see. i'm talking about the female trimming. i could easily shave my legs and see exactly what needed to be trimmed in other regions. now it's just hit or miss. my girlscaping was meticulous. now it looks more like a drunken edward scissorhands got a hold of my nether region!

- energy. i had so much more energy. the stairs were no problem, early mornings were easy. things just moved more smoothly and easily with the additional energy...although i don't think being in my 20's hurt either.

-clothes. i looked forward to buying cute outfits. it was nice to wear something with 8 in it that didn't include a 1 or an X in front of it. 

- positive frame of mind. exercise was a daily occurrence, not just something i would try a couple times a month and end up breathless and feeling desperate. nope. i could run 5 miles a day and i did and i liked it. so good for my head.

- thongs. this one might come as a surprise. some women loath butt floss but i always liked it. perhaps it just made me feel sexy but i loved the feel of not really having on underwear but still being comfortable that if i were pulled from a car with the jaws of life that my mother would be able to hold her head high at the country club.

what surprises me about this list, and i'm sure there are plenty of other things i miss but right now can't think of them, is nowhere in these statements is there any missing "happiness". being thin didn't make me happy. shit, i could have been my optimal weight, perfect bmi, looked like fuckin brooke burke and i still wouldn't have been happy in my life. my life wasn't happy. it was just thin.

the things i don't miss about being 125lbs. was the constant tracking of food, to the point of obsession. i don't miss the feeling of guilt every time i took an extra bite here or there. i don't miss the feeling of desperation to find happiness and true acceptance. i don't miss the feeling of an empty life.

so although the 100 extra pounds weighs heavily on me, both physically and emotionally, it is just 100lbs. it is not the end of the world. it is not the end of my life. it is not the end of happiness. it's the end of an old sorry story and the beginning of my new life. my new happiness. now is the time to start focusing on losing the weight. not all of it. maybe just 5lbs. to start. maybe 10 and if that feels good maybe 20. i don't have to run 5 miles a day. maybe just walk 5 minutes. maybe, just maybe, slow and steady will win this race. 

whatever happens i'm happy saying that i am 222lbs., every damn ounce of it, and no matter what i weigh, life isn't waiting to begin. i've taken it by the balls and am riding the hell out of it. all 222lbs. of it. and fyi...i could still win the hell out of a wet t-shirt contest. the tits are still pretty fucking spectacular!

who's on first?

it's a shame my kids don't understand abbot and costello. they also don't understand when i come in the front door and yell "loooooocy, i'm hooooooome!" suppose it would help if i exposed them to such comic gems but i do feel some satisfaction knowing that they are well versed in "what's up doc" and "acme" gadgets.

back to "who's on first".... who IS on first? more so, who IS out there looking at this blog. it got me thinking, and questioning my ego and so non-egocentric self. who reads this dribble?

so if you're out there and you take the time to come by here and check out my dribble, let me know. post a comment and say "here". i'm on first! i realize it may take some of the anonymity away, as well as the mystery, but honestly it's driving me batty thinking of who could possibly be reading this shit. suppose that's the price i pay for putting out for anyone to see but hey, we all know i like to live on the edge. won't you join me :)

home

I’m addicted to a little something called Pinterest. A website committed to my addiction to surfing and turfing the interwebs for things that I covet. You know. Decorating ideas, shoe addictions, words of wisdom, personal style. Time and time again there are “sayings” about home…it’s the heart, it’s where your mom is, it’s where love resides, it’s where we grow, etc. etc. etc.

Lately that idea of “home” has been rooting around in my brain and in my heart. I have a dear friend who is torn because she doesn’t have a house to call her own, with walls to paint and rooms to decorate. She struggles with the idea of being temporary and I feel for her. I really do understand, after living in an apartment for a year, just how hard it can be to raise a family, put down roots, when you feel you have no place to call your own. A home is an important part of who we are as families but also as individuals. We need to feel that we have a “home”, a safe place where we can kick off our shoes and just *be.

As I struggle and overcome the need to make my house a home, I find that it has nothing to do with how shiny my floors get. It has nothing to do with how I manicure my lawn. Granted, I doubt that I would feel as secure if my situation were still temporary in relation to my housing. I’m fortunate and grateful beyond recognition for this piece of homestead with my name on it. But what does define a home? Is it where you live, is it who you live with or is it about *how you live your life?

I’ve recently been doing a lot of reconnecting with people that generate a great deal of positive energy. I know, I know. Bust out the birks and the incense but I believe fully in the power of energy. Surrounding myself with negative people and places has done nothing good for me. Yet when I choose to live in a positive frame of mind, with other like minded folks, my life becomes full of good things. These friends of mine, both old and new, have an amazing way of looking at life. We all struggle to define who we are while staying open to the possibilities that wait for us. Some of them are deeply spiritual, there are a few Jesus freaks in the bunch, a few Buddhist, some folks that just feel the energy and move with it. But the running vein that connects us is a feeling of acceptance…and acceptance of each other while we try to accept ourselves. We are all at difference points in the process. Some of us just beginning which is where I feel I fit.

But here’s the amazing thing. When I surround myself with these folks, with these soul sisters and brothers of mine, with this new found yet old family, they accept me for me and even more importantly, I begin to accept myself. It’s cleansing, it’s powerful, it’s liberating and fulfilling. I feel like I’m home. I’m home with my tribe. I’m home without having walls and a roof. I’m out there, in the open air of the evening and I’m home.

I’m especially reminded of my real home today when I feel the pressure to be another PTA mom. When I feel looked down upon because I chose to leave a marriage that was a sham in what can only be describe as a cookie cutter community of married parents. When I feel like I don’t fit because I’m just not like the other girls. And yet I’ve never felt more accepted and loved in all my life. I’m not like the other girls…it’s true. And I love it and I’m thankful that other people do too.

This is my home. Right where I am.