The Therapy Journals of the Fat-Headed Klingon Woman

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

Notes From The Shower September 1, 2010

Hello all.  Just thought I’d give a little shout out to the rain shower happening outside my window right now.  It’s still badly needed.  But also, the title of this post refers to a couple of things I realized yesterday. 

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First of all, judging by the amount of hair in the drain of my shower after one of the crumb-crunchers gets out, one would be under the impression that I live in a house full of 80’s rock stars undergoing chemo!  I swear, these children are about to find themselves in the barber chair getting an Army draftee hairdo!!

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And second of all, to steal a line from the late, great Erma Bombeck:  just because there is thirty pounds of hair in the drain, there is no need to shampoo it!  What is so difficult for these children about placing a shampoo bottle a) upright and b) lid closed!?  Really? 

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Also, I just have to share this.  I had to go around smelling all manly yesterday because we were out of body wash and the only thing I could find was my son’s AXE body wash.  🙂  (It was so cute when I bought that stuff for him.  He was just in awe that he had his very own bath stuff just for boys!)  So I was worried that people at work were going to be asking “Do you smell that?  Who’s wearing men’s cologne?  Somebody got a secret around here?”  But no.  Not a mention.  Which is good, don’t get me wrong.  I’m as happy to get attention as the next person, but for the right reasons, like my beauty, brains, and talent, not for my manly smell. 

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And since this post is kind of water-themed, I will address an issue that arises from LACK of water and say that I believe my newest tree is dead.  I think it has fallen victim to the rotten weather we’ve had the last two months and is now nothing but a baked stick with broiled leaves standing in the middle of my yard.  It was a redbud, too.  (Oklahoma’s State Tree, by the way!) I love those- I’ve always wanted one, and my mother, when she decided to singlehandedly reforest an entire trailer park that was wiped out by a tornado, saved me one of the trees she got.  She planted the little guy in a place of honor right in the middle of my front yard, and now I think he is just dead, dead, dead.  Thanks, Weather!  Now is a fine time to be pouring down rain!

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I’ll tell you this much, though.  If he’s not dead, I’m going to dig him up, plant him in a big planter, nurse him back to health, and make a bonsai tree out of him.  I toyed with the idea of making the bonsai out of the willow tree that’s been growing there since Mom and the kids planted it when I was on my honeymoon.  Sort of a reshaping, reforming of the hopes and dreams I had for my marriage, kind of thing.  However, Daughter S. said she likes the tree where it is and wants me to leave it there, so Little Redbud gets to be a bonsai, if he lives. 

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I’m going to be posting some more poetry in a minute, and I only mention this because it sort of fits in with the water theme.  At least one piece does.  Metaphorically, some of the other pieces do as well, because they come from a time in my life when I was simply drowning in darkness, despair, struggle.  I’ll admit they are very dark works, but they represent my process of getting through that time.  If you read through all my poetry, you will see many poems about the actual experience of writing itself.  For me, writing was surviving.  Writing was the only way I could express all the pain, the only way to let it out and keep it from killing me.  But check out the poetry anyway, and let the overall theme of survival speak to you however it will.

Thanks for reading!

Until next time,

D.

(ETA:  The new poetry is now up.  11:00 a.m.)

 

Like a Proverbial Burr Under a Saddle… August 30, 2010

Hello all.  For the last few days, I have wanted to write an entry entitled “In the Dictionary Under ‘Galling’...”  But up until today I haven’t taken the time.  I’ve just been really aggravated lately.  You know the feeling, right?  Where it seems like everything that happens is specifically designed to raise your blood pressure a couple of notches? 

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Like the other day.  Somebody let it slip to me that somebody else has been running their mouth about me behind my back.  Which I know they always do, but for somebody who doesn’t have a creative or talented bone in their body to criticize me for what I write in MY OWN blog?  Whatev.  Don’t like it?  Feel free to go read something else.  See what I mean?  Galling.

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Also filed under galling:  realizing that every teacher I ever had in school whose style in the classroom was anything like the style I would later have- the kids shredded.  I remember them.  Pre-Algebra teachers?  Shredded.  Spanish teacher?  Shredded.  Librarian/Yearbook teacher?  Shredded.  In fact, I don’t remember a teacher who had a personality like mine (soft-hearted, soft-spoken, and loving, if I do say so myself) in the classroom above about 3rd grade.  After that, they were all ‘Rambo with Chalk.’  Why in the name of all that is sane and holy could I not have realized this before I got the bright idea of becoming a high school teacher?  And why can I not let go of feeling like I was totally screwed as a first-year teacher?  And is there any hope for my teaching career, short of my checking into a clinic and receiving a Classroom Bitch transfusion?  Because in a high school teacher…  soft-hearted, soft-spoken and loving translates into indulgent, gullible, and doomed.

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Want more galling?  Try this on.  Hearing that the person to whom I am still legally married and who supposedly still cares about me would not have accompanied me to my class reunion even if I had asked.  Or more accurately, was hoping I would not ask because he didn’t want to have to say no.  Not that anyone would have wanted him there or that any of us would have felt the slightest bit comfortable with him there, but he should still be willing to go with me if I were dumb enough to ask.  Petty and small of me, perhaps, but still… galling!

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Galling:  Wanting to tell somebody something and not having the guts, not being able to make a decision and stick with it and not second-guess it to death until you drive yourself and everyone else around you completely berserk, not having the self-control you desperately need to develop if you’re ever going to become a Person At Her Ideal Weight, knowing that nobody is ever going to invent self-folding laundry.

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So there is plenty more, but in the interest of not driving away my few surviving readers, I’ll skip it. (You:  clapping and cheering gratefully)  Instead I will let my poetry speak for me by posting some more of it in the comments section under the Poetry and Fiction tab at the top of the page.  Check it out.  And maybe I will be in a better mood by my next post!  Thanks for sticking through it all with me!

Until next time,

D.

 

 
The Therapy Journals of the Fat-Headed Klingon Woman

One woman's journey to becoming Her True Self

Shawn L. Bird

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