I broke the cake

I’m sure all the home bakers have seen this:

image

Well, I’ve done that. Today, even though it’s Lent, I may have surpassed this. I added 8oz of cream cheese, with the number of called for eggs, and replaced the milk with cream. The recipe didn’t call for oil/butter, which I didn’t include. The batter is fudge.

image

I’m sure it tastes bomb. Oh, I dusted the bottom with cocoa powder after gooping it with vegetable solids. I call it veggie lard.

Coiled

 

rattlesnake
rattlesnake

I went hiking this past weekend for 2 hours (hiked 4 miles). I like to hike the hard way in and the easy way out, that way I get my exercise in, my rest period with a snack, and some creating (i.e. photography, drawing, thinking), and lastly my cool-down period. On the way back to the parking lot along the deteriorating fire-road, just past the ruins of the Keller cabin, the wind died down. The woodpeckers stopped jostling their brains. I stopped and then I heard it, the rustling of the leaves like a ball was rolling in the brush. I looked closely, and saw this guy ^ gliding on by. He/She’s a rattlesnake, about 3 feet long but not very thick, and the rattler didn’t look very well formed.

The imagery and experience of watching a snake in the grass seems to be a good metaphor of how the month of August has been for me: I was on a monastic visit and I don’t know what to make of my experience; my Spiritual Director quit; gossip at work encouraging/pressuring me to date a male colleague; slanderous gossip at work on a different matter which is abhorrent in nature, & more. As it is late in the month, I’m getting to the point of just watching the snake in the grass. I take a step closer because I’m curious, but I use my zoom lens to get a better look. I stand around to make sure it goes into it’s hole in the ground, and I go on my way. I’m just watching all this “danger” come at me and I’m TRYING to let it pass.

My thoughts since learning of the slanderous gossip at work are as follow:

  • if you have the luxury of enough time to conjure such abysmal stories about me, perhaps you need more clients.
  • I only speak negatively of the people who’ve done me wrong (i.e. my direct supervisor calling me a lesbian).
  • I’ve been honest about my family, why make up more horrific stories – the truth isn’t enough? (verbal & physical abuse)
  • Do you actually desire that kind of trauma to be upon me?
  • Is this a reaction to the fact that I’ve made statements that I’m Catholic and therefore will not have strange unmarried men spend the night in my apartment?
  • Is this a reaction to the fact I’ve stated numerous times that I do not date people at work?
  • Is this a reaction to the fact I’ve stated “I’m Catholic”?
  • Driving into work today, I’m was still furious. I frequently talk to myself in the car at times like this. I explained to myself that my life does not exist to please you, to appease you. I am not standoffish about sex, but I will not engage in sex outside of marriage, I will not masturbate, I will not procure abortions or contracept. Not because I’m afraid of sex, but that these are the teachings of the Catholic Church. If I did not want to have to follow these teachings, I’d go find a religion that does fit my thoughts. For example, if I thought children should not be baptized prior to the age of reason, I’d be a Baptist, if I thought modernity were completely of the Devil, I’d be Mennonite. However, these are man-made constructs. I’m Catholic because that is the Church Christ established through Simon-called-Peter/Cephas. If I were to run around to find a religion that fit me, that wouldn’t be Faith, it’d be Pride. I’m Catholic, I follow what Mother Church teaches since She can only speak the truth of God. I don’t attend the Church of You wherein there’s practices of masturbation, abortion, contraception, fornication, emotional extra-marital affairs, loose associations, and Soul-selling for a few moments pleasure: Let’s see, maybe 20 minutes of sex in exchange for eternity in Hell, or I can forego sex outside of marriage between the ages of 13 to 30ish, and have better hopes of going to Heaven. I submit to God. My life is created for the glory of God. I’m made by & for God, so I’m Catholic. I follow what God teaches through His established Church. I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOU.
  • If you’ve never had the experience of seeing a real bonafide Catholic and that scares you to the point of committing slander and defamation, I don’t think I need to say which situation is more foolish.
  • I don’t want to know who this person / whom these people are. Really, I don’t. I’ll lose so much respect for them. I’d loathe calling them colleagues. Their minds are pure filth. Additionally, knowing your name(s) opens you up to a lawsuit.

 

ASH #9: A bet with God

God, a deity, who is supposed to be bigger, badder and better than me, or you. I suppose because I’ve never seen him. Although I have a tome of 73 books that I read at breakfast & dinner that tells me so. Yet (most) of these authors don’t see Him either. I’m hopelessly falling into the David vs. Goliath cliche with this, but I’ve got enough vinegar to not care. Oh, you don’t care for vinegar….some vodka then? Dern not vodka, fine yo-yo, I’ll give you single malt scotch whiskey. So yeah, this quiet social worker with her scotch takes on God. Lemme back up for a minute, I wasn’t always a social worker or a scotch imbiber, those come with time. But a bet with God, the one and only Deity in my life, shot that’s just tomfoolery. Yet, I made it. I was fresh out of life (like that feeling you have when you’re out of tp and you gotta go?). How in tarnation I was standing, breathing or moving…must’ve been God’s Will ‘cuz it sure as heck not mine. Nosiree in 2005, living took too much effort. My mind & craw were jammed full of other thoughts like pills, death, funerals and what color roses would cover a fresh mound of dirt. God would have it that I practically wander into the funeral Mass for someone I once knew, and make a bet – more like a threat:

I’m giving you one last chance. It better be good, because I can’t live like this. If it’s not good, I’m gone. I’ll leave you for good.

Er, what? Some chick blackmailed God. If He wanted/wants me, He’ll have to come and get me. Otherwise I’d crossover to the not-so Catholic side of things. It’s hard to tell who’s winning, but I’ll let Him claim it.

jumbled

something happened
and I became lost
in the tangle.
I heard you say,
far and away,
to stay focused
and to stay with you.
Eyes peeled as grapes
and breath held to burning,
I couldn’t stay with you
and I became lost.
I was taken over.
Over a decade,
I fall backwards into
a maze of conspiratorial lies
collapsing under the knowledge
of transformation.

little miss sunshine

my thoughts don’t feel safe to share. the less i dwell, the less ‘i feed the animals’ the less it claws and tears at me
          gloom ‘n’ doom. self pity is hell. no wonder i dont explore it very often. reality
i’ll keep myself as safe as possible. i’ll try to drive the speed limit. i’ll try to eat. i’ll try not to cut

If you want/need a promise, I’ll give you what we did in school social work:


The 3+ people I promise to call: Eman, Lisa, and anyone else who’ll listen & my most recent former therapist
I promise not to kill myself.  I will try my best not to hurt myself (i.e., cutting) but don’t feel safe/able to ensure my word at this time.  If I start thinking of hurting myself in a grayish area between self-injury & suicide I will hand over my booze, migraine medication, PMS meds, excedrin OTCs and Alieve over to a trusted friend for at least one week; along with all my sharp objects (nail cutters, scissors, sewing pins & needles, metal emery board, hand mirrors, and anything else I find a temptation).  I will avail myself to counseling services on campus; may even return to my most recent ex-therapist in Huntington.  If I feel like I’m going to break my promise, I’ll find the cop who stands 24/7 sentry at the Hawthorne cliffs and submit to a 5150 (that’s what he’s there for; that’s why people go to the Hawthorne cliffs).

Re-post from March 3, 2010

For me, it’s better to feel physical pain than the emotional pain.  I can only handle so much emotional pain in my life, and it triggers memories, which only add to the pain.  So, while others self harm to release pain, I do it to feel a type of pain that has an observable, curable cause.  Emotional pain will always be there, always there under the surface waiting for some one, thing, event to dredge it all up again.  But physical pain, it gets healed and goes away; it is forgotten.
And for the people out there who think self injury is a suicidal gesture, that’s not true; you need to go read more psychological literature.  Besides, if I really wanted to kill myself, I’ve already had 5 depressive episodes in the past 12 years.  I’ve had my chance, I never took it.

my reasons:
I feel selfish
I always take and never give
I have nothing to offer, especially God
If I have anything to give, it’s something that God has already given to me.  I can’t claim anything as truly my own.
I never add up
She will never love me
She will never see me as a separate entity, worthy of dreams and desires and wants, etc apart from herself
I never fulfill half the obligations I say I’ll do for other people; including prayer
I’m a hypocrite
I constantly fail
I’m tired of failing
I’m tired of not adding up
I’m a bitch
I’m all sorts of messed up
I don’t want to meet back up with my therapist
I don’t want to have to be honest with my therapist; the last one stabbed me in the back
I’m tired of meeting expectations that are not my own
I’m tired of being unemployed
I’m tired of hiding
I’m tired of her never having remorse
Since I constantly fail, why don’t you just give me Hell since I already live it
I have so much crap going on in my life I can’t hear God
I hate hearing about my ‘worth’; it’s painful
I’m tired of having migraines and tension headaches
I’m tired of missing events to make sure she maintains boundaries
I’m tired of hiding books, prayer cards, and prayer journals as though they are contraband
Why do I have to take care of her?
Why do I have to walk on egg shells to make her happy, but she can stomp all over me?
Why am I invisible?
I’m tired of being constantly reminded of how I cause problems
I’m tired of being constantly talked to as though I’m a child when I’m her adult child
Why does she get to act like she is 5 years old?
I hate recieving praise and compliments because I don’t know what to do with them.
I’m supposed to be entering the convent, but God won’t even give me a f-ing job to enable me to fulfill His will.
I have to lie about where I go for church
I have to make excuses for dressing modestly (but prettily)
I can’t cry – my emotions take a back seat to hers
I can’t be angry at her; I’m supposed to be understanding due to my education and training as a counselor
I’m supposed to provide information but I cannot appear to be intelligent in the matter
I can’t upstage her (i.e., cooking, sewing, intellect, etc)
Tired of living under the unspoken rule of “I’ll love you when you do ____.”
If I try to be my own separate self, its self defeatist
I’m not “up to snuff”
Tired of having to second guess whether something is done simply to be nice or has a motive behind it for later use
[may add more later]

there – all out in the open. now, run for the hills