After I posted yesterday and sent off an email, I ventured down the stairs to warm up my coffee and on the fifth step from the bottom . . . I fell down the stairs. It wasn't a movie prat fall but(t) a fall landing on my butt, legs stretched out, as if I was riding a snow saucer down a hill . . . thump, thump, thump, thump . . . thump.
It was a 4.8 on the Richter scale.
As I sat on the floor, stunned, I immediately thought "please God, don't let my butt be broken".
I got on my hands and knees and pushed myself up, though my bottom was feeling some pain, I'm pretty sure the extra padding kept the tail bone from breaking.
But(t) it still hurt.
Walking it off by pacing around the foyer, I was overcome with relief that nothing was broken and begin to laugh hysterically. The thought of going to the hospital with a broken butt would have been too embarrassing. Of course, had this been Reuben's time, I would have been a celebrity going into the hospital with a Reuben-isque broken bum. Back then, the doctors would call in nurses, interns and orderlies to admire my awesomeness of dimples, lumps and bumps . . . but(t) the reality is, I'm living in the 21st century.
The grouchy nurse, angry that a size 14/16 was staring her/him in the face, would yell down the hall for all to hear . . . "were gonna need bigger gauze!"
Also, I was relieved I wouldn't have to explain the cough syrup on my breath, as I had just had a hefty sip of Delysm 12 hour cough syrup* for a nagging cough I have had since mid December. (*I'm pretty sure Delysm doesn't make one groggy nor does it have a warning that one should not operate heavy machinery or walk down wood stairs with socks on.) Phew, no rumors of me being "under the influence" to deal with.
But(t) the moral of this story for me is this: something (the straw) did happen and it didn't break my back or butt. I survived and giggled out loud at my misstep. And once the coffee mess was cleaned up, I realized I didn't implode! I chose to carve out some relaxation time for myself.
So I made a cup of herbal tea and took the other stairs with carpet (to soften any falls).
P.S. - Very brusied but(t) not broken!
Showing posts with label thankful. Show all posts
Showing posts with label thankful. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Monday, November 30, 2009
Time to Soar
Seeing how we are now in the good tidings and merry season, I shall not try to grumble and moan too loudly about everything that has gone so wrong the past three weeks. I need to keep on keeping on but I have to wonder what the tipping point is?
Is there a DNA component that has a person hitting bottom and rising out of the ashes like the phoenix? Or is there a component that makes a person throw up their hands and look up at the sky declaring defeat?
I hope, hope, hope, I have the phoenix DNA.
At my last job, over 6 1/2 years ago, I worked with a woman who had a black doom cloud hanging over her head. Trouble just seemed to follow her. I have been thinking about her a lot lately, wondering if she ever had any potential and just gave up on striving for things she wanted to achieve by giving in to the ultimate sin of "settling".
Was she once a vibrant, thin, good natured woman? Did life beat her down so much that she put on 60 pounds, took up smoking, settled for a low-wage job where she wore the same stinky sweater with pockets (to hold the cigarettes) everyday? Did she give up on her children and fail to help progress them along? What happened to her?
I hope, hope, hope, I don't become just like her.
***
Think of all my blessings . . .
13 and 6 mean everything to me. Everything I have done has been in the best interest of them. That includes not going back to work right away (this is a very sore subject with a male figure in my family.) As Vickie likes to say "should of, could of, would of". I don't want to regret being home for them during a very difficult time in their life.
I had a flat tire three weeks ago. I was at the country town library where the out of school suspension kids flock to after their class is over (ironic, I know.) As I walked to my car, a young delinquent pointed out that I had a flat. He offered to fix it . . . . for money. I told him thank you and that I had no money on me so I would fix it myself.
One of the other gang members shook his head and told me he would fix it for me, because he said "my mom could be in the same predicament as you and I hope someone helps her." It took the gang one hour to break my jack and change the tire. But I was happy they helped me and offered to write their probation officers and a judge a nice letter.
The 13 year old and I are going to practice changing the tire so that he and I both can learn. But first, I'm going to buy a better jack.
***
Last month the healer sent a huge package to the ADA's office. It included all correspondence from vileman that he has written to me and the kids plus all emails he sends (his bond restrictions are supposed to keep him off the Internet except for job hunting purposes.) After the ADA received the package, she called the healer to report that "if it were true, (duh!?! they had all the evidence) then he was in violation of his bond restrictions".
Nothing ever came of it. Which leaves me to believe that (1) they think it is domestic or (2) they are going to present it during his trial and probably subpoena me to testify. Grrr. Or (3) they know his trial is coming up at the end of December and maybe the info they have will keep him from getting another continuance.
I'm losing my faith in the judicial system.
***
I haven't been able to comment or post because (very embarrassing) I could not remember my password to this account. Ahem. And like the smart cookie that I am, the email address where they send the password info should you forget, required that password that I couldn't remember.
It finally came to me after days and days of trying . . . and I now feel quite merry.
Is there a DNA component that has a person hitting bottom and rising out of the ashes like the phoenix? Or is there a component that makes a person throw up their hands and look up at the sky declaring defeat?
I hope, hope, hope, I have the phoenix DNA.
At my last job, over 6 1/2 years ago, I worked with a woman who had a black doom cloud hanging over her head. Trouble just seemed to follow her. I have been thinking about her a lot lately, wondering if she ever had any potential and just gave up on striving for things she wanted to achieve by giving in to the ultimate sin of "settling".
Was she once a vibrant, thin, good natured woman? Did life beat her down so much that she put on 60 pounds, took up smoking, settled for a low-wage job where she wore the same stinky sweater with pockets (to hold the cigarettes) everyday? Did she give up on her children and fail to help progress them along? What happened to her?
I hope, hope, hope, I don't become just like her.
***
Think of all my blessings . . .
13 and 6 mean everything to me. Everything I have done has been in the best interest of them. That includes not going back to work right away (this is a very sore subject with a male figure in my family.) As Vickie likes to say "should of, could of, would of". I don't want to regret being home for them during a very difficult time in their life.
I had a flat tire three weeks ago. I was at the country town library where the out of school suspension kids flock to after their class is over (ironic, I know.) As I walked to my car, a young delinquent pointed out that I had a flat. He offered to fix it . . . . for money. I told him thank you and that I had no money on me so I would fix it myself.
One of the other gang members shook his head and told me he would fix it for me, because he said "my mom could be in the same predicament as you and I hope someone helps her." It took the gang one hour to break my jack and change the tire. But I was happy they helped me and offered to write their probation officers and a judge a nice letter.
The 13 year old and I are going to practice changing the tire so that he and I both can learn. But first, I'm going to buy a better jack.
***
Last month the healer sent a huge package to the ADA's office. It included all correspondence from vileman that he has written to me and the kids plus all emails he sends (his bond restrictions are supposed to keep him off the Internet except for job hunting purposes.) After the ADA received the package, she called the healer to report that "if it were true, (duh!?! they had all the evidence) then he was in violation of his bond restrictions".
Nothing ever came of it. Which leaves me to believe that (1) they think it is domestic or (2) they are going to present it during his trial and probably subpoena me to testify. Grrr. Or (3) they know his trial is coming up at the end of December and maybe the info they have will keep him from getting another continuance.
I'm losing my faith in the judicial system.
***
I haven't been able to comment or post because (very embarrassing) I could not remember my password to this account. Ahem. And like the smart cookie that I am, the email address where they send the password info should you forget, required that password that I couldn't remember.
It finally came to me after days and days of trying . . . and I now feel quite merry.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
When the Fog Lifts . . . It's Amazing How Clear Everything Is
A couple of weeks ago, in a session with the Healer, I tentatively mentioned a dream I had the night before. Tentatively, because I was afraid of dream analysis and didn't want to hear something like "how long have you been harboring those latent ***insert something horrific or embarrassing*** tendencies?"
Anyway, the dream had me swimming in a huge pool, which happened to be in the middle of my house. I was so happy, swimming by myself. Then vileman came home from work and stood alongside the pool. The temperature in the pool got colder and any joy I felt quickly turned to anxiety. Worse of all, vileman jumped into the pool and tried to swim with me. I refused to turn my back on him, because I didn't trust him and was afraid he was going to try and drown me.
Okay, settle down and quit laughing.
I know what you are thinking and the Healer told me it wasn't a s*xual or m*sterbation dream. Instead it was a very illuminating summary of my life with vileman.
It has been very hard for me to want to post lately. Yet, I have so many thoughts that need to be put out here and then let go of. So here goes . . .
I had no tangible proof.
Gut instinct and a few hints of odd behavior told me something wasn't right.
My first suspicions occurred around late August 2004. We were in the process of moving to another city and were a few days away from closing on the house we had sold. There were men in and out of the house: repair men and inspectors.
I got the call from a woman who said someone from our phone number (a land line) had called her daughter's cell phone. I told her it couldn't have been anyone here because my son was only seven and didn't use the phone. Vileman was standing next to me and it is so clear now how sheepish he looked. The woman on the phone seemed very concerned about her daughter receiving a call from our number and I explained that we were moving and had many people in and out of the house, and that perhaps maybe one of them had used our phone and accidentally called her daughter's cell phone number. She wasn't buying that.
After she hung up and the vileman left the room, something told me to call her back and ask how old her daughter was. The lady refused to answer any of my questions and was uncooperative. She probably was just as scared as I was to know the truth.
I knew at that moment that I might be married to a vile person and would have to wait it out and be on guard until I had enough evidence to leave him.
Over the last six months, I have acknowledged and understand that the kids and I provided a family-man cover for him. We were, in Hollywood terms, his beard.
Grooming.
People like vileman are expert groomers.
At one of my son's ballgames, I watched from the bleachers as vileman went into the dugout and one by one touched each player on the shoulder, bent low to their ears and said something to them. It gave me the creeps. He wasn't their coach nor the assistant coach and really had no business being the in the dugout.
When we got home I told him I thought it was very inappropriate for him to do that. The verbal abuse was spewed at me "you are so paranoid!" "How could you think those awful thoughts about me!?!" "You are the sick one to think those things!" "You need to get a life because you are going crazy!" and so on and so on.
A couple of years later, I found out from the Healer that what I had witnessed was vileman practicing his grooming techniques.
*Grooming is the gradual process of invading a person's physical space, emotional space and intelligence. The groomer uses a selection process and desensitises the victim with more and more intrusive behavior. (*The Healer's definition - I was taking notes that day.)
My suspicions went into hyper-alert with my own children (they are fine by the way - my son swears he was never touched. I may never know the truth . . . did he or didn't he . . . but they both are in good mental and physical shape right now) and I hated to have kids play over because I had to be watchful. Remember, I had no proof that he was vile . . . but I couldn't let my guard down.
The first few weeks after I had a noticeable weight loss, vileman paid a little more attention to me, which made me, want to gain my weight back. The attention didn't last long and by December of 2006, he had lost all interest in me. Vileman never touched me again.
The last few months, he was spiraling out of control, he would call me with weird stories about why he wouldn't be home from work on time. I knew he was cheating on me and per the discovery from my lawyer, I was right. Vileman had begun to participate in dangerous and anonymous s*xual encounters. He admitted to having several hook-ups with couples but did not know their real names or remember where they lived.
My assumption is that he semi-told the truth to avoid perjuring himself, had our divorce went to trial. I know that there had to be a lot more "hook-ups" than he admitted. But I digress back to the true vileness.
I knew he was lying to me and I just couldn't stand sleeping next to him at night. I once had a nightmare of him rolling the area rug in the family room around my bludgeoned body.
I found myself sleeping in the family room on the couch or on the futon in the spare bedroom. (I took neither of these items with me during my move.)
Over the last few years, I doubt I ever got more than six hours of sleep and that would have been a good nights rest. My average was probably less than four hours.
Vileman had a bad habit of calling people that I knew (I usually found out later) and I would have to hold back on telling him about any new friends or people I had met. For example years ago when I worked, I found out that my boss was having a fling with another co-worker at work and mentioned it to vileman. He called both of them (I found out months and months later). And there is no telling how many of my friends he called over the years behind my back. It dawned on me recently that he did that to keep me from developing any outside friendships, which would make me depend on him more and make it harder for me to want to leave him . . . there's that fog lifting thing again.
I survived. My children survived.
You might read this and think why did you stay married to him? I had to. It assured me that the children were safe with me in the house. Had we divorced before he got caught, he would have gotten joint custody of the kids. I am at peace that I made the right decision to stay in that marriage and wait it out.
It is sad for my children that he may go to prison, but they don't need a man like him in their life. Nor does the public need another vile person on the streets.
I have more to write about vileman: his psychopath attributes and seeing him for (I hope) the last time. I promise they will not be novella length.
Anyway, the dream had me swimming in a huge pool, which happened to be in the middle of my house. I was so happy, swimming by myself. Then vileman came home from work and stood alongside the pool. The temperature in the pool got colder and any joy I felt quickly turned to anxiety. Worse of all, vileman jumped into the pool and tried to swim with me. I refused to turn my back on him, because I didn't trust him and was afraid he was going to try and drown me.
Okay, settle down and quit laughing.
I know what you are thinking and the Healer told me it wasn't a s*xual or m*sterbation dream. Instead it was a very illuminating summary of my life with vileman.
***
It has been very hard for me to want to post lately. Yet, I have so many thoughts that need to be put out here and then let go of. So here goes . . .
I had no tangible proof.
Gut instinct and a few hints of odd behavior told me something wasn't right.
My first suspicions occurred around late August 2004. We were in the process of moving to another city and were a few days away from closing on the house we had sold. There were men in and out of the house: repair men and inspectors.
I got the call from a woman who said someone from our phone number (a land line) had called her daughter's cell phone. I told her it couldn't have been anyone here because my son was only seven and didn't use the phone. Vileman was standing next to me and it is so clear now how sheepish he looked. The woman on the phone seemed very concerned about her daughter receiving a call from our number and I explained that we were moving and had many people in and out of the house, and that perhaps maybe one of them had used our phone and accidentally called her daughter's cell phone number. She wasn't buying that.
After she hung up and the vileman left the room, something told me to call her back and ask how old her daughter was. The lady refused to answer any of my questions and was uncooperative. She probably was just as scared as I was to know the truth.
I knew at that moment that I might be married to a vile person and would have to wait it out and be on guard until I had enough evidence to leave him.
Over the last six months, I have acknowledged and understand that the kids and I provided a family-man cover for him. We were, in Hollywood terms, his beard.
Grooming.
People like vileman are expert groomers.
At one of my son's ballgames, I watched from the bleachers as vileman went into the dugout and one by one touched each player on the shoulder, bent low to their ears and said something to them. It gave me the creeps. He wasn't their coach nor the assistant coach and really had no business being the in the dugout.
When we got home I told him I thought it was very inappropriate for him to do that. The verbal abuse was spewed at me "you are so paranoid!" "How could you think those awful thoughts about me!?!" "You are the sick one to think those things!" "You need to get a life because you are going crazy!" and so on and so on.
A couple of years later, I found out from the Healer that what I had witnessed was vileman practicing his grooming techniques.
*Grooming is the gradual process of invading a person's physical space, emotional space and intelligence. The groomer uses a selection process and desensitises the victim with more and more intrusive behavior. (*The Healer's definition - I was taking notes that day.)
My suspicions went into hyper-alert with my own children (they are fine by the way - my son swears he was never touched. I may never know the truth . . . did he or didn't he . . . but they both are in good mental and physical shape right now) and I hated to have kids play over because I had to be watchful. Remember, I had no proof that he was vile . . . but I couldn't let my guard down.
The first few weeks after I had a noticeable weight loss, vileman paid a little more attention to me, which made me, want to gain my weight back. The attention didn't last long and by December of 2006, he had lost all interest in me. Vileman never touched me again.
The last few months, he was spiraling out of control, he would call me with weird stories about why he wouldn't be home from work on time. I knew he was cheating on me and per the discovery from my lawyer, I was right. Vileman had begun to participate in dangerous and anonymous s*xual encounters. He admitted to having several hook-ups with couples but did not know their real names or remember where they lived.
My assumption is that he semi-told the truth to avoid perjuring himself, had our divorce went to trial. I know that there had to be a lot more "hook-ups" than he admitted. But I digress back to the true vileness.
I knew he was lying to me and I just couldn't stand sleeping next to him at night. I once had a nightmare of him rolling the area rug in the family room around my bludgeoned body.
I found myself sleeping in the family room on the couch or on the futon in the spare bedroom. (I took neither of these items with me during my move.)
Over the last few years, I doubt I ever got more than six hours of sleep and that would have been a good nights rest. My average was probably less than four hours.
Vileman had a bad habit of calling people that I knew (I usually found out later) and I would have to hold back on telling him about any new friends or people I had met. For example years ago when I worked, I found out that my boss was having a fling with another co-worker at work and mentioned it to vileman. He called both of them (I found out months and months later). And there is no telling how many of my friends he called over the years behind my back. It dawned on me recently that he did that to keep me from developing any outside friendships, which would make me depend on him more and make it harder for me to want to leave him . . . there's that fog lifting thing again.
I survived. My children survived.
You might read this and think why did you stay married to him? I had to. It assured me that the children were safe with me in the house. Had we divorced before he got caught, he would have gotten joint custody of the kids. I am at peace that I made the right decision to stay in that marriage and wait it out.
It is sad for my children that he may go to prison, but they don't need a man like him in their life. Nor does the public need another vile person on the streets.
I have more to write about vileman: his psychopath attributes and seeing him for (I hope) the last time. I promise they will not be novella length.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
A Swift Kick in the Bottom
Last night, the local news station highlighted a family of five children up for adoption. The children were currently placed in two separate foster homes and were hoping to stay together. I think the oldest was eight.
When the news anchor was introducing the story, the 12 YO said "don't worry Brad and Angie will adopt them". But after the end of the story, 12 Y/O asked with a lump in his throat, if we could adopt them.
Sometimes I need moments like that to remind me how fortunate we are.
The police records keeper that I met at the temporary order hearing and then again at the divorce hearing (the lovely lady), told me that most of the women immediately forgive their husbands after they are arrested. They bail them out, making excuses that this was just a big misunderstanding. That is so sad and probably has a lot to do with the wife not having family or other options to turn to.
So Vickie, is right, we were very lucky to have my parents and my sisters (though I will tell you, it is hard to go back home as an adult with children . . . but that will have to be another post!).
I know things will begin to fall in place . . . I'll find a job, the house will be sold, and the kids and I will move into our own place.
Vileman, though he has a good job (and Laura, my family and I have all wondered how he managed to find such a lucrative job . . . crazy), his future isn't so bright. All he has to look forward to is a prison cell. And I have vowed (well, in my revengeful imagination) to go visit him after he has been there for a couple of weeks (if he lasts that long) . . . I visualize myself taking big deep breaths and sniffing with my eyes closed. I then let him know I was smelling freedom! Maybe I will dance a little freedom dance, then skip out the door. (Hey, I can daydream!)
When the news anchor was introducing the story, the 12 YO said "don't worry Brad and Angie will adopt them". But after the end of the story, 12 Y/O asked with a lump in his throat, if we could adopt them.
Sometimes I need moments like that to remind me how fortunate we are.
The police records keeper that I met at the temporary order hearing and then again at the divorce hearing (the lovely lady), told me that most of the women immediately forgive their husbands after they are arrested. They bail them out, making excuses that this was just a big misunderstanding. That is so sad and probably has a lot to do with the wife not having family or other options to turn to.
So Vickie, is right, we were very lucky to have my parents and my sisters (though I will tell you, it is hard to go back home as an adult with children . . . but that will have to be another post!).
I know things will begin to fall in place . . . I'll find a job, the house will be sold, and the kids and I will move into our own place.
Vileman, though he has a good job (and Laura, my family and I have all wondered how he managed to find such a lucrative job . . . crazy), his future isn't so bright. All he has to look forward to is a prison cell. And I have vowed (well, in my revengeful imagination) to go visit him after he has been there for a couple of weeks (if he lasts that long) . . . I visualize myself taking big deep breaths and sniffing with my eyes closed. I then let him know I was smelling freedom! Maybe I will dance a little freedom dance, then skip out the door. (Hey, I can daydream!)
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