Don’t you judge me.

This is where I'll sit and sip my poisoned tea.

I know, all of the pictures I take myself and post on this blog are cr-a-a-a-ppy, and that’s because for one, I don’t know anything about taking pictures except “point and shoot,” and two, I have a bad camera. When I turn it on, it whirrs and makes this strange kind of clicking noise, and the lens cover doesn’t always open, which leaves me scratching my head for a full two minutes over why the screen in the back is dark. It’s a double discard, meaning it was Van’s fiancee Julia’s camera first, after which she gave it to him, after which he gave it to me. One of these days when I’m a big girl I’ll buy my own camera, though maybe I should get a cell phone first. And an iPod. I have some serious catching up to do before I’m worthy of the 21st century. I’m just trying to hold off buying this stuff until the meteor hits or the Mayans were right and it won’t matter anymore.

Isn’t it funny how you can write a bunch of stuff and sound really happy when you’re actually very blue? ha ha! I find that freaking hilarious!

One of the things that gets me down, or perpetuates my downness, is when my sleep goes off. Right now, it’s really off, and I’ve been taking two and three hour naps during the day at odd and inconvenient hours, like around dinnertime or when people are talking to me. I finally found a book that interests me more than one iota, however, so that’s kept me awake a bit. It’s not interesting enough to tell you about, though. I’ll finish that puppy tonight and look for another one. I have four horror anthologies on hold at the library and will pick those up tomorrow, but along with those I want to read some other kind of fiction as well, and definitely some woman memoirs. I ADORE woman memoirs, my lord. Some of my favorites are those by May Sarton… Joan Anderson… Alix Kates Shulman…Karen Armstrong… and Doris Grumbach. I love Madeleine L’Engele, too. Lucy Irving and Ann Lamott. These authors have had significant impact on my thoughts and ever-mutating belief system and I’ll be forever grateful to them.

The other night I watched a cheesy inspirational movie called Midnight Clear. It was a Christmas tearjerker written by Jerry Jenkins, and I didn’t expect much from it and didn’t really want much, just enough to scratch my sudden itch for schmaltz. I was surprised, however, to discover some realistic and sharp dialogue (a tremendous plus for me, and a deal-breaker), but the only story that I related to out of the four that were featured was the one about the old lady who was systematically preparing to commit suicide on Christmas Eve. She represented my absolute worst nightmare: that when I’m old, I’ll be utterly alone. I liked her; she was pretty and spunky and interesting, but she was scared and felt that there was no one to care about her. Her husband had died years ago and her children didn’t get along and never came around. She was beginning to lose track of things, and felt helpless. And oh, I watched with mounting despair, yet deep understanding, as she went about organizing her papers, and cleaning her house, and preparing the poisoned tea she was going to drink at the end of the evening. The movie was set up so that the four stories intersected at different times, and it turned out that one of the men in another story was her son, and he showed up at the house right before she took a drink. It was at that point that I started bawling. She and her son needed each other, and it made me keenly aware of how important our loved ones are to us, whether they’re blood or chosen. Anyway, the really wonderful part came that night, long after the movie was over. Jesse and Torie were sitting in the living room with me and I told them about how the movie had affected me, and that it touched my greatest fear, and Jess said, “Good grief! Why don’t you have a ‘greatest’ fear that’s realistic?? You’ll never have to worry about that!” And Torie reiterated the same thing, and I don’t know, I was so grateful that I have at least two people (and I suspect Van feels the same, so that’s three) who, insofar as they can help it, will not let me die old and alone. I’m tearing up as I type that. See? — it’s a real fear. Aren’t fears weird? I mean, how they come about? But that’s fodder for another post and this one’s long enough. Love! xo


Filed under Fambly, God I'm depressed, Small blue box, Stuff to read

13 responses to “Don’t you judge me.

  1. I’ve had this same fear. I suspect it is a common one. It’s extra funny, ha ha, to me because I’m such a loner anyway. I spend loads of time alone and like it. But I miss people, even though they are so annoying.

    I am a firm believer that if you continue to learn to have a warm, affectionate relationship with yourself, you will draw others to you like a magnet. Loving and accepting yourself just seems to automatically cause a real love and compassion for others to spring up all on its own. And people need that acceptance and compassion. They come thirsty for it.

    Have you read Sue Monk Kid’s new memoir? It was pretty good, and interesting because she co-wrote it with her daughter. I thought of you several times while I was reading it, actually. Thanks for mentioning the older lady memoir-writers…I loves me some lady-memoirs.

    • Yes, it seems funny to me that that’s my hugest fear, when I’m a loner, too! I’m a Happy Hermit… but… only when my hermitish ways are chosen, not imposed on me, I guess. It’s like wanting to be invited to a party that you have no intention of attending – it’s only the invitation that counts. I think that as long as I know there’s somebody out there who loves me, thinks of me special, and comes to see me once in awhile, I’ll be okay, even if I do live alone. And I am on the same page with you regarding having a warm and affectionate relationship with oneself; I can see that it’s absolutely vital to happiness, especially as an older person, when you no longer have beauty to draw people toward you. The nice thing is, inner beauty makes EVERYBODY beautiful. It’s kind of worrisome, however, in a funny (yet not so much) way… I’m always pointing out gorgeous old women to Scott, who just cannot see it. I asked him once, “Do you find NO old women beautiful?” and he said defensively, I kid you not, “Yes! I think Sophia Loren is very pretty as an old lady!” Um, okay, except that even blind Amazonian toads think Sophia Loren is pretty as an old lady. I don’t think he quite caught on to what I was getting at, but you know, every bridge to be crossed, one time or another. :)

      I’ll look for Sue Monk Kidd’s memoir, especially since you thought of me while you read it! That makes me smile and purr. xo

  2. Oh, and just so ya know…sleep disturbance for gals our age is the norm.

    Oh, and also? I set my alarm 30 minutes early just so I could come here and catch up on my Kells fix. :)

    • THAT makes me purr even louder! The getting-up-early part, not the lack-of-sleep part… And I’m in trouble then, because I’m a natural born insomniac anyway. I wonder if I’ll end up operating on one hour per day of fitful dozing in my chair while I watch my “stories”? I don’t think I’d complain about that.

  3. You’ve got big balls. In a bowl. On your table.

    I don’t think I have an itch for schmaltz. If I ever get one, though, I’ll watch that movie.

    I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad I’m here too.

    Hello, Kelly.

    • hee! Big MARBLE balls. If you’re going to compliment my balls, then by gum, get it right. I wish they were schweddy, though. There’s just no beating schweddy balls.

      I rarely have an itch for schmaltz so my current phase is completely out of character. I generally detest schmaltz and anything by Nicholas Sparks, but I’ve found myself in need of sublimation material lately, and those occasional forays into “inspirational” territory have fit the bill. Please order a vicious hit on me if I ever succumb to sappy romances though, promise?

      I’m super glad we’re both here, Scotty!

  4. Twy, “Traveling with Pomegranates”… is this in reference to the aging state of her boobs? Mine would be more along the lines of “Traveling with Pancakes.”

  5. heather anne

    You know, the little bit of your fiction that I’ve read does kind of remind me of Madeleine L’Engele. (That’s a huge compliment!)

    • *spills coffee* Heathy, you know what? I’ve tried reading Madeleine L’Engle’s fiction but have never been able to get past the first few pages! I don’t like it!! Not at all!!! So that’s funny. I wish I would have stuck David Sedaris in there so you could have compared me to HIM.

  6. StevieRicardo

    Heeheeheehee! You’re in my head, dearest. It’s our sense of humor that defines us at the worst of times. I’m curretnly working on my manuscript (surprise!) and in the process of doing so I’ve picked up a few books, one of those being the Writer’s Guide to Heros and Heroines: Sixteen Major Archetypes. I find myself emulating a layered blend of the Spunky Kid and the Free Spirit and they are both characterised by both optimism and a true sense of humor. I am constantly teeter-tottering between being blue/seeing everything as a Great Cosmic Joke and wanting to burrow away from society/fearing a lonely demise at the end of it all. I saw a little old lady at the grocery store yesterday. Her live-in nurse had taken her shopping, but judging by what they had purchased I suspect the nurse was using the lady’s credit card to do her own shopping. Her nurse had left her in her wheelchair in a corner shaking from palsy and had gone about her business. I wondered, who was this woman? Was she once strong and proud as I am now? Does she realize where and in what state she is in? What would she think of herself? The first thoughts that came to my mind when I saw this poor, frail creature was that she had a beautiful face and that I would hate to be in a state where I couldn’t care for myself. James Dean’s words “Live fast, die young” popped into my brain despite the fact that I am REALLY looking forward to being a spunky old lady (wouldn’t I make a good one?). We don’t know what life is going to toss at us telling us to “think fast!” like those schoolyard bullies that just really enjoy pelting the younger, glasses-wearing kids with sports equipment. Why do we fear what we fear? Schucks… I don’t know. I’m afraid that I’m somewhere in a coma (or worse, that I don’t physically exist at all) and that this whole life I’ve lead is no more than a mere fantasy. Yep, a genuine fear of mine. Creeps me the hell out because, if it’s true, then what does any of this mean anyways? I crave meaning, purpose, sense… while at the same time I preach that these things don’t exist. There I go contradicting myself again. Oi… but you should be used to that by now. Also, should the HIGHLY UNLIKELY event occur that you do find yourself lost and alone in the dark, dreary woods of life… call, and I’ll be there. Just give me a week or two to make it across the country. ;)

    P.S. It’s weird seeing the living room table so remarkably un-cluttered… and the missing pile of Stevie books between the two armchairs… :sob:

    • It has never occurred to me to be afraid that my life is only a fantasy… I think it’s intensely interesting that you would consider such a possibility; to me, that seems like a very creative fear to have. One of the things I love about life is that it’s plumb full of paradoxes we have to reconcile ourselves to living with, so with that in mind, contradictory thoughts and behaviors seem to be par for the course. Besides, they make life WAY interesting. And you know, I’m SO glad you said what you did about me calling you if I find myself lost in the woods, metaphorically-speaking (or even physically, I imagine!), because I had been thinking, “Stevie would be there for me, too.” I can imagine us as old women traveling to some faroff land together, or maybe hoeing the organic beet patch, because once you’ve passed a certain stage, hell, everybody’s the same age even if they’re twenty years apart (I’m guessing). That’s a nice and comforting thought. Anyway, I feel like I’m babbling because I’m both exhausted and hopped up on sugar (cinnamon rolls!) and caffeine (Starbucks!). I feel a little otherworldly at the moment…both happy and sad, which has been my state for awhile now.

      I want to read that book about the archetypes! The one I was reading didn’t mention the Spunky Kid and the Free Spirit! Although there WAS the Child and the Artist… hm, possibly the same things, different names. Anyway! Babbling now! This morning I started a book called Your Inner Child of the Past and so far, it’s really great.

      And oh, your story about the little old palsied lady broke my heart… That makes me so sad, AND scared… sigh. We just never know, do we? It’s best not to worry, and as Twila said, to learn to love ourselves, which will always draw people to us. That’s the hope, anyway. xo

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