I find myself trying to understand how a person can give up all the men in the world, except one, for the rest of their life. I hear things like, "when you know, you know" or "when its right, its right." I think this theory is garbage.
It had nothing to do with timing; lightning didn't strike the first time your eyes met and there were no pointed arrows sticking you in the bum.
I feel like Cary Grant at the beggining of Arsenic and Old Lace, I am a cynic when it comes to marriage. I think women and men give up too much when they get married too young. I hear so many women say they wish they had stayed single longer. Why? Because its great, for an adequate amount of time--when I say adequate, I mean 25 or older. I can think of 17 wrong reasons for why people get married, but they will swear up and down that none of these are the reason when really it is. A lot of these reasons are reasons for why I considered marrying men in the past, but don't worry I didn't.
1) Just like when you've had one too many shots, you've been dumped so many times that your vision has become blurred and your judgment is skewed
*2) You're young and still believe in "happily ever after." You've know him for two weeks and you just know that he's "the one." Preconceived notions like this immediately put blinders on you. You'll justify all the things you hate about him because you knew from the beginning it was "right." I can almost guarantee that in five years you'll be divorced or wishing to be.
**3) He's hot.
4) and you're not. You know that he's BETTER than you, so you convince yourself to marry him.
*5) The physical stuff is GREAT. Holding hands, kissing, lust . . . chains, whips, whatever. All this is great and so when he constantly criticizes you its OK because he knows how to hold you just right.
6) You don't know how to dump him. You can't leave him, he's been hurt so many times before.
********7) He's loaded (This IS a good reason, to me)
8) You're lonely (aka desperate)
9) You're ready to make a baby or at least practice . . .
10) which leads to, you're bored. Get married and there will be sex and someone to listen to your mindless rambling, every night and day.
*11) You're not happy, so you think marriage will fix it. You need to fix your hell before you bring someone else into it.
12) You think its the "righteous thing to do." Getting married early doesn't make you more righteous or "better"
13) You've done everything else, why not try something new?
14) You want to wear a beautiful dress.
*13) You can concentrate on other things besides dating when you're married
*14) Protection, they make you feel safe
15) Marriage makes you happy . . . since when?
*16) LOVE (aka LUST)
*17) Everyone else is doing it . . . (there is a pun in there)
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Friday, September 9, 2011
What is water?
It sprays me, I sip it, I splash
There’s plenty of this stuff
No one will take it away from me or
Say, “no more, there isn’t enough”
So, I sip some more
Think nothing of it
While she cups it
Licks it
And then she wakes
To the swollen stomach and she shakes
And they cry, “there is no more, there isn’t enough”
Chained
The muzzle chokes, no more nuzzles for this wolf,
No more pack filled, chilled night, no more howling at the moon
Instead I lurk in this never-ending gloom
The glitter of stars upon my teeth is no more
Instead there’s scraps and rotten gore
And I swallow, the fur of others in my throat
I hack, I cough, I choke
The chain around my neck tightens
And I fall, its been so long since I walked, and now I crawl
The rapture of capture
I see this beginning as it ends
The heart of the wild within, it spends
And I pull, I twist, the chain is tighter
The moon, behind my eyes, grows brighter
And this wild heart of mine dies
My spirit in me gasps, it flies
No more pack filled, chilled night, no more howling at the moon
Instead I lurk in this never-ending gloom
The glitter of stars upon my teeth is no more
Instead there’s scraps and rotten gore
And I swallow, the fur of others in my throat
I hack, I cough, I choke
The chain around my neck tightens
And I fall, its been so long since I walked, and now I crawl
The rapture of capture
I see this beginning as it ends
The heart of the wild within, it spends
And I pull, I twist, the chain is tighter
The moon, behind my eyes, grows brighter
And this wild heart of mine dies
My spirit in me gasps, it flies
Saturday, September 3, 2011
I HATE DOGS
I pull out the vacuum. The sun shines on the floor, the dog hair is illuminated. And suddenly, everything is illuminated. If I choose this life I will be vacuuming up dog hair for the rest of my life.
When did dog hair bring such clarity to life? I guess it really wasn't the dog hair, it was the dog. I look to the future.
I can't stand the idea of putting my baby on the floor where a dog was just drooling, licking their junk, scratching themselves.
Sometimes I breathe and I can feel the hair in my throat. I drop an article of clothing on the floor and its ruined because its coated in dog hair. But, is it just the hair? No, its the smell, the smell of a dog that hasn't been properly groomed, ever. Revolting.
I hate when he watches us eat, I hate the twin strings of drool that form at the side of his mouth and slowly make their way down to the floor. I hate when the strings of drool get wiped on the floor, the couch or worse me. I hate walking on the floor barefoot, knowing that he's drooled pretty much everywhere and now its crusted on the carpet.
I hate cleaning up the accidents in the house. There are a million other things I could complain about but the point is, I hate dogs. I've fought saying that for years. I know how it offends so many to hear those words.
How could I hate mans best friend? Well, he ain't my best friend. So, they may be a man's best friend but who cleans up the dogs hair, cleans up his vomit? Not the man, that's for sure.
People will probably stop talking to me because I'm an awful person, a heartless person. But why would I love dogs? There are more reasons for me to hate them than to love them.
Not only are they disgusting but we waste millions of dollars on our dog every year. Dogs are a waste of money, a waste of space, just a waste. The end.
When did dog hair bring such clarity to life? I guess it really wasn't the dog hair, it was the dog. I look to the future.
I can't stand the idea of putting my baby on the floor where a dog was just drooling, licking their junk, scratching themselves.
Sometimes I breathe and I can feel the hair in my throat. I drop an article of clothing on the floor and its ruined because its coated in dog hair. But, is it just the hair? No, its the smell, the smell of a dog that hasn't been properly groomed, ever. Revolting.
I hate when he watches us eat, I hate the twin strings of drool that form at the side of his mouth and slowly make their way down to the floor. I hate when the strings of drool get wiped on the floor, the couch or worse me. I hate walking on the floor barefoot, knowing that he's drooled pretty much everywhere and now its crusted on the carpet.
I hate cleaning up the accidents in the house. There are a million other things I could complain about but the point is, I hate dogs. I've fought saying that for years. I know how it offends so many to hear those words.
How could I hate mans best friend? Well, he ain't my best friend. So, they may be a man's best friend but who cleans up the dogs hair, cleans up his vomit? Not the man, that's for sure.
People will probably stop talking to me because I'm an awful person, a heartless person. But why would I love dogs? There are more reasons for me to hate them than to love them.
Not only are they disgusting but we waste millions of dollars on our dog every year. Dogs are a waste of money, a waste of space, just a waste. The end.
I, a rose
Once beautiful closed,
Still beautiful open.
A breath of something new, but always familiar.
It sprays the air.
The breath, my breath . . . I, a rose,
Arose into the air.
And I breathe, inhale.
I begin to fall, to fail,
But I breathe again, air is in, air is tight
And then there is light.
The unfurling of petals
The buzz above me, they touch me, take me.
The rain is cold, feels right
I live on, yet I die
And spring comes, I sigh
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Disease, disorder, condition . . . whatever it is, I am shy.
I threw the math book at the wall. I cried. It was the last time I would cry for 7 years. I gave into what I what I later knew was giving up. I stopped crying. It was probably the second day of my sophomore year of high school when this happened.
I remember the first day of high school I almost wet myself, almost vomited because I was so scared. I have no idea what I feared; I guess I feared everything. Of course, everyone is nervous the first day of school but my feelings of fear didn't fade.
Each day I was nervous. Each day I yearned to cry. Each day I sat quietly in class. I said nothing. I received lower grades in some classes because I couldn't meet the participation requirement; I was too scared to raise my hand.
I was the wall flower. At activities outside of school I always stood alone. No one passed the ball to me at soccer, no one would be my partner during warm ups.
I had no friends in high school. I sat at my own table, by myself, for two years. My last year at school was spent in the library. I was voted "shyest" my senior year. They put a picture of me in the yearbook. I was known as the "quiet, smart girl."
I was ashamed, embarrassed, sad, scared and lonely.
What was wrong with me? Why couldn't I be like everyone else?
I realize now know what was wrong with me; I was shy. Some wouldn't call it a disorder but I suffered; I suffered in silence.
I did some research on shyness. The definition is a, "Chronic and longstanding fear of negative evaluation and tendency to avoid interpersonal situations without a guarantee of acceptance and support, accompanied by significant fears of embarrassment and shame in social interaction.
And it seems that this "condition" is quite significant because the site continues to say the percentage, "of adults in the United States reporting that they are chronically shy, such that it presents a problem in their lives, had been reported at 40%, plus or minus 3%, since the early 1970's."
And it was a problem for me. In elementary school I used to swing alone. On the bus, no one would talk to me. My classmates picked on me for my shyness and so the silence remained. I was so engrossed in what people would think, in myself, that I wouldn't speak, I wouldn't act.
I missed a lot of opportunities. I learned so little. I was always afraid to ask questions, ask for help. I was afraid to use my voice. I remember I wanted to be a singer but you have to talk first to sing and I wouldn't talk.
I knew I had a problem. Its funny, people ask why I chose communication as my major. Some people would say its an easy major. Communication was the hardest major for me. I knew it would be. I chose it because I wanted to do what I thought I could never do.
But I think my shyness became worse with time instead of better during my first year of college. I spent most of it in my dorm room. I didn't want to but I was too afraid to go anywhere else. I sat in my room for two semester and I wrote, I daydreamed, I called my Mom, I let my roommate degrade and demean me. My moments of happiness at that time were when I would sneak away to play piano or when I was in my psychology class learning about the human mind.
I began to think my problem was a lack of motivation but that wasn't it. I yearned to work, I yearned to fall in love, I yearned for friends but I was afraid.
There are other tales of people who have been crippled by their shyness too. One woman, Helen Rivas-Rose wrote a book on how shyness affected her and how she eventually sought help, "she recalls how shyness affected every major choice she made in life, and how it made her feel ashamed, and alone."
Of course many people confuse shyness with introversion but I am not an introvert at heart. I love being around people, I love doing group activities when I don't let my shyness control me.
And shyness wasn't really considered a medical condition until the 1990's and it was defined as a "social phobia." There are medications, therapy that can be sought for this so called disorder; and maybe its necessary for some extreme cases.
Susan Cann, a writer for the New York Times says there are cases of people who won't leave their apartment to go to a job interview, a date or even a meal.
I believe there were instances where I could've become that extreme. If I weren't so aware of how negatively my shyness affected me. There were days I didn't want to get out of bed because I feared the social sphere outside my house. But because I am so strongly aware of this disorder and I find ways to overcome it.
But I was lucky. Life dragged the silence from me. I was poor. I couldn't continue going through college without a job. And so, my sophomore year I acquired a job. I also acquired friends. Of course, I didn't immediately change. There are still days that I have to truly work at it.
My mother always said it was low self-esteem, and I agree that was part of my problem but my main problem was an irrational fear of social situations. I was literally scared of what others thoughts were toward me.
And my mother did exactly what she should do. She gave me opportunities, she gave me encouragement, she pushed me, she had faith in me. There were times where my fear confused her, angered her but she never criticized me for it. Instead, she constantly gave me opportunities to battle it.
I think she internally knew that this was something I had to overcome on my own. She knew she couldn't hold my hand but she also knew she couldn't abandon me either. She simply believed in me.
It's been a few years since my freshman year of college. I've grown enormously. People who knew me before are shocked by the change. I graduated from college, I acquired a boyfriend. I have a job. I am going to BYU for my masters. I live on my own in Utah and I almost never lonely, never alone. I live the realistic dream that once seemed so unreachable.
I still struggle to be the extrovert I want to be. I have my regrets. Sometimes I wish I could've understood my problem sooner, I wish I could've done so many things differently. But maybe this was my purpose. Maybe I was supposed to learn from this disorder that once crippled me.
There are books that spew out loads of ideas on how to overcome shyness but I believe there is a very simple cure for shyness: DO all those things you dream of doing; DO all those realistic dreams you spin within your head; DO instead of think, push yourself.
Its almost like the "Yes Man;" I say yes to things I am scared to do but know I would love to do.
I said in the beginning that I didn't cry for years. I thought I was holding strong by being quiet, by appearing emotionless on the outside while suffering inside. I cry now and I feel stronger for it. I show people how I feel, I tell people how I feel and I do what I feel.
I remember the first day of high school I almost wet myself, almost vomited because I was so scared. I have no idea what I feared; I guess I feared everything. Of course, everyone is nervous the first day of school but my feelings of fear didn't fade.
Each day I was nervous. Each day I yearned to cry. Each day I sat quietly in class. I said nothing. I received lower grades in some classes because I couldn't meet the participation requirement; I was too scared to raise my hand.
I was the wall flower. At activities outside of school I always stood alone. No one passed the ball to me at soccer, no one would be my partner during warm ups.
I had no friends in high school. I sat at my own table, by myself, for two years. My last year at school was spent in the library. I was voted "shyest" my senior year. They put a picture of me in the yearbook. I was known as the "quiet, smart girl."
I was ashamed, embarrassed, sad, scared and lonely.
What was wrong with me? Why couldn't I be like everyone else?
I realize now know what was wrong with me; I was shy. Some wouldn't call it a disorder but I suffered; I suffered in silence.
I did some research on shyness. The definition is a, "Chronic and longstanding fear of negative evaluation and tendency to avoid interpersonal situations without a guarantee of acceptance and support, accompanied by significant fears of embarrassment and shame in social interaction.
And it seems that this "condition" is quite significant because the site continues to say the percentage, "of adults in the United States reporting that they are chronically shy, such that it presents a problem in their lives, had been reported at 40%, plus or minus 3%, since the early 1970's."
And it was a problem for me. In elementary school I used to swing alone. On the bus, no one would talk to me. My classmates picked on me for my shyness and so the silence remained. I was so engrossed in what people would think, in myself, that I wouldn't speak, I wouldn't act.
I missed a lot of opportunities. I learned so little. I was always afraid to ask questions, ask for help. I was afraid to use my voice. I remember I wanted to be a singer but you have to talk first to sing and I wouldn't talk.
I knew I had a problem. Its funny, people ask why I chose communication as my major. Some people would say its an easy major. Communication was the hardest major for me. I knew it would be. I chose it because I wanted to do what I thought I could never do.
But I think my shyness became worse with time instead of better during my first year of college. I spent most of it in my dorm room. I didn't want to but I was too afraid to go anywhere else. I sat in my room for two semester and I wrote, I daydreamed, I called my Mom, I let my roommate degrade and demean me. My moments of happiness at that time were when I would sneak away to play piano or when I was in my psychology class learning about the human mind.
I began to think my problem was a lack of motivation but that wasn't it. I yearned to work, I yearned to fall in love, I yearned for friends but I was afraid.
There are other tales of people who have been crippled by their shyness too. One woman, Helen Rivas-Rose wrote a book on how shyness affected her and how she eventually sought help, "she recalls how shyness affected every major choice she made in life, and how it made her feel ashamed, and alone."
Of course many people confuse shyness with introversion but I am not an introvert at heart. I love being around people, I love doing group activities when I don't let my shyness control me.
And shyness wasn't really considered a medical condition until the 1990's and it was defined as a "social phobia." There are medications, therapy that can be sought for this so called disorder; and maybe its necessary for some extreme cases.
Susan Cann, a writer for the New York Times says there are cases of people who won't leave their apartment to go to a job interview, a date or even a meal.
I believe there were instances where I could've become that extreme. If I weren't so aware of how negatively my shyness affected me. There were days I didn't want to get out of bed because I feared the social sphere outside my house. But because I am so strongly aware of this disorder and I find ways to overcome it.
But I was lucky. Life dragged the silence from me. I was poor. I couldn't continue going through college without a job. And so, my sophomore year I acquired a job. I also acquired friends. Of course, I didn't immediately change. There are still days that I have to truly work at it.
My mother always said it was low self-esteem, and I agree that was part of my problem but my main problem was an irrational fear of social situations. I was literally scared of what others thoughts were toward me.
And my mother did exactly what she should do. She gave me opportunities, she gave me encouragement, she pushed me, she had faith in me. There were times where my fear confused her, angered her but she never criticized me for it. Instead, she constantly gave me opportunities to battle it.
I think she internally knew that this was something I had to overcome on my own. She knew she couldn't hold my hand but she also knew she couldn't abandon me either. She simply believed in me.
It's been a few years since my freshman year of college. I've grown enormously. People who knew me before are shocked by the change. I graduated from college, I acquired a boyfriend. I have a job. I am going to BYU for my masters. I live on my own in Utah and I almost never lonely, never alone. I live the realistic dream that once seemed so unreachable.
I still struggle to be the extrovert I want to be. I have my regrets. Sometimes I wish I could've understood my problem sooner, I wish I could've done so many things differently. But maybe this was my purpose. Maybe I was supposed to learn from this disorder that once crippled me.
There are books that spew out loads of ideas on how to overcome shyness but I believe there is a very simple cure for shyness: DO all those things you dream of doing; DO all those realistic dreams you spin within your head; DO instead of think, push yourself.
Its almost like the "Yes Man;" I say yes to things I am scared to do but know I would love to do.
I said in the beginning that I didn't cry for years. I thought I was holding strong by being quiet, by appearing emotionless on the outside while suffering inside. I cry now and I feel stronger for it. I show people how I feel, I tell people how I feel and I do what I feel.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)