Today I am thankful for the city employee claiming he knew part of my story.
I tried very, very hard not to get snarky.
I'm actually proud of myself.
I didn't ask what part of my story he knew.
Did he know the bit about my fighting tax hikes?
Did he know the bit about the city attorney harassing me because I complained about ageism and illegal fines towards city employees?
Or is he referring to my divorce?
I don't know.....
The only part of my story he knew was the bit about the washing machine. He asked about it. I told him because I thought is was relevant and funny.
That was about an hour before he made the claim. I don't even understand what brought it about.
All it does is remind me that men are weird.
*****
Typically when men say bizarre things it is because they are feeling bizarre things in response to bizarre energy.
I was probably being creepy.
He could probably sense that I thought he was adorable.
He was possibly the first guy I met outside of my tribe with the same religious belief system - so that just made him 100x more adorable.
But - but....
there is always a but....
he's a government employee.
I fear the city fined his boss before firing him.
Ugh....that's just another battle I neglected to finish.
So....I'll try to explain.
I am evil.
I took a loan from the city to get my house up to code to comply with the law: It was biggest mistake of my life.
I'm trying not to be impatient and nasty. I'm secretly working on getting another, more expensive loan, because I think this situation has violated my morals (and they ruined the inside of my house but I'm trying not to complain....never trust the government...never).
Yes, I make mistakes.
I've made some whoppers. .
I don't like to tell my full story.
The mistakes I make are my story.
The mistakes of others are their stories.
I tell a good chunk of it here but there isn't enough time to share it all.
I tell enough of it....here...where it is safe.
Right now, I feel the need to stay mum. People are shocked when they learn that I've been orphaned, in foster care, divorced and have four girls.
The other day I had a clerk disbelieve my driver's license when I bought cigarettes for a patient.
She thought my ID was fake because I was obviously not a day over 35.
I probably should have smiled and exposed my eye wrinkles for her.
*****
Stories.....I'm having trouble understanding stories.
At work, we've had problems with nurses telling their addiction stories to clients.
I wanted to teach one nurse why one doesn't tell a story.
So I told a snippet of my story. I told the one about the errant shrink who I had to console because the focal point of our session was about the death of her mother at the hands of her father.
The nurse...well, she kept asking me questions....
She asked, "why would the therapist talk about her mother's death at the hands of her father?"
Because when she asked about my childhood, I divulged that my mom was murdered by my step-dad.
The nurse became horrified.
She became worried about me. Let it be known that this seems like an entirely different lifetime to me. My mom died 38 years ago!
She didn't focus on the moral - the lesson is to give the time to the people in need not the helpers.
She's worried about me.
I guess my mission was accomplished in a round about sort of way.
All it did was show the other nurses why we don't share our stories - people worry about us!
The last thing our patients need is to waste their time worrying about us.
That wasn't exactly what I was aiming for.
I was just trying to point out that it is uncomfortable to be a patient spending an hour consoling someone we've paid to help us.
I guess, it doesn't matter how the message was shared.
The point got across.
I'll take it.
*****
Stories...
at 50, I don't really have a story.
My life is more of a combination of stories.
My current story? Well....I don't really understand it. It's like a mystery that I haven't yet figured out.
The more I think about the stalking crap, the more I try to make sense of it, the less I understand it.
How can I write an end to that chapter without understanding it?
The more I think back over my ex husband's lies, the more I think of the character Verbal in The Usual Suspects. I guess I had a Verbal in my life.
I don't know where I am.
I don't know who I am.
I don't know what to do.
All I know is this....
We all have stories.
This is because we are put in this plane of existence to learn and grow.
Some stories sound worse than others - but - this is subjective.
I know women who are more traumatized by a broken nail than other women who have lost limbs.
We cannot judge what one is going through.
Somehow I believe that the universe dishes trauma out to everyone.
I don't know if my story is worse than any others.
*****
I can't have a crush or attraction for anyone.
It's been said that I'm Asexual.
I don't know.
That is what the kids call me because I don't date.
The stalking taught me to avoid friendships. Now that it appears to be over, I'm not sure I'm ready to test the waters.
I'll explain that one, too.
There is a pharmaceutical salesman who is said to have the hots for me.
My colleagues are telling me that he wants me.
He's always flirting with me and asking for me.
He's adorable
-but-
the thought of dating anyone makes me sick to my stomach.
I've become incredibly OCD.
I could never get clean enough to get close to anyone.
That's possibly the trauma talking.
It could simply be that I do not know how to end this chapter of my story.
I don't even understand my story.
It's a little offensive for another person to claim he knows part of it.
****
I tried very, very hard not to get snarky.
I'm actually proud of myself.
I didn't ask what part of my story he knew.
Did he know the bit about my fighting tax hikes?
Did he know the bit about the city attorney harassing me because I complained about ageism and illegal fines towards city employees?
Or is he referring to my divorce?
I don't know.....
The only part of my story he knew was the bit about the washing machine. He asked about it. I told him because I thought is was relevant and funny.
That was about an hour before he made the claim. I don't even understand what brought it about.
All it does is remind me that men are weird.
*****
Typically when men say bizarre things it is because they are feeling bizarre things in response to bizarre energy.
I was probably being creepy.
He could probably sense that I thought he was adorable.
He was possibly the first guy I met outside of my tribe with the same religious belief system - so that just made him 100x more adorable.
But - but....
there is always a but....
he's a government employee.
I fear the city fined his boss before firing him.
Ugh....that's just another battle I neglected to finish.
So....I'll try to explain.
I am evil.
I took a loan from the city to get my house up to code to comply with the law: It was biggest mistake of my life.
I'm trying not to be impatient and nasty. I'm secretly working on getting another, more expensive loan, because I think this situation has violated my morals (and they ruined the inside of my house but I'm trying not to complain....never trust the government...never).
Yes, I make mistakes.
I've made some whoppers. .
I don't like to tell my full story.
The mistakes I make are my story.
The mistakes of others are their stories.
I tell a good chunk of it here but there isn't enough time to share it all.
I tell enough of it....here...where it is safe.
Right now, I feel the need to stay mum. People are shocked when they learn that I've been orphaned, in foster care, divorced and have four girls.
The other day I had a clerk disbelieve my driver's license when I bought cigarettes for a patient.
She thought my ID was fake because I was obviously not a day over 35.
I probably should have smiled and exposed my eye wrinkles for her.
*****
Stories.....I'm having trouble understanding stories.
At work, we've had problems with nurses telling their addiction stories to clients.
I wanted to teach one nurse why one doesn't tell a story.
So I told a snippet of my story. I told the one about the errant shrink who I had to console because the focal point of our session was about the death of her mother at the hands of her father.
The nurse...well, she kept asking me questions....
She asked, "why would the therapist talk about her mother's death at the hands of her father?"
Because when she asked about my childhood, I divulged that my mom was murdered by my step-dad.
The nurse became horrified.
She became worried about me. Let it be known that this seems like an entirely different lifetime to me. My mom died 38 years ago!
She didn't focus on the moral - the lesson is to give the time to the people in need not the helpers.
She's worried about me.
I guess my mission was accomplished in a round about sort of way.
All it did was show the other nurses why we don't share our stories - people worry about us!
The last thing our patients need is to waste their time worrying about us.
That wasn't exactly what I was aiming for.
I was just trying to point out that it is uncomfortable to be a patient spending an hour consoling someone we've paid to help us.
I guess, it doesn't matter how the message was shared.
The point got across.
I'll take it.
*****
Stories...
at 50, I don't really have a story.
My life is more of a combination of stories.
My current story? Well....I don't really understand it. It's like a mystery that I haven't yet figured out.
The more I think about the stalking crap, the more I try to make sense of it, the less I understand it.
How can I write an end to that chapter without understanding it?
The more I think back over my ex husband's lies, the more I think of the character Verbal in The Usual Suspects. I guess I had a Verbal in my life.
I don't know where I am.
I don't know who I am.
I don't know what to do.
All I know is this....
We all have stories.
This is because we are put in this plane of existence to learn and grow.
Some stories sound worse than others - but - this is subjective.
I know women who are more traumatized by a broken nail than other women who have lost limbs.
We cannot judge what one is going through.
Somehow I believe that the universe dishes trauma out to everyone.
I don't know if my story is worse than any others.
*****
I can't have a crush or attraction for anyone.
It's been said that I'm Asexual.
I don't know.
That is what the kids call me because I don't date.
The stalking taught me to avoid friendships. Now that it appears to be over, I'm not sure I'm ready to test the waters.
I'll explain that one, too.
There is a pharmaceutical salesman who is said to have the hots for me.
My colleagues are telling me that he wants me.
He's always flirting with me and asking for me.
He's adorable
-but-
the thought of dating anyone makes me sick to my stomach.
I've become incredibly OCD.
I could never get clean enough to get close to anyone.
That's possibly the trauma talking.
It could simply be that I do not know how to end this chapter of my story.
I don't even understand my story.
It's a little offensive for another person to claim he knows part of it.
****
To quote a favorite Sci Fi Character
"We are all stores in the end." - Dr. Who.