Squirrels in the backs of my Thighs

I need to do this.  I’m learning thanks to Abraham Hicks primarily, although there are other sources as well, that my emotions are present to tell me things I otherwise would not be able to know about how I’m doing in creating my life.  I know that I have created my life so far and much of it is way behind where I want to be, so I am making an extra effort to pay attention and be quick to make the changes I need to make.   

I’ve been feeling “squirrely” (that seems to show up with discomfort in my stomach that is way overridden by goose bumpy thighs that feel like they are deserting ship, somehow) quite a bit these last three or four hours and since part of what I’m doing is looking at homes again, I’m reminded that I need to admit to seeing more and more clearly how negative and critical I can still be on a near constant basis.

I am grateful that as I am pricked in my mind that I am doing it again, I laugh as often as not which will hopefully allow me to release these habits faster.  I don’t expect you to have these same priorities but I look for clerestory windows (very hard to come by) or at least LOTS of windows well placed, a garage, a large (preferably oval) comfortable bathtub and clear preference if possible – washer/dryer.  

 I know after looking at lots of pictures that the kitchen very much matters as well – and I know it when I see it.  Keeping that in mind perhaps you concur with me that it seems utterly (and having seen enough of it, ridiculously) absurd to have what few pictures accompany most houses be of the “wrong” things.  I mean, come on, am I going to live in the community pool?  Do I really need three views of the same back yard tree without being able to see the back yard?  And, what is this?  No one who is not looking at it in context is going to have the least idea what this even is.  And, why show me all these pictures of the bathrooms with no way of being able to guess if there is an actual bathtub in there?  It’s heartbreaking!

Maybe you do it, too.  Nitpick and nag, possibly even curse in frustration as you do something you need to do, perhaps want to do, when you find yourself relying on others choices to make decisions.  Learn to notice what your head is filled with.  Pay attention to your dominant thought.  I’m beginning to really get it that it’s what we do inside ourselves that determines our circumstances.  I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you what you want to create.  I’m really having a good time though turning my circumstances around to my greater advantage.  Secretly, I have always wanted things to be better.  Now, I know I can expect that.

I Clearly Speak to my Subconscious My Wants

And so that’s that!

The Pauley’s say, “Don’t ask for money.”

Vitale says, “Just say the amount you want.”

Sasha Xarrian seems to manifest money anytime she wants.

I had to ask for money.  Years ago I remember Judi saying, “Be sure to ask for the money to maintain your manifestation.”  I never could seem to get that done.  I want to GET IT DONE this time.  I definitely want to pass go and collect two hundred dollars.  It’s time.  It’s my time!

I had to adjust the amount once I began planning out my start to my new life.  I had begun with $50,000 because I had been tapping with Margaret Lynch.  I realized that wasn’t going to cover it all and it sure wasn’t going to give me any leeway.  I’m not saying the new amount covers it all either, but it is the start I need.  I won’t be stopping once I get going this time.  Yowzers!

I don’t visualize food as often as the car and the new place to live.  Somehow the excitement level is just not the same.  Besides, I need the car to transport me to where I want to buy my food and get it away from there, and I need my new place so there is room in the refrigerator and pantry for my stuff.  But being able to buy food again is going to be a very big deal on my appreciation list.  I’m thinking fruits and juices first off.  And that makes me think of a good blender or juicer.  Aha!  I know a little something about those now.  That’s important but I want to purchase wisely.  If it is too much trouble to use or clean up, truth be told, I will have wasted my money.

This is good.  This is very good.  I’m feeling the power in this in telling my subconscious very clearly exactly what I want.  I am loving it!

I’m thinking I want eggs and cheese.  How I’ve missed being able to enjoy cheese with whatever I want.  Good thing I am going to Costco where I can get one of those ginormous bags of tortilla chips!  Let’s see, I’ll need avocados and mushrooms and peppers.  I want to pick up a couple bags of celery and carrots and broccoli too.  And I have looked forward for weeks to their spinach salads.   

I’ll want dips and dressings and all kinds of condiments and I do hope they have pita chips.  For now, I’ll just enjoy some sourdough bread but also get some refrigerator biscuits to make up.  I’ll want to have some truffles on hand, some soy milk and one good type of ice cream.  Oh, yes, and some fish, tilapia and salmon and tuna and possibly, sardines.  No doubt, there will be more.  I have plenty of experience and positive memories of buying myself food.

I must have missed it before.  Surely it has been written often, yet it shone out to me like a beacon of light last night as I embraced it so eagerly:  “I can do and be and have and give, all I want.  The power is in me.”

I feel like such a dunderhead (it seems such an appropriate term at least) in that all these concepts really do seem so simple, yet I just couldn’t seem to make them work for me.  I know I am in a very different place now.

One main component is vibration (by the way, my best friend answered my question as to her knowing what that was, with yes, and she felt hers was pretty high over the last several weeks.)  “Would you say like joy?” I asked, and she replied yes.  That is fantastic and uplifts me and I’m sure those around her.

Joy to you, AZ.

Money Can Fit With "Life is Hard, Then You Die"

I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to get here, but whoopee, what a ride!  I’m feeling, “feeling”, feeling my money, my $X$X$Xxx so close.  I am so jazzed.  I’m guessing my first move, assuming I can avoid it having to be the bank to get cash, will be to see if the car that appears to be my best choice is one that has an owner who will drive it to me.  Having my car is so imperative to getting everything else done in a timely manner.  At this juncture, I’ m really hoping it will be a nice Saab (understand I’m talking older, well-maintained and kindly used). 

Then, because it is so close to Christmas, I want to get my place secured, preferably the one on Harrison with that great tub.  Once those two things are taken care of I want to be sure J and R receives their portions.  Then, the bank with tithes set aside, savings taken care of, and an account to receive direct deposits and provide me a debit card.  Naturally, I won’t be able to forget getting my phone all set up, my new larger monitor and just having a great time stocking my kitchen from Costco and the Dollar store.   Mrrahahaha.  

 I’ll delay my traveling north until Christmas is over.  What fun C and I shall have!  Oh, before I hit the road I’ll need a new laptop.  Shall I get an Acer (twin to my pc) or go ahead and splurge on a Mac?  I did notice last night I could have gotten (probably) what I want barely (twenty hours – are you kidding me?) used, loaded with software, for a very doable price.

Now to what this is all about?  Listening to Robert G Smith yesterday explaining how the mind works and sharing why we hang onto the bad memories relating first experiences with school and learning, no, not 26 letters of the alphabet, but with upper case and lower case, double that (and much later, even more each in cursive) and once we get our papers back all marked up in red, from then on in life we’re trying to avoid whatever bad we experience and keep at bay all that we did not like.  

My synopsis was done very quickly but it became a very real picture in my head as he described it.  It doesn’t seem a huge big deal to see red on a paper these days but as I mentally took myself back to first grade (we didn’t have kindergarten) I sure saw that lined tablet paper readily enough and felt that familiar scuttling movement across my stomach over the idea my teacher was not favorably impressed with me.  That I did not like.  That I did not want.

The Robert G Smith I write about is prolific online with tapping videos, and explanations as to how and what works.  I find it much easier to learn new material while observing it working on myself.  I mentioned last post that I wanted you to be able to see what had occupied my mind.  

It really is kind of cool that no one outside of us really knows what it is that we’re really thinking, but not so cool that others may well know better than we do what our minds are like because of the evidence produced.  I’m not at all proud of what others can witness by my life, whether they see it or hear my answers to their questions.  

I’ve long wanted to turn that around but I see now that I blocked a lot of my own efforts.  I would say that not just a little bit of that has to do with family background.  But before I try to make a dent in covering that ground, I want to go back to what I started with and that is looking at the ugly picture I hold within of me and money.
 

I never really have thought ahead about or made preparations with regards to money.  My first job outside the home was when I was fourteen.  I was proud of myself.  I’m not sure what I was proud of.  I continued to work until I left for University.  I don’t recall having a drop of savings.  

I certainly was willy nilly, I can tell you that.  The major I intended became my minor for lack of awareness of the statistics and higher math I was not prepared to deal with and yet I carried on.  I just had an ugly thought, a reminder really.  I believe I was indoctrinated ahead of time that my real purpose in going to school where I went to school was to find a “right” husband.  I was not self aware enough to realize how ambivalent I was about all that:  the major, the schooling overall, the husband.  

And somewhere in that milieu, was the question of money.  You see, at that time, in the space I was in, it was very questionable if it was even virtuous, lovely, clean, of good report, even moral for a female to work outside the home.  Whew!  This is what can happen when I write!  This is the kind of unearthing I definitely am looking to do.  Voila!  I haven’t consciously thought of that for years.

You see – sharing can do that to a person.  Thanks, AZ

She’z Story and Butt Hurt All Over

“Damn!”  She shouts in that overloud voice that she has (and apparently adores).  She’s playing a game she’s convinced she taught herself and I’m sure the epithet was meant to say to the others who’ve played the game a long time, in some cases years, “Look at me!  Am I not effin’ unbelievable, yes?”

I have at least half an idea why I’m really finding it difficult to write about her.  I say half an idea because this is one of many multi-layered enigmas and I’m not sure I really want to look too hard in this mirror.

When I first realized she’d be rooming with me in the same house, it didn’t take me too long to realize that I’d better bite the bullet and realize I was prejudiced.  I’m not saying I’m positive I never realized that before, but if I did I must have very quickly rearranged it somehow in my mind.  I am not proud to find this weakness in me.  I may also be incapable of much respect for anyone who specifically chooses as a point of pride to say “I aks you” in clear opposition to taking the time to think through and say it “I ass-k you”.

All that aside, you’ll really laugh when you realize what’s bothering me here.  She’s been after and half-assed after my son a long time, but once she got an old, as in former, roommate in the house, she found herself all butt-hurt and came crying that he would “let” B (the new roommate) do this and that and he had not ever privileged her in the same way.  She was characterizing herself in a relationship with my son that simply did not exist.  I finally suggested to her that she go to him and say, “I’m going to make this real easy on you so I just want a yes or no answer – do you see you and me in a relationship?”  Sometime later she told me he wouldn’t answer so I told her that if it were me, I’d seek nothing else from him, conversation wise or otherwise, until he’d answered yes or no.  She never reported back but I hope I never have to see his face as aged and generally world weary as I saw it the morning I asked him how he was doing and he detailed out for me how things had gone as he had experienced her responding to his unequivocal no, hell no, not now no, not in any future no.  This, by the way, was all in the course of him talking with me as he does, regardless of anyone else.  I’m pretty sure she had never said anything about me.

So, how’s it going since?  I don’t know if she’s playing a game, is seriously delusional, intends on being “Misery” movie’s Kathy Bates to James Caan being updated as my son, or what.  I’m dealing with things like being called “ma”.  She made a point of saying to B, “oh yeah.  I call her ma.”  Really?  News to me.  Much more painful I’m hearing new terms of endearment (?) being directed to my son and watching her take over the house and hearing stories told (in that loud voice) along the lines of how she told the UPS driver her last name was my son’s last name.

Now about that mirror:  I have been told a good part of my life how loud my voice is.  (I mentioned she apparently adores it because I always felt shamed – and shushed, when anyone said anything to me and she remarks how her favorite people told her about her voice and then grins and carries on – loudly.)  I am aware the same questions as to game playing,  the level of delusion, I decline taking up the level of violence Kathy Bates demonstrated forty years ago even if my “dear heart” is really a dip wad.  BTW – the next morning I considered pulling that post as I writhed in agony over the demonstration of codependency in vivid streams of example. 

There are lots of ways I can see this woman as placed in my path for the express purpose of pointing out to me that what irritates me in others can be found (and usually should be ripped out by the short hairs) in me.

I debated for hours over whether or not I should write this all up – for any reason at all – but I want you to have an example of one of my worst, and most destructive, habit patterns (habit patterns are much more deeply engrained and encompassed than habits).  I also wanted you to understand what I mean when I talk about what my head was filled with.

Well, AZ, I realize now I haven’t even greeted you.  Hi and goodbye both.  Christmas has almost snuck up on us.

Come out of The Dark Night of the Soul

Its nearly Good Evening, AZ!  I've been looking at homes to rent on-line nearly the whole day.  Another start over to my life and one I'm looking forward to positively and with power rumbling in my innards.   I have realized I've had a default position of fear that had grown voraciously over the same years I colored with the Long Dark Shadow of the Night vernacular wherein I felt helpless to do anything but writhe in the paw of the mega gorilla.   (That was meant to bump your imagination into picturing me as small of waist and luscious legged while my young (harrumph) lovely face ever delights even though my mouth is agape with screaming for my life.)

  I'm not sure why I am yearning for this now, except that it may a deep, deep wish I harbor all the time.  You know, to be younger, to be leaner, to be desirable enough to be watched through the worst times of life.  Bingo!  There it is, see how you help?

All right, I checked; thank goodness I remembered having erred before.  I did not mean to say long dark shadow of the night, but rather “the dark night of the soul”.  Finally, finally coming out the other end of my own,  I was pleased to read the book description of the #1 return (Amazon, surprise) by Google, a book entitled The Dark Night of the Soul by Gerald G. May.  He says “deep, authentic, healthy spirituality” requires our dark side.  (Well, I certainly come bearing gifts with that then.)  He is stating that encountering (with honesty) that “dark night of the soul” can lead to true spiritual wholeness.  The darkness needn't be sinister, but rather can indicate “our liberation takes place mysteriously, in secret, and beyond our conscious control.”  

I must say, I truly, truly am eager to see how “the universal spiritual experience of disorientation, doubt, fear, emptiness, ‘dryness’, and despair” that I all too often believed were going to be the end of me are going to lead to my wholeness, spiritual or otherwise, because madly insane though it often sounded to me while in it (forever, it felt) I did expect to come through it and somehow be better.  Definitely, definitely, I would have preferred bliss.  Certainly, certainly, I had little use for “reality”, whatever that is.

Dear heart,  (now once again, let me assure and welcome AZ as I share)

You may or may not care to know I think of you daily.  You used to call me “sweetie”, you used to tell me you loved me, there were times when I was surprised to hear you say you missed me.  I say I was surprised because you never seemed to be powerfully motivated to see me, spend time with me or even talk to me.  As far as I was concerned I wanted all those things nearly constantly.  Perhaps that clarifies my surprise.

  

I wouldn't be all that “surprised” though if you were to respond with something I wouldn't expect and wouldn't know what to do with without hours and hours of looking at it every way I could conceive of, and then I'd want to practice my responses several times while I had nothing else to do like sit on the toilet or some such.  I'm usually not that slow to retort.  I know you know that.  You must know any number of things I don't, to tie my thinking and reacting parts into such ridiculous knots and, frankly, I've never run into anyone like you in that way.  I feel my mind and emotions get glommed together in some way and if I could watch they'd be trying to catch and get the best of each other and they're surprised, too.

Well, it's two weeks shy of a year now when you said something to the effect of “I'm taking Tuesday off (absolutely unheard of that you should take any day off) and we're going to start doing some "couple" things.  We'll take in a movie or something.  I'd like to think you could imagine my excitement, even if your intention was as cruel as your behavior was.  I did feel by your tone I was rude and impatient and unnecessarily intrusive when I called around two or three in the afternoon overcome with angst about whether or not any “couple things” might be in the offing. 

I know from a few experiences with you that preceded this one that you and I are unlikely to see any of this from the same outlook.  I remember when I resorted to writing you fairly early on in our relationship using Hendricks’s Love Letter Format which I really believed would be the most loving and kind way I could ever let you know how I felt.  Rather than open up a way for us to talk, which I fully anticipated, you said I had written some terrible things.  It was the worst letter you had ever received, you said.  

I cannot find a way to look at you saying later on the Tuesday I understood to be “our” couple day (when you actually had worked, and were still working, just like usual) that you would keep in touch because you knew that was important to me and interpret how all that became not hearing from you further.  That extended out to you not picking up my calls and we have not been in touch since.  I did go by a half dozen times or so over the ensuing first six months to make sure you were still alive, and hopefully, well.

I had not planned this the way it’s turning out, but I’m going to post this on my blog reality versus bliss.  I still have hopes for us, odd though that seems.  I was going to say, odd though that seems, even to me, or especially to me; but of course that seems odd to me.  I’m the one seeing it that way.  It’s because I’m beginning to understand how truly odd a good portion of my thinking has been at least as far back as when I was nineteen and started to keep the occasional journal, that I have some real hope for myself. 

Another thing that likely impacts all of this is being told, for the first time I’m aware of, three or four months ago:  I’m codependent.  I assure you I knew I was not being complimented!  In the course of traipsing myself through a questionnaire that stripped me of all personal doubt, I realized something truly astonishing to me, and that was that I unerringly chose unavailable men – my whole flipping life!  I’m making the mental review a little too quickly to be positively certain; but that was always emotionally unavailable to clarify.  I’ve always abhorred women who could stomach (or other organ wise) live with carting off another woman's man.  Two damned good reasons leapt nimbly to mind as to why that would be a serious breach as far as I’m concerned.  I reach back to my third year of life for the first.

If you look at the time of this post, perhaps it might be easier to forgive the loose-y goose-y wanderings of the mind.  I do apologize.  This will seem unfinished because it is.  The entire concept of reality always sticking up its sore thumb when most of us feel it's really bliss we seek, maybe crave; is something I really want to address, and I feel I need to lay some paving stones to work from first.

It is not my intention to smear or hurt or raise a ruckus.  I addressed this man whom I have the fondest of feelings for as Dear Heart because I speak to him often, even though there is no answer.  There are many unusual “things” between us that explain (at least to me) why each of us has been far less than ideal and would have a relationship that falls far short the mark, at least in the time we met and attempted to have a relationship.  Additionally, I will soon have something he will want enough (I'm pretty sure) I hope we'll at least speak briefly.  I'm preparing ahead, in hopes.

So, dear heart, and AZ, sweet dreams.

A Curmudgeon confesses, not because it's fun!

Morning, AZ!  I’m going to say it:  “I really like it; saying “Hi”, or “Good Morning, A to Z”.  I have come to desire to be “different” in my dotage, or possibly, just more willing to be aware of it.  I do like greeting everyone and it’s important to me to acknowledge you.  You have no way of knowing this but I entertain myself quite a bit, and I wanted to say that I hope you’ll acknowledge me one of these days.  Immediately I recognized that would be me “gigging” you or trying to prick you into commenting.  (Sigh)

 

I can be pretty slow on the uptake sometimes, too, and this morning I realized there’s a Phoenix TV station that makes a big deal of “Good Morning Arizona” repeated by several of their personalities.  It’s always a nice feeling to hear it and I often like the backdrop pictures quite a bit.  Actually, I’m going to be nicer to myself and cut myself some slack on not remembering that earlier.  My “outlaw” Alzheimer patient loved Channel Three, often I think because it was the only channel she could remember, no, she adored her “doctors”:  Dr. Phil, the Doctors and Dr. Oz.  She’d make some remark about something she was watching and I’d look and say, “you just saw that last night, don’t you remember such and such”, and she’d say, “No, I never saw this before”.  Ye, Gadfreys!

I’m finding a great reluctance at admitting how very like a curmudgeon I had really become.  (I’ve really got to love it.  In looking up the word to be sure it meant somewhere in the vicinity of what I thought it did, I ran across this wonderful site, http://joshreads.com/?p=12041#comments and the comment led me to a site with a visual of the American Sign Language for loser, and . . . well, I thoroughly distracted myself.)  See.  Now, I’m trying to distract you from what I’m trying to say.

Well, back to it.  In the first post, as I continued on that two hour walk, I had learned and practiced long enough paying attention to my thoughts I felt terribly uncomfortable inside.  Roiling comes to mind, like dirty ugly flood waters that keep coming, keep coming.  I find I often make comments like a school child internally when I’m mad at someone.  Or, pitiably, when I feel annoyed with how I’ve brought up on my internal whiteboard, they ARE.  Judgments, more and more judgments, and judgments upon judgments: as though I could ever be such a pristine example of humanity to have the right to talk – even to myself.  Grousing is such a perfect word.  It feels prickly, as do I, listening to all that vitriol drip in the back of my head and it does have all the right combination of letters to make me realize I can’t do it without tearing me up.

I had isolated myself for long enough I’d lulled myself into believing I was – yes, positive.  What a good girl I had become!  Not!!!!!  One little (sure, it was small) blowout and I’m a walking time bomb.  Don’t even – what?  Don’t touch me, don’t speak to me, don’t look at me, and don’t acknowledge me.  I’ve got my own stuff to deal with.  And where is that stuff?  It is inside me.  That’s where.  And finally, finally, I have the good sense to not be proud of it.  Not be proud of it, is yes, what I said.

Man, that’s exhausting!  No wonder people can stay cranky all their lives.  It is so dulling to one’s senses that it is truly hard to think!

This will have to be sayonara for this one.  I’ll hope there’s a next time then and here’s to your being positive.