Don’t ask me what that title means. It just came out so we’ll see what *else* comes out.
Of Days Off
I was a very productive monkey yesterday despite the torrential rain and pent up dog energy and whatnot. With an older dog, a rainy day doesn’t mean anything different than a sunny one.
It means having them underfoot all day and nowhere to put their energy. They were so happy this morning to run around the yard and chase each other. (PJ sounds like the meanest dog when she runs after Brogan. At first I was worried that when she caught him, she would tear him limb from limb. Nah. She just sounds scary ass. She’s a big old puddle of love.)
So so so loving my mentoring group! This week they’ve been doing email readings for volunteer clients and we’ve been sharing the feedback and learning all the different ways to do those readings. I am so proud of those who are doing it for the first time – it’s scary as hell to take your intuitive skills out in front of others and ask for feedback. They’ve all done so well with it and are willing to just jump in and trust. It’s a lot of time and work on my part but not really work – just joy! I don’t think I’ll stop my individual readings any time soon but this program is where I’m heading – making it stronger, better and more valuable for others.
Sleeping dogs and letting them lie
I’m not too sure what this means in the context of my life – oh wait, yes I do! One of the things I’m working on with my beloved coach is asking out loud for what I want/need. I really don’t do this (well) and prefer instead to suffer in silence. (Not in my head, though. In my head, I’m pissed, sad, mad, and about forty other feelings.) Apparently, this pattern of being an inner pisshead doesn’t work so well with where my soul is going (evolution-wise) and it’s showing up big time for healing.
I rather like my inner pisshead because it lets me feel all superior and righteous. As long as I don’t ask for what I need, I get to play that martyr and feel okay about myself. But if I put myself out there and ask (or speak my truth), there’s a chance of a fight, rejection, etc. (Note that I equate speaking out / my truth as “but then bad things will happen” instead of “I have a much better chance of getting what I want/need if I let others know about it.” Ah! Learned behavior, I love you so.)
It’s time to grow the fuck up, Lisa. Time to stop doing that which has served you in the past but not very well. And definitely does NOT serve you now.
My homework this week is to look at where that inner martyr comes out (mostly, in taking care of the dogs because a good deal of it falls on me. Yet, I get so much love in return. Why am I pissy? Also too: why don’t I just ask Duty for more help? He ain’t called Duty for nothing and he usually says yes. It’s pretty much a guaranteed win/win here.) I’ll report progress (or lack thereof) next time.
Tales from the FrontHave I told you before how I don’t care for domestic chores? I do like the result but abhor the process.
I’d like to blame that on my mother who did not set a stellar example herself but, you know, she had a blind, leg-less husband and me to take care of and that was more than enough for her. We had a nice lady named Margaret come and clean once a week.
Still, I fancy myself an adult now and again and I think domestic stuff is what adults do. Yet, I can’t quite figure out how to keep the clutter/dust/ick at bay.
In my perfect world, I’d make enough money (or apportion same in my budget) to have someone who DOES like to do those things take care of it for me. But Duty gets all wonky about it and then I internalize it as a failure on my part and it stirs up a lot of yuck inside me and between us. You’d think he’d prefer a clean house to the alternative but I suppose not. And after 13 years, you’d think he’d know it’s not going to get any better. He seems to hold out hope (or expectations or something …) that I will somehow change and all the clutter will make its way to the appropriate space.
So, he runs around feeling suffocated by it all and I run around feeling inadequate. Nothing gets done and the house is a dusty, cluttery mess.
I’m not sure what the solution is except for me to suck it up and deal. He does all the outside chores and the pots, pans and plastic stuff in the sink. (And the outside stuff is a lot – so I really don’t feel like asking him for more help inside is fair.)
(Uh oh. I just felt the martyr peek out. Noting this for future reference.)
There you have it, five people who read this. I’m writing more so that’s good. It’s mostly whining so that’s not as good. I wish I were like Gal and could write interesting posts about famous people and how they’ve touched my life. Or stuff my friends are doing (except I’m pretty open about this blog so they’d see it.) I think you’re stuck with whining, my hopes and dreams, and intermittent stories about whining and dreams with a few COOKies sprinkled in.