Drops In the Bucket . . .

This weekend I was chatting in my usual chat room, and I was confronted by a horrible truth: it does not matter how intelligent one appears nor how nice one appears to be, hate can exist in anyone. A chatter I respect for his intelligence and seemingly kind disposition was spewing hate towards homosexual people. As a former military man, he was voicing his opinion on whether gay men should be allowed in the armed forces. He was adament that they should not be allowed in the military because a relationship between two men in the same group could reduce the combat readiness of this group should emotional issues distract. He said the same thing about women in the military. I noticed that he had a blog on his chat profile so I went to read some of it. When I started reading it, I was startled by the vehemence with which he discusses homosexual people. The first post I read was about the use of derrogatory terms in reference to gay men and women. The gist of his argument is that bec

Another amazing video I will not click on is flashing before my eyes as I write this post to my blog. I had an eventful and tiring day. Totally blushed out a few times at work. [this means that I was embarrased to the point where my cheeks became flushed and red -- oddly enough, I actually felt one of them creeping up my face today] I am the consummate people pleaser. If I created something new or pretty, I want to show someone. As Lisa Simpson once said, "Grade me! Look at me...evaluate and rank me! Oh, I'm good, good, good, and oh so smart! Grade me!" That's how I feel sometimes. I don't do it to be pretentious or make other people look bad. I love being the best at something [everything]. I know that I should not be like that because when I do fail, I take it personally. Then I try even harder till I am stressed and sad. Maybe that is why I stayed in my relationship so long with my ex-husband. I kept trying and trying even when it was killing m

As per my custom, I collect all the trash in the house, tie up the trash bag(s), and then place it outside my front door. I do this so that the next time I go out, I can walk the trash to the trash bin. Well, last night, I put two bags of trash outside and told myself I would walk it to the bin in the morning. I did not end up going outside until around 10:30 a.m. Much to my chagrin and embarrassment, an animal had grabbed one of the trash bags and ripped it to shreds. The kitchen trash was strewn all over the lawn and in my driveway. I already feel I have the worst lawn in the neighborhood. (My ex never cared about it, and would never allow me to cut it [yes, he actually said he did not want me cutting the lawn].) I have cut it now a few times, but because of the lack of preventative care, the grass is generously sprinkled with crab grass and weeds. I felt like, okay, here is a now a divorced single mother, with a horrible lawn, a fence that I can't afford to clean the gr

When I was a child, my mother would tell everyone, even strangers, every detail about our lives. It would mortify me. I always thought it was to gain sympathy. Sometimes I fear I am like her because I too do not hold much back about myself. I know she loves me in her own way, and I know it would hurt her to read this if she could. But the truth is the truth, she was not a good mother. I guess that is why I take such pains in making sure my children get the mother they deserve. I have not really discussed my children online. This may be construed many ways, but for me it is because I love them. They have a right to their privacy and their thoughts and hopes and dreams. It is only up to me to nurture those aspirations inside them. To be their confidante. They are the most beautiful beings that have ever touched my life. They make me smile, make me dream, and make me want to give them the best life possible. They make me proud to be a human and to have compassion and emp

The hardest thing with having so much more responsibility is choosing what gets put off. Whether in life, with my home, with my schooling. What do I choose? I have so many things to do at work. Sometimes I feel like screaming. Do not get me wrong, I finish all my work and I try to make sure everything meets with my standard of perfection. [I often find flaws with what I do after I finish it. It's usually negligible. Spacing issues perhaps, but it still bothers me.] But I get things done on time and with what I like to think is a beautiful finished product, so they give me more work and more work. Then I get home and there are dishes, and kids clothing, and lawn maintenance, and broken things, and light bulbs, and guinea pig cleaning, and and and. ... I just don't know how I can handle it all right now. It helps that I really like the people I work with, my children are the most awesome little humans on the planet, and my butt still manages to get everything done.

Looking around my office at work, there are two distinct themes: space and flowers. On both computers in my office, I have pictures of planets and one super nova. And on the walls are flowers that I have drawn or that I relieved from an old calendar. There really is nothing to connect the two except my love of their esthetic beauty. From my art, one can see that I like stark backgrounds. Space is the ultimate backdrop for our existence. Stars and planets seem to be hung on invisible strings and I find it so beautiful. To know that our small solar system is hung up among so many others is awe inspiring. I wish I could be like the characters in the sci-fi books that I read and travel among the stars. My fascination with science fiction truly has nothing to do with my appreciation of the beauty that is space, but it does give me a way to imagine myself being there. Flowers, while small, hold that same effect for me. They evolved into these beautiful and delica

Wrote this while I was in computer science classes. My mind was overloaded from reading lines of C++ and little to no sleep. Note to self: Exfoliate the plains of my mind Sweat out the impurities Scrape off the Immaturities Like a layer of dead skin on the flesh. Peel away the glossy veneer Sear back the rictus Open up my data bases Repair the traces of my deviated superego

This is a little midnight rhapsodizing. Put to music does not sound so bad, but in a poem, not so good. My first attempt at poetry in a long while: *cringe* Skeletons I've been mired in the madness of my misery Stuck inside the turmoil that I called my sanity But then I told you my secrets And you told me yours Our skeletons took their hands And danced across the floor I've been searching for the answers to questions I don't know Looking for the clues to the soul I thought I'd lost But then you held me beside you And made me dream again A welcome blush and fervent kiss To last until the end

Since my breakup (yes, I know, stop talking about it, blah blah), I have started chatting quite a bit. In my new chat home, and one that I used to call home. I have found so many interesting people who do so many interesting things. I love to dig inside their brains and nest for a while. It is something that I used to want to do as a child. It bothered me that I didn't know what other people were thinking and how they led their lives. My clearest memory of feeling this way was when I was a passenger in my mother's car on the freeway. One never needed the freeway in my home town, so when we used it, it was an event. I can remember peering outside the windows at the people in the other cars. I wondered if they were on vacation or just driving home from some other city. What I wanted most was for a passenger in the other car to look at me and wonder about me too. A connection. Chat is the ultimate freeway. Not only can I see people coasting along, I can jump into the

I will never learn how to read people. I was working with a mortgage lender and they promised me a lot of things. I got the documentation to prove it. So, on the day of signing ( after I had spent the money that would have normally been used for the mortgage ), it turns out that everything was different. From the fee amounts, to the cash-out, and to the length of the loan. EVERYTHING. Unless someone can miraculously pop out of my crappy life and give me money, I saw no other option but to sign the loan documents. Of course, in a few months I can also refinance, but just getting duped again and being played for a fool was humiliating. The notary they sent to my house stared wide-eyed at the big discrepancy between the numbers I was given (which I showed her), and the numbers on the loan. So, again, Vanessa + Stupidty

Don't ask me why or how or when or (et cetera), but I've been feeling happy. The last few days have not been as depressing. The gaping, achey wound that is my heart has not been so bad. I feel better than I have in a long time. I dunno know if it will last, but it sure feels damn good. When I walk around the office, I am not jealous of other's happiness anymore. I hated that feeling. I hated walking around with that hole in my chest and wondering why no one could see my pain. It's not like it was a secret at work anyway. There are people there who would empathize. But it was not their place to ride this roller-coaster ride with me (more like ship in a tempest). Back to the happiness - I've been giddy and happy, flirtacious and generally cool with things. Nothing seems to daunting at the moment. The only thing that brings me down is not having someone to truly share it with. I would not want to share it with my ex for anything in the world. But I kn