Noticed

Posted on November 12 2011 by J.W. Richmond

She felt neglected and stumbled across someone else. Someone who noticed her. Brushed her hair out of her face and wiped her tears. She eventually came back and wanted to make it work. He tried to forgive her, but couldn’t. And then he found someone else and another someone else.

He met girls at work. They were fun and they liked him. They never asked for more from him. They didn’t need anything from him. They didn’t need his money or his help with the house or the car or the kids. They each only lasted a night. Or a couple hours. She found out and was done with him. She was worth more than that. And so were their kids.

She was enamored. They had something in common. Not like her husband, who had his own life and his own interests. She never meant for it to go beyond that. But she couldn’t help herself. He was busy. Always busy.

He just lost interest. His magazines and his computer vied for his attention. The images made him sweat and made his mouth water. The other girls he was with were just supplemental. She tried. But she couldn’t be exciting enough for him anymore.

Kids were all she thought about. Sex wasn’t sex anymore. It was about ovulation. Certain hours of certain days. No more spontaneity, no more fun, not even love. It was methodical. He wanted to have kids. But she was consumed. He changed his focus to his work and was caught off guard by someone else who looked up to him and made him feel alive again. Made him feel like a man again.

Till death parts us.

Sometimes.

 

Two of the couples are still trying. For now.

Rain

Posted on November 11 2011 by J.W. Richmond

I didn’t always like the rain.

I used to love the sun.

The sun was one of the biggest reasons I ended up at Sonoma State instead of Humboldt, my eventual top two schools.

I checked out many Campuses: UC Irvine for criminology, UCLA for film. Considered a hundred other schools.

I wasn’t even sure I wanted to go to college, so I started at a JC first: Shasta College, because I made a deal with my parents that I would go – somewhere, anywhere.

I ended up loving Shasta so much that I would have stayed if it had been a four-year school.

Sometimes things change.

I didn’t always like meat – at least red meat. Or purple. Or hiking. Or rollercoasters.

I used to like DC Talk and Savage Garden.

I used to like Saved by the Bell.* (Okay, I still do.)

I still don’t like lasagna. Or chocolate.

After Shasta, I tried out Simpson, because it was a four-year school in Redding. Simpson was clearly not the right place for me. Or I wasn’t the right person for it. I left after two days, took the rest of the semester off and transferred to Sonoma.

I love the rain now.

Maybe because it is so rare in Fresno. If I lived in Humboldt, maybe I would hate it and wouldn’t appreciate it.

But now I enjoy it. A lot.

Jeff and I met at Sonoma. He wasn’t at Humboldt. Or Simpson. Or UCLA. Or Irvine.

I don’t think it was a coincidence.

 

*Saved by the Bell ©1989-1993

Rocks

Posted on November 5 2011 by J.W. Richmond

          A.k.a. Crap I have learned from.

This is my advice to my single girl friends.

Get rid of the guy if
Dump him if
Tell him to get lost
                kick rocks if:

  • He won't call you his girlfriend, but he’s fine with hooking up.

He needs time. He isn't ready. Whatever his excuse is, it’s fine. Let him take his time. He can wait. But he can wait without you.

  • He lies.

You don't know where he is. Ever. He won't call and he always has some excuse. You catch him in his inconsistencies. What else is he lying about that you haven’t found out about – yet?

  • He lies again.

He told you he would be at home, and you just happen to drive up to a stop sign and he’s in the car next to you, with another girl. He tells you he has a brain tumor so you'll feel sorry for him. How many lies does he have to tell?

  • He has a girlfriend.

He says he’s going to leave her. He will, right? Maybe. But if he is willing to cheat on her, why wouldn't he cheat on you? Because he loves you? Did he tell her he loved her too? People generally continue in their patterns. They generally repeat their behavior. Do you really want to start a relationship on something that shaky? Wondering if he will someday do to you what he did for you this time?

  • He does drugs or abuses any other substance.

Whatever it is, it's probably worth more to him than you are. Can people change? Yes. Do you want to be the one he changes for? Be careful with your answer. If you say no, you need to walk away. If you say yes, that is a huge responsibility that you are choosing to carry throughout your entire relationship. If he doesn't change, you are placing that on yourself. But his sobriety is not your responsibility. Now or 20 years from now.

  • He says he can picture himself with a girl like you, but he doesn't say with you.

He could be a friend of yours who has never taken notice of you before. Or he could be a guy you barely know, someone you have seen in class, at Starbucks or at the office, and maybe flirted with a little. Either way, he is stereotyping you and it is all about his type, not about you. Maybe he's too shy to come out and say, but most likely, he's selfish, delusional, needy or high.

  • He says you can sleep together. Just sleep.

That might work – the first time. Maybe even the second. But it won't last. His hands are not using his brain, which means his hands will not follow his words.

  • He expects something in return for dinner
                                                   flowers
                                                   I love you.

If he expects something from his gifts, then nothing he does for you or says to you is about you. It is about him and what he can get from you. Don't give it to him. He doesn't deserve it and he won't be thankful for it. And guaranteed, if he bothers to stick around, he will expect it again.

 

If you have fallen for any of these things, don’t beat yourself up over it. Almost every girl has given in to at least one.

I know these things because I have been there to some extent, for all of them. I’ve made those mistakes – so you don’t have to.

Can’t a guy make mistakes? Absolutely. But beware of the patterns his mistakes form.

You don't have to fall for his crap. Again.

 

It is not my intention to speak for every person and every situation. What about those who are married to one of these guys? What about those who cannot force themselves to leave because they are too deeply involved? What about [fill in the blank]? There are many other chapters to this post. I do not claim to know everyone in every circumstance. This is just a small collection of things I have learned from my own life and my own choices. If you would like to express something different, I am open to learning more about you and your situation.

Mannequin

Posted on November 3 2011 by J.W. Richmond

Am I moving toward God?
                 Away from Him?
Or am I not moving at all?

I’m not sure how to answer.

People talk about times they feel close to Him
                                         or far from Him.

I’m lucky if I feel Him at all.

I don’t feel Him move.
I don’t feel Him guide me.
I don’t feel His comfort.
I don’t feel all warm and fuzzy with Him.
I don’t feel Him answer my prayers to know what I should do.

I mostly just feel frustrated.

I feel like one of the mannequins on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland – on the circular platforms as you ride by. Going around in circles, arms reaching out in front, in one door and out the other, chasing someone who never gets any closer.

(Or farther away.)

But I keep chasing.

And I keep going around in circles.

I’m not sure I’m getting closer
                  or moving farther away.
I’m moving. But I’m not, exactly.

I’m not close.
But I’m not sure I’m far.
There is definitely distance
                          that I have no idea how to measure.

I don’t think my feelings are a good measurement.

I can’t run any faster.
But I can’t stop running
                     trying
                     fighting
                     pursuing.

If I stop
     to take a breath,
              I may never be able to start running again.

And I don’t know where
                      or how to jump off
                                    dive off
                                    crawl off.
             Or if I should.

But how can I ever reach Him
       if I don’t keep chasing after Him?

Loud

Posted on October 29 2011 by J.W. Richmond

Sometimes my thoughts are (too) loud.

They (over)take me in
        pull me
        push me
                into a corner
        box me in.

Sometimes it’s hard to separate the thoughts.
They spiderweb
        spin
        twist into each other.

And when my thoughts are too loud,
          I tend to play more music
                      turn the TV up louder
                      do anything to dull the noise
                                                  enough
                                                         to handle it.

Can’t sleep
        rest
        relax – because it’s all so loud.

                    Impossible circle.

When I do try to be quiet
                             still
                             wait and listen,
                                        there is so much chatter
                                                    so much noise
                                                       inside my head.

                    No clarity.

I sift through the noise for something real.

But it smothers me
         drowns me
                  anyway.

I end up waiting (forever) with no answers.
And the volume of the chaos increases.

But what if I cut off the real line of communication
                             because everything else is so loud?

What if I end up tuning out
                             what I actually need to hear?

24

Posted on October 25 2011 by J.W. Richmond

My sister forces 40 hours worth of stuff into every single day.

She writes her list and checks almost all of it off. Or she does check all of it off and has to add more.

She does 5 hours worth of work in 3. Sometimes that cuts into her expected time of 2 ½, but she will try to make it up in the next project. She’s also married and has 5 kids. I don’t know how she does it. And she probably has so much more planned that she never gets done.

She accomplishes tons.

I don’t.

After (trying to) sleep, shower, decide which of the same 5 shirts I should wear, brush hair, put in contacts, pluck eyebrows <sneeze!>, <sneeze!>, feed the cats, do an (impossible) hour of exercise a day, eat some version of breakfast – when I remember to – take vitamins, allergy meds, brush my teeth, floss, and get five minutes of news in during all that, I get in the car to go to work.

Need.coffee.now.

Drive, pick up stuff at one location, then drive to the office, work, have actual coffee (mmmmmm). I am supposed to have so many minutes of sun – that my doctor says I’m not actually supposed to have – and drink 8 glasses of water today. Go back to work, have meetings on top of meetings, lunch, build relationships with friends/co-workers, clean my dishes, and go back to work. Exhausted.

Energy drink to the – temporary – rescue.

Work, try to check off the things on my list(s) and be productive, then drive home.

(Want to crash.)

Need to get groceries, figure out what to do for dinner and cook it. Make lunches for tomorrow. Clean the house. Do the laundry. Pay bills. Balance our bank account.

Need
Want
Must spend some time with Jeff.

Try to keep up relationships with family
                                              friends.

                                              Somehow.

And I'm supposed to:

Have appointments with a dentist at least twice a year and doctors of every possible kind every few months – which added up, including the wait times for each appointment that the doctors don’t bother to show up on time for, mean constantly. Not accounting for the ones I am forced to add in for complications, prescription refills, insurance requirements…

Get enough protein.
Keep my brain healthy by doing puzzles of some sort.
          (Did I do a devo today?)
Get an oil change in our car.
     Do the suggested 6-month
                             9-month
                             yearly maintenance for the car.
      It's under a ¼ tank of gas, so it needs to be filled.
          (Did Jeff and I spend any time together?)

And according to the studies in the news this week,
          a glass of wine – red – is good.
          Eggs are good.
          I should make sure I get the right amount of vegetables,
                   but the amount varies per study.
          Not too many carbs,
                   which changes weekly
                                        monthly.

Then feed the cats. Again.
Brush my teeth. Again.
Am I supposed to floss again?
Contacts out.

My eyelids don’t even open anymore.

I didn’t accomplish anything today.

But I’m supposed to also fit in a chiropractor,
                                         a Life Group,
                                         kids,
                           figure out a way to start relationships
                                  with new acquaintances
                                                friends
                                         some time to unwind,
                                                          relax (?),
                                                          be creative,
                                                          sit back and enjoy life.
                                                                (How? When?)

Add in a holiday of some sort. Holidays equal obligations. And the expectations scream so much louder than the small breaths I have a chance to take.

I fall into bed exhausted – but still can’t sleep. My mind won’t shut up. Just struggles to process the constant movement.

And then there is tomorrow.

Put all the pieces back together and start over.
     Repeat.
     Repeat again.

I am thankful for so much of it. Thankful to have Jeff and family and friends and a job…

But how am I supposed to integrate myself into my life?

How do I incorporate a life into my life?

Volcano

Posted on October 23 2011 by J.W. Richmond

My brother and I didn't get along much while we were growing up.

We get along great now – now that we don’t live together.

He was almost nine when I was born and left for college when I was going into fourth grade.

Back then, we fought all
                             the
                             time.

Back then, when he would spend any time with me, I loved every second. I sought him out and wanted to be with him all the time, which drove him crazy. But he was so cool. I wanted more than anything to be part of whatever he was doing, although I think he saw me as the annoying little sister, and most of the time just wanted me to go away.

When we went on family vacations in the motor home, he would build forts above the front seat. He allowed me up there – once. It was awesome!

Usually when we spent time together, he would want to play a game. I was willing to do anything, as long as he would do it with me.

We played Othello, Mastermind and Monopoly. He also taught me how to play Chess.

He was always black. I was never allowed to be black. He taught me – during one game – that a white pawn cannot kill a black queen. I didn’t remember that being part of the original rules. He doesn’t remember telling me that at all.

We would also play with matchbox cars on the ledge in front of the fireplace. He would stage elaborate car accidents with the cars and I had to be the sleuth and figure out which car caused the accident. I was always ready for the challenge. And I remember getting at least some of them right.

When I was in elementary school, I went through a period of time where I was scared. Of everything. You name it, I was scared of it:

               Earthquakes
               Fires
               Tornadoes
               Hurricanes
               Tsunamis
               Volcanoes…

I would play music as I went to bed so I could sleep, so I could concentrate on something – anything – else, and wouldn’t hear any weird noises. The player was under my bed, and I would reach over the side of my bed against the wall to press play every night as I went to sleep.

One night my mom was saying goodnight to me and praying with me, and the cat walked in, cocked his head and went under the bed, outing my brother who was waiting there to scare me.

I’m not sure I would have ever slept again if his plan had worked.

Later, probably because he felt bad, my brother sat down with me and walked me through every fear I had. At least the natural disaster ones.

Earthquakes? They are rare and far between. Fires? We had a fire hydrant in our front yard. His answer for all the others: we lived in California. And not near the ocean.

I responded to logic.

I wasn’t scared anymore (mostly).

As much crap as my brother gave me over the years – and I’m sure I gave a lot back to him – he was the only one who got me past those fears.

He was the only one who was able to get through.

And I think it had to be him. Because he was the only one who would say it as it was.

          No niceties.
          No fluff.

And it was so clear. It was so basic that I wondered why I hadn’t figured all that out by myself.

But I think I needed him to say it
                                so I could hear it.

Stage

Posted on October 21 2011 by J.W. Richmond

People who know only the fringes of me sometimes think
                       I don’t ever participate
                             or I’m shy.
     Or if they really have no idea who I am at all,
         they might think I’m defiant in some way
                because I don’t follow the crowd
             or because I don’t want to stand on a stage
                    in front of a lot of people
                         and talk about myself,
                because I don’t want to stand on a stage
                     in front of a lot of people
                    (unless – maybe – I am playing a character),
                because I don’t want to talk about myself
                     in front of a lot of people.

I will have fingers left on the second hand if I count the people I know who would be okay doing any of those things. There would be most left on the first, except I happen to know a handful of public speakers.

I may fit into that noncompliant bracket for this.

But by definition only.

Maybe
     I’m the only one
          who will speak up
                   for myself – and for those who are afraid to.

The different responses have been funny
                                               strange
                                         and not so strange.

There is the one
     who is upset that I think – and sometimes do things – differently.

And there are the many
     who high-five me and smile, trying not to laugh out loud.
And those who almost cry – or do –
     when they privately thank me later for speaking up
                         when they feel like they couldn’t.

I am starting to see a pattern.
And it has been interesting
              and a little unreal to find out
                   that when I do speak up,
                      I actually have a lot more – silent – supporters
                                       than I knew about.

Need

Posted on October 18 2011 by J.W. Richmond

My friend suggested that I don’t tend to ask for help –
                       in the middle of things.

Maybe afterward, after I’ve cleaned myself up a bit,
                       after I’ve come out of the crap a bit
                                                            (or a lot).

But not when I’m in the middle of whatever it is.

She may be right.

Jeff and I have a similar argument. He would probably say same. But it’s not.

He gets upset that I don’t ask for help – for things I don’t need.

I do ask.
          A lot.
                But not enough – according to him.

I love that he wants to be needed.
And I know he needs to be needed.

It’s so clear on my end: Of course I need him. I have never said or thought or insinuated anything else. I have only affirmed that need over and over. Internally and outwardly.

Sometimes I think I might need him
                        too much.

I ask for silly things: For him to pick up something from the store on his way home from work. I tell him about a problem with the computer or car or fireplace so he can fix it. I ask him to take the laundry out of the dryer because a kitty is cuddling with me and I don’t want to miss out.

And real things: When my back is killing me, I ask him to vacuum the stairs. When anything bad happens – or anything good happens – I tell him. And ask for his thoughts. First. When I am not sure what to do about a situation, I ask him. When I’m insecure, I spill those things to him. I cry on his chest about him dying and leaving me here without him.

How else do I define need?
Because I don’t need someone.

I need him.

Degree

Posted on October 15 2011 by J.W. Richmond

My life could be such a different life with just one slight movement.
                                                               One degree.
                                                               One decision.

What if I had chosen a different college? Or not gone to college at all? Or dropped out of high school? What if I stayed working at Subway as a Sandwich Artist or In-N-Out as an Associate or at the job where I may have been working for the mafia – where I could have been wrong, but wasn't going to stay around long enough to find out?

God would still be God.
My family would still be my family.
Some of my friends would still be my friends.
But what about Jeff? What about us?
     Was I meant to be with a type of guy?
     Or anyone at all?
     Or were we meant to be?

Because I cannot imagine being with anyone else.

I picture any other guy
                     and I can’t help but laugh.
The thought of ending up with anyone else is ridiculous.

I chose him and he chose me. And I choose him again every day.

But we still – somehow – met in the first place.

Is that fate?
         Destiny?
         Kismet?
         Chance?
         Free will?
Is every little detail planned?

How do I reconcile that with people who have been abandoned?
                                                                   Or divorced?
                                                                   Or widowed?

Were they not meant to be with that person?
Or with that type of person?

Were they meant to be alone?
Or later remarried to someone else who is also great?
Or were they supposed to wait for that person they eventually ended up with and skip the first?

What about the terrible
                        horrible
                        abusive marriage
                              that resulted in an amazing child –
                                     who wouldn’t have existed otherwise?

My head spins at all the possibilities.

I may be told by people that if is the wrong question.
But what would I be missing – if I didn’t ask?