Thanksgiving: Lamentations in Ass Major.

Let's get the thankfulness part out of the way lest I come across as an ingrate:  I am thankful for everything in my life.  Blah blah blah.

Actually, this post has little to do with the observance of Thanksgiving.  Wanna decadent feast for thought about Thanksgiving?  Leave and go here.

Oh yes my little thing here is less about the essence of this domestic holiday and more about admonishing the friends and family of couples whom divorce.

A divorce is hard enough as it is on the directly impacted two individuals, and the attendant child(ren) in residence should there be any, without having to field the major assholery of friends and family during the process.  Even under the best of circumstances, a divorce can be a painfully protracted event, often landing like a calamitous A-bomb smashing the town of live citizenry beneath its unrepentant, cruel weight and leaving a noxious atmosphere that endures for god knows however long.  Aftermath is expected.

In lots and lots of divorce cases, the air eventually clears and a brand new, better, glorious day arrives.

But listen, friends and family, don't be glib and insensitive during the delicate time in question.  Don't be an asshole, ok?  Divorce is one of the hardest, most psychologically trying events in life some people may ever wade through.  It is a death.

Apropos of someone around you experiencing a divorce:  If you have known the wife or husband for years and years prior to that respective party's union with his or her marital partner, and there was nothing major either one of the wife or husband did to the other one or to anyone else involved that is particularly egregious and grounds for inflicting assholery, think before you act where it pertains to husband and/or wife you knew for so long or are actually related to so as to not unintentionally be a righteous dipshit.  For example, if said husband or wife, that you knew long before that individual commenced union with his or her marital partner, would appreciate you not contacting his or her now-ex-marital partner, how about having respect for those boundaries?  Is that too much to ask?  You may feel a loss and perhaps resentment that the separation of two individuals you were close to has caused you to have to change your friendship and family dynamics.  A byproduct of this, yes you have experienced loss too.  It sucks.  Your son-in-law is no longer your son in law.  Your brother-in-law is no longer your brother-in-law.  You still love him and are pained at the idea that he can't be intimately in your life anymore and you place blame on the spouse you knew longer because if that spouse would JUST have stayed married, these particular losses of yours wouldn't have occurred and your life would be super fine and dandy.  Whoooooopppie doooo!

Look, selfish dear sweet friends and family, a separation is a hypersensitive time.  In my case, we have had to be separated for one year before proceeding with legal absolution of materially changed circumstances.  One Whole Year of contemplating the very real demise of a decade of together erecting a loving family and household.  Until you experience the termination of an institution that love and intimacy built during years and years, you will NEVER know the devastation and the drudgery and the nights of flooding tears that something like this carries with it.  Despite that my ex and I have remained as amicable as humanly possible for the vast majority of it even going so far as to have dinner together with our son on occasions (PLURAL) and attending his birthday festivities together to show a unified amicable front, it has not been what I would characterize as an easy year.

What I am trying to tell you is this:  While my separation/divorce has brought a loss to you, your loss is no where near as enormous and no where near as deep as mine.  So buck up.  And stop asking me if you can contact my ex.  Stop contacting my ex.  Let us be.  Let us have our boundaries so we can move on and heal.  It doesn't mean you don't love him.  Reach out to him once and tell him you love him.  Fine.  But leave it be.  For my sake, stop the intervention for a period of time.  For a year or two.  Let us move on, let us learn to fill the profound canyon created by this earth splitting event with new life.  Have a modicum of understanding that this divorce is less about you and far more about us, the primarily impacted.

Dear Sister, I don't want you contacting my ex to ask him for my old pie crust recipe that you want to make for Thanksgiving.  I know if I asked him for it, he would go dig it out and provide it.  I know if you called him, the same.  Cause he is a nice person like that.  But that recipe is a casualty of this divorce.  No one needs to call him to ask him to dredge it up.

No one needs to remind him right now, that we were all together during many Thanksgivings of the past.  That that particular recipe I used on repeated occasions to make lovely and delicious pies that all of us, together, cooed and yummied over.  That that cookbook has my flour-caked fingerprints all over it and that I won't be using it this year to make a pie that we all enjoy eating, together.

This shit is hard enough.  So suck it up, go without the goddamn recipe this year.  It's not about you.

We will heal.  He and I will use this experience to grow because that is the kind of people we both are.  Every day I feel stronger.

In the meantime, while the wound is still gaping and fresh, thank you for not being total assholes.

Just Me and My Filing Cabinet.

For the longest I have been wanting a functional filing cabinet.  But, I have not been wanting to pay full price for one.  (I am a cheap motherfucker, m'kay?)  I traveled the globe near and far, delving into every nook and cranny and alley way, attempting to unearth the object of my desire.  (And by that I mean I went to the Goodwill a few times and checked craigslist.)

Sadly, I was not able to find a decent, free discounted filing cabinet.

I sucked it up.  Went to Staples.  Painfully parted with $80 or so.  And came home with this modest, yet gleaming, inviting gem.

All I want out of life is to be left alone for one whole day with this small item o' luxury.  So I can Type-A it up in this bitch.  Oh to ORGANIZE and FILE!  I dream of the day when I can place every loose paper in my apartment into this aluminum piece of magnificence.  (Okay not every paper, like hell t-h-a-t is going to happen, but some of this paper and these documents, and these legal files, and the overwhelming amount of paper I've gotten from my son's kindergarten curriculum.)  God, I ask you, one day!  Me + Filing Cabinet = Love.

How can I describe the amorous emotion in my heart for my new filing cabinet?  MY filing cabinet.  (It's all mine, MINE.)  Impossible.

Thus I humbly resort to borrowing the Bonnie & Clyde immortal lyrics of Jay-Z and Beyonce.

All I need in this life of sin is me and my filing cabinet
Down to ride 'til the very end, it's me and my filing cabinet
All I need in this life of sin is me and my filing cabinet
Down to ride 'til the very end, it's me and my filing cabinet

Ergib with a Side Order of Cognitive Dissonance.

I spit this painting out yesterday.  Ergib means dove in Amharic and that is the title of this painting which will be donated.

I booked a trip for my son and I to fly to Ethiopia in the Spring of 2014.  Just he and I.  We will visit some people in the Southern Nations and Nationalities People's region (SNNP).  We will go for about a week.  It will be his second trip to visit Ethiopia since arriving in the U.S. with his adoptive family.

Honestly, I am not that excited about going back to visit Ethiopia.  For many reasons:  1.)  Selfishly, I would rather travel somewhere else, to see a new place. 2.)  It is a super-privileged annoyance to make the long trip down the congested, rustic highway, full of wagons and donkeys and sheep and walkers, from Addis Ababa to SNNP.  3.)  The trip to Ethiopia a year and a half ago, while it went impeccably smooth and was incredibly fulfilling, left me in a pretty serious depression post-return to the U.S. (part of which I believe was due to the malaria medication I took that completely fucked me up, part of which was the emotional impact).  4.)  I don't want to go to Ethiopia to "tour" the country...which as a ferenge is something I will involuntarily end up doing as I know my friends will take us around and treat us as mild royalty the latter which I am not interested in at all.  The idea of staying in fancy lodges and site seeing of hippos and giant birds is not that appealing to me notwithstanding an appreciation for Ethiopia's natural wonders.  And, you know, we've already done that.  We will go with one purpose in mind, to reconnect to certain people.  We did tour last time, and we stayed in a nice hotel on a lake, and we ate nice dinners, and blah blah blah in a country that has for decades echoed in global statistics with its poverty.

I feel the weight of a great obligation the scale of which is a life commitment to take my son to Ethiopia.  I am happy and proud, however, to visit Ethiopia not just because its people and culture are truly beautiful, but because I am taking my son back to reconnect.  I am able to do that.  Which is a big deal because it's hella expensive to fly that far!

I love some things about Ethiopia.  Again, its culture, its people.  But I do not love that country.  Its government is authoritarian and represses its people, jails its journalists, squashes freedom of speech, categorically prevents private land ownership, has entirely failed to prepare Ethiopian migrants for conditions they would face in the Middle East even when those migrants departed on legal visas.  Not to perpetuate the poor African bullshit stereotype that I loathe, but seriously large numbers of people there are suffering in Ethiopia on the daily.  I say this as having been witness to the testament and physical sickness and suffering of my boyfriend who arrived to the U.S. from Ethiopia less than 2 years ago.  One can just go to Ethiopia to see suffering.  But you are looking at it as a ferenge whom just spent thousands of dollars to make the trip, which is psychologically distasteful enough, forget the dissonance if you are open and sensitive enough to feel it and to listen to it in your heart.  To hear the intimate stories and stories and stories of an ex-pat about what life is really like there is something else altogether.

I see many adoptive parents say on Facebook how much they love Ethiopia.  I understand now what a Western privilege it is to blether on and on about how much I, as an American, love that country.  My boyfriend has said he hates that country, his country of origin.  He hates the suffering it inflicts on its people.  We talk often about the realities of what it is like to live there.  The family lost to disease, the shoeless, a friend recently diagnosed with HIV, the wild cost of accessing healthcare and buying anything that might be considered even the most benign luxury item like extra pairs of shirts, that living in a gojo, while gojos are cute, is actually pretty sad given the bankruptcy of amenities and the hardship of life that entails.  He hates the government and with good reason.  Marveling out loud, he is enamored with the idea that we can protest in this country; that Ethiopian-Americans can loudly and energetically protest in front of the Saudi Arabian Embassy in the U.S. and not be brutalized / persecuted by our government as those in Ethiopia were brutalized by theirs. WTF, Ethiopia?

And WTF United States for supporting Ethiopia's authoritarian regime?  Just, what the fuck?

Don't even get me started on the forced divestment of land from rural farmers / families for purposes of foreign "investment".

It's easy to love Ethiopia when you don't have to live there.

It's My Birthday and I'll Be Hateful if I Want To.

I'm 37 years old today.  Today I am going to be WILDLY INDULGENT.

My birthday gift to myself is allowing myself to be hurt and angry and not accepting the attendant guilt.

I reject the guilt.  I accept this process.

I am not over this divorce yet, emotionally.  I am not.  I am way better.  But I am not done hurting.

My ex-husband placed the final straw on the heap of increasing fragility that was my best friendship with my old best friend.  But it wasn't his relationship to repair or ruin, it was mine.  He apologized.  I am trying to forgive him, but I find that I am not capable yet.  She and I were friends for almost 20 years and now we are no longer friends.  I knew her and her history long before she ever met my ex-husband.  My ex-husband severed the last thread with something he did that was incredibly thoughtless.  I'm going to get over it, but I'm still really hurt.

This morning I stood in the scalding hot water of my shower and said

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.  You are a smug asshole.  You can go fuck yourself.  You think you are perfect.  You have a nice job and a nice house and you can go fuck yourself.  I hate you.

Over and over.

I cried until I had to puke up phlegm.

I indulged.

And now I think I've got that moment out of my system and I can go on for the day and treat myself to lunch and a glass of wine and pasta later.

And be happy for life!!!!

37 years of LIFE!!!!!!!

Success is a Dead Elephant.

On Saturday morning my Baha'i tutor and I met at a coffee shop.  I will call my tutor Yemen for purposes of this blog.  Because she had this cool bracelet on that her sister bought her from Yemen.

We sat by the window through which splendid rays of morning sun broke and cast light on our skin and in our eyes.  Somehow, owed to a scripture passage, the discussion arrived at coveting.  And how as media grows and the world shrinks, the United States defines the increasingly global idea of success in the manner that is our material culture foists upon the world the illusion of Western success.  The new iPad, iPhone, shiny new car, big house, trendy clothing.  Get more stuff = appear successful = believe yourself happy.

Such that in developing countries where the people used to believe success was a different matter, or an indigenous way of life, the ideas of many people across the world are evolving towards a belief that success is what the United States conveys that it is.

Yemen told me that she has a friend that works in conservation for a global non-profit.  That this friend relayed to her that in China, where a burgeoning middle class rapidly shifts world economic and ecological impact, ivory is a symbol of success and therefore, highly coveted.  

China's hunger for ivory is fueling the poaching of elephants across the world, according to her friend.  Projections by some, that I can't cite to here because I have not personally researched it, this is thus hearsay, have wild elephants disappearing entirely from our earth by the end of the coming decade.

Okay right, maybe the United States is not telling everyone to go out and get themselves some ivory, but the U.S. certainly loudly demonstrates how to expensively objectify success.

Pass the vodka.

A Girl in the Attic with a Light.

Halloween is over.

It was fun.  Not overly stressful.  My son, in all his luminescent, energetic glory, was a Fire Chief.  I think we had a total of five Halloween-esque type of small gathering thingies over the course of 1.5 weeks.  Still happy it's over.

I did not get the job that I interviewed three times for.  Yes I was called to the organization for a grand total of three different progressive interviews.  Ultimately, I fell.  From a high place.  Just call me Abraham Lincoln.  Or don't.  Whichever.

I am seriously considering opening my own office again and planning to do it, progressively, over the course of the next 6 months to a year.

Also, I had a somewhat emotional conversation with my ex-spouse yesterday that brought me closer to closure.  All year I have been inching towards healing.  Sometimes it's been five stumbles forward and one knee-scraping tumble backwards.  Yesterday I took a giant, rendering leap in Healing's direction.  A giant leap towards really being able to stuff this marital separation/divorce into a box that I can place on a shelf in my heart.  I won't seal the box up, I will just lightly close the lid.  I will then delicately place it on the shelf, turn around and walk forward toward the light.

Imagine that I am girl in an attic.  I have a box in front of me.  A lid lies to the side of me.  Say the box is a pleasant, eye-pleasing shade of salmon.  A mixture of deep pink like a heart, orange like a sunrise, warm like love.  Strewn about me are clothes and sundry items and some sentimental things.  My job is to put a house worth of belongings neatly into this small, salmon box.  I am still in the process.

Ex-Spouse said that we had a great friendship and that is what kept us together for almost a decade.  Interestingly, its the same thing I have been saying over and over for a long time.  Once again, we saw eye to eye.  He also said that it is better for both of us that we move on from the marriage.  That this is better for both of us and didn't I agree?  I agreed.  Ojo a ojo.

I hung up the phone and really felt a visceral glimmer of hope.  A hope we will reclaim our friendship someday, that it will just look different.  I think I felt for the first time that he was releasing me.

I said it before and I'll say it again:  My marriage did not fail.  My marriage ended.

And a new life is beginning for both of us.

The Great Unknowns sing a song that has the lyric, "Why did God make forever such a long, long time?"  If he and I had only promised each other 9 years, the marriage would be considered a resounding success.  A marriage for 9 years.

I'm going to pretend that what we meant that fated day that we stood together, hearts pounding and palms sweaty, at the altar was:  I will share my life with you, I will be your witness and love and care for you, but after nine years, I will set you free.  Our marriage will end.  But our friendship never will.  It will be hard.  I encourage you now as I hope to be able to then to free yourself from the anger and the pain.  I will encourage you to heal.  I know you.  I will know that I knew you then.  You are worthy of knowing and you are worthy of wanting to marry.   I know you are good people and that is why I promised myself to you.  I will still care for you, but differently.  I will still raise our son with you.  I will respect you and care for you, even if that part of my heart has to shrink to make room for another, and if you are ever in a pinch I am here.  So after 9 years, you will still have me, I will just not be your husband / wife.  You may have another husband or wife and I will not resent that.

My Baha'i tutor came over this past Sunday.  She has beautiful brown skin, a soft creamy voice and a tranquil affectation.  She also has a boy's name which I love.  She said, "God does not want you to be mired in shame.  God wants your inner light to shine.  God wants you to cast away the guilt and to walk with dignity.  That is what God wants for all of us."