???

Sometimes you reach a point where you think, "Something just has to give, man."
I don't mean to rain on my own parade, or attempt to feel sorry for myself.
Self-pity is great for a while, but in the end it doesn't get you anywhere.
All this being said, I have to admit that life hasn't exactly been a bed of roses
lately. I harbor in me a lot of disappointment, and I feel just a wee bit jaded. I have suffered
an enormous injustice which has been difficult to swallow, and which further renders me
subject to unpredictable bouts of anger and tears. It has been impossible to put
this behind me.
I am fighting back, as best as the law and my finances permit me, but I find myself
dwelling on the circumstances and wondering how all this will turn out.
Time will tell, and luckily it will only be a month or so before I know my fate.
Still, I ask myself why I have to keep fighting...especially for something which should
already be mine, and when, ye gods, will I finally get a fucking break.

screw this

Sunday morning at 6am I woke up to pee and stepped out of bed into a pool of vomit.
Nice. Thank you, kitties.
Panicking, mostly because I had barf on my feet, I fumbled around on the desk
in a desperate attempt to find something with which I could a) clean up
or b) kill the cats.
I opted for the former and extracted two sheets of paper out of the printer, onto
which I stepped and slid over to the bathroom where I could finally wash without
trailing puke all through the house. I am fortunate we have marble flooring and no rugs
or carpets. Cat barf is a common occurrence in this house.
After a rosary of swear words I returned to wipe up the mess, climbed back into bed, and proceeded to fall into a coma
out of which I awoke in a cold sweat at 10am. Another nightmare.
They have started again. I have frequent nightmares, and a few recurrent ones.
I am often being chased, shot at, or followed. If not anxiety-ridden, I am plain terrified.
Other times I find myself walking up and down stairs that have no end. I open doors that lead to
nowhere. Sometimes I dream of people in furry suits (bears, bunnies, and the like)
who, stolen out of some Lynch-esque flick, stare at me. It's unnerving.
With everything that is going on in my life right now, I am not surprised I wake up screaming.
Weather here has been total crap the past few days, which hasn't at all helped my mood.
Today I had no patience for anyone. All my students (well, the few that actually showed), seemed
to have forgotten everything they have learned. It's the best feeling a teacher can have.
"Bloody hell," I thought, "it's a good thing you've been coming here for 8 months, eh?"
It's been a couple of days of stupid questions about things
I know they know already. What the hell.
There is something stirring within me and it ain't pretty. I am just about to tell everyone and everything
to shove it. I thought it might be fun tomorrow to show up at work dressed in some of my "darker" garb and scare the hell out of everyone. Smoky eyes and burgundy lipstick ought to complete the costume.
I am getting a bit fed up with rules, regulations, and what is "expected of me." Especially since playing by the rules and being honest have thus far got me nowhere.
I have reached a point where
I would be happiest if no one expected anything at all.

of cats and men

Well, it's been an eventful week thus far.
Monday I was ill. Tuesday I was excluded from the famous
list. Whee! This means lawyers and money and lots of filing.
Still, I have to do what is right and I am not about to give up now.

This morning my dearest friend's cat died in her arms.
I am devastated and it wasn't even mine. But it sure feels like
she was. Zoe was her name. I was like an aunt to her, cuddling
her whenever I could and playing with her in Franny's garden.
I know to those of you who have never had animals I sound insane.
But this is how I am. I weep more for defenseless creatures than I
ever do for grown people. Having two cats of my own, I know how much they
become an integral part of your life and the fact that they depend on us
for everything makes it even more tragic when they get ill and we are
the ones forced to make difficult decisions. I am glad Zoe got to die at home
in the arms of the lady who always loved her best. That is what I wish for my
cats when it will be their time. Though simply bringing up this eventuality makes me
feel incredibly sad. Hopefully I won't have to deal with something like
this for a long while.
Speaking of death and destruction, I just finished Cormac McCarthy's "The Road"
which, by the way, I discovered will soon be a motion picture. I liked the book up
until the very end, which I found to be predictable and senseless.
Anyway it's worth a read, if nothing else for the odd dreams you will have as a result.
If anyone has ever seen the "b" movie with Christopher Lambert called
Beowulf, a lot of my nights are spent dreaming crap like this.
The movie is quite cheesy and very loosely based on the poem but there are elements to it I enjoy.
Anyway, I have had dreams much like the film in the past, where I find myself in this post-apocalyptic yet medieval world, clad in tight
leather corsets, soft armour, wielding an enormous sword. Apart from being a dominatrix that's my other secret dream! I am usually part of a group of warriors protecting a village from peril or having to save some maiden from getting violated or killed. This particular dream mirrored the book in that I was attempting to survive and stay hidden in a world gone quite to hell after some unmentioned catastrophe.
It made me anxious and I didn't sleep peacefully. But then again I haven't been resting all that well so no loss.
This afternoon I plan to go for a run, do yoga, and listen to Chopin. I need some down time.

soul vomit

It's been a feeling which has been nagging at me for weeks now. It's in reality not a new sensation.
When I stop to think about it, I realize I have had all the symptoms since birth.
I just don't belong anywhere.
I have felt like this my whole damn life. I was born in Poland to two Polish people, though none of us three look it. My Dad looks American and my Mom looks Mexican or Greek. I don't know what I look like, but no one has ever called me on being Polish.
I moved around Europe, not staying long enough in any place to "fit in" and anyway, I was too young to care.
Then we moved to the US. So there I was, a Polish immigrant who didn't look Polish living in Chicago, going to Catholic schools where the uniforms hid just how poor we were, or at least how poor we were for the first years.
At least I thought you couldn't tell back then. But you could. You can always tell by people's shoes just how destitute
they are. My shoes were always second-hand or
from Payless. The "American" kids had nice leather shoes or sneakers with cartoon characters on them. They had nice school supplies...I had a Polish pencil case and
generic pens.
My parents sacrificed enormously to send me to private school, trying to keep me out of the Chicago public school system. I thought I at least owed them good grades. I studied hard and from the beginning started getting straight As. That continued for the rest of my school career, save for my constant Bs in Math. My academic success became a real point of pride for my parents. The better I did in school the more socially awkward I became. I realized too late that I wanted more to escape myself though most of the time I desired nothing else but to run away from my life.
I didn't become an American citizen until I was 18. I may have grown up there, and I may speak American English, but deep down I never felt truly "American." My last name wasn't Smith or Jones. I wasn't blond. I didn't eat peanut butter and jelly for lunch. And I didn't have expensive shoes or brand-name clothing.
I hit junior high and had to go to public school because by then we were living in the suburbs.
That was awful. It was one of the worst periods of my life. No more uniforms to hide behind...my inadequate wardrobe and feelings of alienation only further contributed to my feelings of unhappiness and dissatisfaction.
I couldn't face going to public high school and begged my parents to allow me to return to private school.
My first two years of high school I spent in an all-girls Catholic institute miles from my home. But I had a uniform, and I met up with old friends from previous schools, and things were suddenly right again. And then we moved, for the hundredth time. Further into suburbia, no good private schools around and now I had a sibling...another mouth for my family to feed. No more privileges for me. Back to public high school for the last two years.
It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I made great friends, despite my extreme shyness. I studied really hard and I did really well. I had fun. For a time the feeling of not belonging left me.
Eventually it came back. The nagging. I decided to study abroad to stop the itch. This was fatal. I realized I liked Europe. I liked my new boyfriend. I could see this working out.
So when I finished college, I moved to Italy. My boyfriend became my husband. And here
I am nearly 10 years later.
I am still dreaming of a uniform. Somehow it makes me think I can fit in better. And I came very close to getting one. But it wasn't meant to be. And though I got a letter in the mail a few years back telling me I was "Italian"...and though oddly I probably look more Italian than I do Polish or American, and though I speak the language better than a lot of native speakers...no paper, no words, no pat on the back make you something you aren't. And here, either directly or indirectly, people remind you daily that you aren't and will never be one of them.
So I am still wondering where the hell that leaves me.