Desperately Seeking Motivation June 27, 2008

I’ve worked 15 hours every day for the past 4 days and nights with only a dinner break to keep me mildly sane in the face of an absolutely insane deadline that showed up just prior to mom’s stroke. I’m supposed to wrap up the copy, the artwork, the photography, the layout, the art-stripping, the idea guide, the proofing and the pre-flight by 4 PM tomorrow – Friday – and I still have umpteen descriptions to edit, a slew of images to photoshop, 6 pages to design, scads of products to strip, an entire idea guide to build, along with an incredibly large fire on which to spontaneously throw it all. It’s 9:25 PM Thursday.

I sort of want to summon the urge to go postal, but my PMS scapegoat left town over 2 weeks ago, so I’m feeling fairly impotent to whip up a nice hormonal rage. I wish I could though, ’cause God knows I love me a good piteous wail.

The part that cheers me up though is that my daughter, my two nephews, and my neighbor’s daughter all made the front cover of my catalog. They were my child supermodels and I’m so pleased with the results of their photo shoots. They were such angels, with cherubic, coverkid faces to prove it. My co-worker said I have a promising future in photography, should I ever desire to go that route in my career… which is actually pretty reassuring since I got a “D” in photography in high school. My boss is delighted with the shots, and believe you me, he’s difficult to delight.

Neal is taking the kids to the beach tomorrow for four days. I was originally supposed to go with them, but I think it’s safe to say I’ll be working. Add to that, the horrifying fact that an acquaintance of ours evidently committed suicide last week – I say “evidently”, not to sound callous or insensitive to such an unspeakable tragedy, rather only because the details of her “painful end” were phrased in such a delicately vague and obscure way, so as to leave that cause of death the only logical assumption – so needless to say, I will be representing the Petti family at her memorial service on Saturday… after work… then I’ll go back to work… again.

Neal said he needs a break or he’ll go crazy. As I head into my 62nd hour of work this week, I know that breaks are wishful thinking for me, especially ocean wave breaks. I could sit and stare at my monitor, have another pity party, throw another hissy fit – but PMS checked out already, so what good would that do? I swear, once the hormones level out, old reliable practicality shows up and gives me a good slap. Wake up stupid. Just get the job done. Or as Neal puts it, “Wrap it up, Donnelly!” Besides, shouldn’t I know by now that once I click my i-tunes library to the Whitesnake “Live In The Shadow Of The Blues” Double Live CD, the motivation will come?

A breath of fresh air June 17, 2008

It’s amazing what a little fresh air can do to a person. It’s amazing how we tend to avoid the fresh air when we are so busy seeing to the finer details of our pity party, that we fail to see the value the great outdoors has over our psyche.

I went for a 3 mile walk last night at sundown with my sister-in-law, Susie. We took in the sights of some beautiful landscaping that lifted my spirits. We chatted lively and laughed at the house with the enormous sign that reads “Fairytale Forest,” decorated with hundreds upon hundreds of lawn gnomes, ceramic mushroom gnome homes, and blue and orange twinkly lights for magical ambiance. Sue said the house looks awesome at Halloween. I had to stifle my amusement as I saw the owner sitting on her front porch, messing with what looked like a gnome accoutrement that must have needed some special attention after a blustery wind tore through Fairytale Forest.

Sue lamented that it looked like the rain was going to blow over. She was counting on it to give her flowers a drink. She had held off on watering them, in anticipation of the forecasted thunderstorms. We talked about how much we love summer thunderstorms, renamed them “fun-derstorms,” and chuckled at our cleverness.

As we were walking, the sky turned a fantastic pinkish-purplish-magentaish color and held me captivated for the 4 minutes it hung overhead. If I had had a paintbrush, and a modest amount of artistic ability, I would have attempted to recreate it. So I found myself hoping that my father-in-law was looking out his kitchen window and painting the masterpiece I saw.

The walk, the sights, the fresh air, and the companionship was exactly what I needed. The conversation with Sue was meaningful and comforting in its openness. I feel like a new person today. Thank you Susie.

Misery June 16, 2008

Well, it didn’t take long, but I am finally the most miserable person I know.

I am feeling particularly sorry for myself lately. Logically, I am aware that most people have never had it so good and I have a zillion things to be thankful for. Emotionally, I am a vortex of self-pity and despair. I am hateful, angry and bitter. And I mostly blame my mother.

It’s not fair to her. It’s not right that I carry around this scathing load of resentment. But I am so intolerant of her self-limiting attitude, her pessimism, paranoia, and perpetually anguished frets, groans and sighs. She’s a lazy, procrastinating slob and I hate living with her.

My misery has rubbed off on my husband who now snaps off at everyone in the house. I’m finding it difficult to like him. My misery has made me fragile at work, easily offended and touchy. My misery has detached and distanced me from friends and neighbors. I feel like everyone is judging me, sharing muttered assessments with one another about what a reclusive bitch I’ve become. Everyone has their own agenda and could give two shits about what’s really going on inside me.

Then suddenly I realize no one is responsible for my self-imposed misery. By allowing the misery to overtake me, I have effectively extinguished my own light. I walk around in a heavy daze feeling helpless and hopeless, limiting my own self with pessimism, paranoia, and perpetually anguished frets, groans, and sighs. And I hate living with me.

Dear God, soften my heart. Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Mom June 4, 2008

My mom had a stroke.

She’s doing “okay,” but it’s more complex than that. She hasn’t been “okay” in over 40 years. Her life has been a living hell, a tornado of dysfunction and grief, breakdown and disorder, chaos and pain from which she never recovered. The stroke is literally nothing compared to the rest.

She’s living with us for now. My siblings and I are gutting her house and preparing it for the market. She’s not “okay” with any of it. Not okay with relinquishing her house and all it’s contents to her children. Not okay with the reality of her stroke: not being able to drive, not having her independence, not smoking, not shopping incessantly. Not okay with feeling like a burden and imposition to her daughter. Not okay with the way her life turned out. None of it was what she signed up for.

What is okay, though, is that she’s more relaxed. More cooperative. More jovial. Even in the face of never again going to the “home” she’s known for 40 years, she is somehow going with the flow, taking long walks, getting fresh air, eating healthy, taking her meds, wearing new pajamas and sleeping in a bed again for the first time in 15 years. Her pre-stroke tendency was to fret and get defensive about her lack of control over her life and how virtually nothing ever went her way. I keep telling her that some blessings come in unexpected packages. She has a new lease on life, a “do over.” She just furrows her brow, thinking me foolish, and humorously begs the rhetorical answer to “A stroke?! A blessing?!” as if to really say to me, “Are you drunk?”

But the Irminator is alive and well, and that’s a relief and way better than what my wild mind had fashioned as I heard the news while retreating some 5 hours away in Massachusetts. Of course, I thought the worst, and the worst was not something I was prepared to endure. However stressful, frustrating, challenging and exhausting my 180-degree life has suddenly become, I remain profoundly grateful I still have my mom.