Day Six: Never.

Something you hope to never have to do.

In all honesty (this is after all, 30 days of truth) I had a hard time thinking of an answer for this. I've been thinking about it for a few days, and the best I can come up with is: I hope I never bury my husband. Then I feel like an a**hole and selfish for some reason. Then the more I think about it, the more it makes sense....I hope to never have to live in a world where he doesn't exist. And then I think about it some more and get all panicky since, being the sociology major that I was, I know women's life expectancy is around 7 years longer than men on average. But then I remember a study I read once about how left handed people are prone to die before right handed people (I'm a lefty)....then I remind myself shit happens all the time, and we're only in our twenties and to stop thinking these things. It doesn't get you anywhere and it keeps you from living in the present.

I digress (I haven't had any coffee today and I just got up from a nap, so that could be why.....)

I've spent more time single than in a relationship at this point in my life, mostly because I was picky. HAH wait the honest explanation: the guys I actually wanted to be with just wanted to be friends, and most of the time we were. I was sort of famous for trying to date my guy friends and I was usually cool enough of a person to not be weird about it afterwards. So when I found the husband, back at the end of 2005, on one level I knew things were different; mostly because despite gigantic red flags (i.e. baby mama drama) that would have kept most girls from getting romantically involved did nothing for me but mostly because it just felt different and right whenever we were together. Almost 6 years later and I can't imagine him not being here. I can't imagine having to tell the girls he's gone.

So I plan on us living forever, so far it's working.....ooooor we'll go out in a painfully romantic way a la the Notebook...although the more realistic version is how Johnny Cash died less than 4 months after his wife, June Carter Cash.

Until then I'm thankful every day for the time we have together....even on the days he drives me crazy, I'm happy to have him here, doing so.

Day five: Hope.

Something you hope to do in your life.

I used to say get my PhD when asked this question....but the longer I am out of school the less I think that will actually happen, so I'm going to go another direction completely with this: I want to travel, like take-a-year-and-see-the-world-and-do-it-off-the-beaten-path-travel.

I did not come from money, but somehow my parents scraped together their pennies and sent me to Europe for two weeks when I was 15 years old. Both my siblings have also been (my sister to England and my brother to France) on similar trips, you know, the ones organized by language courses and in my sister's case, her civics class, during high school. I took German in high school, so off to Germany I went (we also visited the Czech Republic, Austria, and Hungary.) It was amazing, and all I have thought as I've gotten older is how much more amazing it would be as an adult. That trip opened my eyes to how big the world is and is a huge factor in why I chose to study Anthropology and Sociology in college. (Side note: When I was still single, I thought about joining the Peace Corps after getting my degree but then life happened, I had a reason to not live outside the U.S. and that didn't. C'est la vie.)

There is so much to see and do outside of this country, and I want to see and do those things. Someday, somehow it will happen, most likely in approximately 15 years, when both the girls will be of age and (hopefully) in college.

I should probably start saving my own pennies now....I don't want to think about how much a year of world wide travel will cost in 15 years.

Day Four: Forgiveness Part Two.

Something you have to forgive someone for.

This one is heavy. This one is going to suck to write. A lot. I have to forgive my father for being an Alcoholic. Which is huge, since my reaction to his drinking has always been anger. I've been angry at my dad for being an alcoholic since before I realized he was an alcoholic.

The complex part of things is he has always been a functional alcoholic. He went to work, provided us with the basics, and even spent time with us on the weekends. He taught us right from wrong as well as any high school graduate with trade school training could do. He took us to mass every Sunday and Grandmas's every Sunday afternoon for supper without fail. He projected the epitome of lower-middle class fatherhood. He has never met a stranger, and is friendly as you can imagine.

Yet my fondest memories with my dad were the Saturday afternoons I'd go with him to do his "sign ups". There I would sit, in smoky VFW and Legion Tap Rooms where I would spend a few hours playing songs on the jukebox, drinking Shirley Temple's and eating popcorn. It took me until I was about 22 to realize this wasn't normal quality time with a parent. I was getting impatient one day and a poured the rest of a can of beer into a clear glass with about 4 inches of golden liquid in it (I assumed they were both beer and was trying to speed up the process). Nope, it was whiskey. My dad sort of laughed at me for it, and downed it anyway.

I was never physically abused (and for that I am so grateful) but there was a great deal of emotional/psychological abuse. There was a time he was really wasted one afternoon when I was in high school. We got into an argument about something or other (which was usually a combo of three things: the speed at which I talked, him being hard of hearing AND being intoxicated) and I got scared. So scared I locked myself in the bathroom, crying. When asked why I had locked myself in the bathroom, I told him he was scaring me and he proceeded to scream at the top of his lungs on the other side of the door about how could I ever think he would lay a finger on me? He would NEVER do that. And he never did, but I can't count the amount of times things resulted in screaming and crying. I would say at least once a week during my teenage years and I witnessed it earlier than that, while my older brother still lived at home.

Since I moved out and we've all gotten older, there have been multiple times he's almost drank himself to death. The first is what made me finally realize he is an Alcoholic. The last time it came out that he switched to vodka because my mom wouldn't be able to smell it on him (whiskey was always his drink of choice with a beer....or four) and the people at the bar thought he was having a stroke before he lost consciousness.

I do not want to get that call one day....that he is gone because of booze. So even though I know, for a fact, my anger doesn't stop the drinking, I cling to it, because I don't know what else to be about it because it is so frustrating and I'm so stubborn (so much like him) about things.

The anger I feel about it is dumb. I know its a disease, I know it is so much harder than just stopping. I know he is now retired after working over 35 years and he doesn't know what to do with himself. I know there is probably some mental health issues he has and has never confronted. I know I have to forgive him for it, for being loaded most evenings of my childhood, for the memories of my parents fighting about it, resulting in him walking to the bar a few blocks from our house, for putting my mother through dealing with him all these years, its just hard. Hard to let go of anger I have been brewing for over half my life.

He hasn't drank since the last "episode" with the vodka (as far as I've been told) so I'm hoping things stay that way. Although it is very hard to be optimistic when he has "quit" more times than I can count and he always goes back and he never tries AA.

It's War.

Dear Ohio Winter,

I know it is still officially the best season ever but I'm on to you, and your cold temperatures, and this year, I am prepared. You may have won the battle that was Winter 09-10 but you have not won the war that will ensue this 10-11 season. You like to sneak attack after New Year's, with your holiday weight gain showing, minimal sunshine shining and snowy conditions....snowing (Dr. Seuss would be proud) but I have a plan.

I am equipped with boots and leggings and gloves and (as soon as I locate it), I'll be sporting my winter hat most mornings. I am reminding myself how lovely it feels to sweat it out in the dead of winter, and how taking a lunch break on those sunny days to get a bit of vitamin D is crucial. I'm going to remember how nice the snow is on those days I call off due to road conditions (and I will not feel guilty for doing so, since I almost died at least 6 times driving to and from my work on BFE country roads covered in the white death) and maybe take my step-daughters sledding. I AM NOT GOING TO FALL DOWN THE BACK STAIRS OF MY APARTMENT (that's a definite no-go.)

Winter, you won't get me this year!

Signed,
Mrs. Melberry

Day Three: Forgiveness Part One

Something you have to forgive yourself for.

I have to forgive myself for being overweight. It feels so juvenile to still be carrying around these self-image issues I have had for as long as I can remember; so long that the last time I didn't think of myself as "overweight/fat" I was 6 years old.

I was my heaviest in October of 2007 weighing in at just under 220 pounds. I joined Weight Watchers and lost almost 50 pounds by summer 2008. I got bored with the program so I quit going, then I re-joined that fall, suprised that I had only gained around 8 pounds over the summer. I got engaged Christmas of 2008 and quit going to Weight Watchers due to money by April of 2009. I told myself I was going to keep eating right and exercising because I wanted to, not because I was getting married ( ha!). It is a wonder what a silly white dress can do to your workout motivation. I dropped down to the smallest I've been in my adult life, around 185 and had never felt better. Then I turned 25. I had a crappy winter. I slept too much, ate too much and socialized too little. I gained at least 15 pounds from September 09 to January 10 (I know this because I ordered a bridesmaid dress in September and when it arrived in January it barely zipped). I was depressed. It was not fun times.

I have spent many years of my life being told I was fat and being made fun of because of my size and appearance. Due to this my weight is directly related to my happiness. Still, even as an adult, I torment myself about my size. Everything I eat I think about if I should be or not, when I don't exercise, I beat myself up. My very unhealthy relationship with food requires more time than I have to write at the moment and the worst part of all of this? The reason I need have to forgive myself for this? I have a husband who loves me exactly how I am and I have friends who just want me to be happy no matter what I look like. I have to let the past rest. I have spent way too many years hanging on to the painful memories of an awkward youth.

So hello, my name is Melberry, and I'm overweight. Deal with it. I am finally ready to.

Tomorrow: Something you have to forgive someone for.

Day Two: Lurve.

Something you love about yourself.....I feel so emo, I had such an easy time writing the hate post and now I have no clue where to go with this. My nose doesn't bother me too much in life, but I wouldn't go as far as to say I love it, plus who really wants to read about someone's love for their nose??
(I guess?) I love my ability to look at the bright side of everything.

Husband loses his job? It was a dead-end job anyways. Dad almost has a stroke because he can't stop drinking? Dad quits drinking because he almost has a stroke. Kiddo's mom restricts her time with her dad? Makes the time she spends with us that much more valuable and usually, that much more fun. Have to begin paying child-support on Little One? Husband gets to see his daughter (finally!) AND her mother is being overly helpful and flexible.

Somewhere between all the bullshit I've been through in life, I've learned to approach things (even if its only to make them seem less awful) with a "things could be worse" attitude. In turn that makes me pick out the diamond in the rough (times).

And of course, this song comes to mind....




Tomorrow's topic: Something you have to forgive yourself for.

Day One: Hate

Thanks to Tabulous I've been introduced to The Thirty Days of Truth. This is an experiment where every day for the next 30 I'm going to blog about something or other in a most earnest way. I think it will be a good learning experience, so I'm going to give it a try.

Day One: Something you hate about yourself

As a perpetual perfectionist, I could create a detailed list of my shortfalls, but that's not the point of this experiment, so I'm going to pick a biggie and go with it. I hate how much I worry about what other people think.

Growing up, I can't fathom the number of times I said, "I don't care what they think anyway" even though on the inside, I did. All I wanted was to be liked, but at the same time, I was sort of a weirdo who did my own thing and that wasn't always the status quo. That made my adolescence a time of ridicule leaving me to forgive but to never forget how I was treated. It has a lot to do with why I don't want kids (well and the fact that I just plain don't feel the need to procreate) but it has also taught me to be wary of my actions, because people react to them, sometimes negatively, and that can hurt.

Now as an adult (I guess you can call me that?) this problem has become specific to certain people in my life, mostly the moms and my co-worker's. I have this never-ending internal editor going, before I do many things (ie: say/do much of anything with the girls, get dressed, pipe up at work, etc...) and the worst part is, it exhausting, but it is also something I don't even realize I'm doing at this point. It has became interwoven into my normal thought pattern; I let it become a part of who I am. If I wanted to attempt to pseudo-psycho-analyze myself, I could say I worry the most about what those people who I know don't accept/like me think. Which is so stupid since who cares what people who don't like me, for whatever reason I can't really control, think?

I do, that's who. It is not without good reason (at least from my perspective) that I worry about the moms of my step-kids and the people I work with. The moms have every reason to not like me: I'm the one He chose to be with forever. And at work....well, I am the minority, and I definitely feel it a lot of the time.

Most of the time, I still tell myself "I don't care what they think" even though it is me trying to convince myself of just that.

So.....there is that, now on to Day Two: Something you love about yourself.