Moving

There is a time in every life for change. I have started a blog on wordpress.com.  Here is the link.   http://mcparsons.wordpress.com/  This site seems to provide better traffic. All my posts are there, so come join me there.

The Other Side of Me

There are two of me. One enjoys sitting in front of the keyboard measuring every word while smooth jazz plays in the background. This side of me is quiet and pensive, calm and deliberate. The other one of me is spastic and, for the most part, uncontrolled. When around people, this me can't shut up and it seems that the words that swirl in my brain form a funnel and spill out in endless chatter, accompanied with laughing. Sometimes there is a two way conversation involved, but at times I have looked up to find that I am the only one left in the room. No matter.

How many sides are there to any of us? The business and professional side uses a certain kind of speech and body language, making eye contact, head cocked to one side, and arms at the sides to indicate openness. The threatened side brings the arms up and crosses them over the chest, legs apart, head up, lips tight, and eyes narrowed. The fun and engaged side leans forward, puts the head down, displays a toothy smile and maybe touches an arm or the edge of the knee or leg to indicate understanding or complicity.

As of late, I have been working on self awareness, trying to pay attention to body language, speech, tone and inflection, but I often fail. I find myself immersed in situations or conversations and get swept away like a raft without an oar. It's a daily struggle. But the person I like the most is the one I am when alone. Quiet, pensive, calm and balanced. This is the other side of me, the one that most people usually don't get to see, unless they know me well, very well.

Maybe the impulsive side of me is a wall, a protection, a bulwark. Laughter and speech are the arm stretched out to block that personal space. "Tread lightly here," I say, although the words may be many and their message not clear. I confess  a lot, but not what I mind you knowing. What I don't say is what you need to listen to.

We should all listen to what others don't say. It usually screams if we watch that unspoken language, which, unless you're an expert, you cannot hide. Those  micro expressions: gestures of the hand, the way the torso is puffed up or shoulders are pulled in, even the dilation or constriction of the pupils register certain emotions, lies or truth telling.

Introspection is hard, and takes a lot of practice. Practice, practice, practice. That being said, I have to remember not to take myself to seriously all the time either. People may not realize it, because on the exterior, I'm laughing and joking, but on the inside I analyze what I say and the interactions I have continuously. That's a spillover of OCD and anxiety, I'm sure.  There I go analyzing again. In all things, balance. It's not about performing. It's about learning who you are and learning to be comfortable in your own skin. Learning to switch from the professional self, to the family self, to the personal self and remain true to all of them.

Why I Can't Fall Asleep

My husband and I have different sleep schedules. Since he gets up at 4 am, he goes to bed around 9, unless he stays up to spend time with me. I'm more like a ten or 11 o'clock-er  since I don't have to get up around 6 or so. I push the snooze button, but try not to, since the alarm rings at nine minute increments, which plays serious havoc with the OCD part of my brain, since nine is not a multiple of four (in this universe or any parallel universe). I've heard scientists speak about the possible existence of parallel universes where our alternate life choices live out their consequences. Apparently, the laws of nature, including mathematics, in theory, remain the same. I can always hope that every number is a multiple of four in a parallel universe. It gives me some comfort, but...I digress. Back to sleep schedule.

I try my best to be quiet and still when I turn in if my husband is already asleep, but invariably that OCD part of my brain relaxes at a different pace than my physical body, even on some pretty strong medication. Here's a snapshot of my brain around 10:30.

• My hip hurts.
• The water is dripping.
• My sleep pants are bunched up around my knees.
• My covers are wrinkled and I feel sand in them.
• My lips are chapped.
• My nose is running.
• The streetlight is shining in the window and the blinds are open.
• I forgot to take my meds.
• I think I left the lights on in the car and the battery will be dead when I try to start it tomorrow. 
• The faucet is dripping.
• I forgot to turn in some papers at work.
• My daughter's not home yet.
• I think I left the coffee pot on.
• Congress is sequestered and now I won't get a raise. 
• My foot itches.
• North Korea is going to launch a nuclear weapon.
• I hate the way George Bush says nucular.
• My foot itches.
• The dog's toenails are scraping his cage.
• Doug is snoring....again.
• Doug has taken my covers...again
• My back itches.
• My heart is racing.
• My hands are dry.
• I have to pee.
• I have a headache and the ibuprofen and ice pack are in the kitchen.
• I'm cold.
• I'm hot now.
• I think today was my mom's birthday. 
• My closet door is open.
• I can't breathe.
• I have to blow my nose.

Thankfully, thirty minutes later, after I've tossed and turned and gotten up and down at least four times, my husband will say ever so kindly, "Are you done?"

"Yes." 

Then we settle in. What a saint he is. I talk about him so much at work, that's become his nickname. 

"How's the saint today?" my co-workers ask me. 

"Fine." 

It wasn't always like this, but someone told me some time ago your marriage is only as good as you say it is. So I say it all the time and now I can't say it enough. 

The Powers That Be

There are so many powers over our lives. If you are in a  public or private job, there's administration to glad hand and impress. In today's economy, a job is a commodity, so doing everything you can to make yourself indispensable is key. Let me translate. This means doing twice the work in two thirds the time for one half the pay and saying things like, "Every challenge is an opportunity for excellence." Or, "We'll figure out a way to make it work." Whatever that challenge may be. Or, "Sure I don't mind purchasing my own office supplies. I didn't need to eat breakfast this week anyway." And you can't just say it, you have to mean it, or at least get really good at acting like you do.

And that red tape, it gets stickier and longer every year. Now, instead of going directly to the IT department with a computer or phone problem, one has to tell the supervisor, who tells the deputy director, who tells human resources, who sends an e-mail to IT. Well, that's just great if your computer has crashed again and eaten the document you've spent 60 minutes typing and the auto save doesn't work. Time is of the essence because the system saves over itself at midnight and if the work is not there, it's not saved AND CANNOT BE RETRIEVED.

So then, there's a meeting about maximizing efficiency and time management because SOMEONE wasted an entire hour that cannot be accounted for. Meanwhile, companies proposition the purchase of buildings and new software, even though it hasn't given cost of living raises in almost five years. At least the phone system will be replaced. That's important, especially when my phone dials 911 on it's own. No joke. The number to dial out is 9 and when I press one to dial long distance, it sticks. I try to catch the call and talk to the 911 operator, telling them it was all a mistake, but that isn't always the case, so the police come to the building prepared for an emergency. Fortunately, I'm not the only one this happens to and they've also had to come when I haven't been in the office. I wonder how much money it costs the county each the the emergency response team responds.

I wonder if I could dial 911 and tell them I'm tangled in red tape and can't get out.

Denial

The breeze came as the rooster crowed. Had it not been for the chill on my neck despite the dry breeze, I might not even have remembered the words of the teacher.

"The rooster shall not crow until you have denied me three times."

I was so certain of myself, safe in the company of this man I had come to love like no other. I would fiercely defend him to the death and was confused at the lack of faith he had in me, even though I showed my faith in him time and time again. Had I not left trade and family to follow him? Had I not stayed with the other 11 when the original 300 scattered to follow another rabbi or to return to lives missed?

But oh the chaos, crowds and confusion. Jesus was beaten and taken away and the Sanhedrin wanted blood. The crowds were turning violent and ugly that night, even as the wind threatened to pick up the fires that blazed this place and that and ignite us all.

"You are one of his disciples," she said to me.

"I am not."

"Aren't you his disciple?" asked another that warmed himself by the flame with me, turning his head to study me.

"I am not," and turned away to hide my face, and the fear that he would surely see in my eyes if he looked closely.

"But I saw you in the garden with him," said the relative of the guard whose ear I had cut off in defense of my friend.

"No, I tell you! You are mistaken," I said, throwing the last words over my shoulder as I ran.

My words had not even registered until that accusing crow. Liar. Betrayer. Enemy. I ran as fast as I could from the crowds until the quilt of darkness enveloped me, and collapsed to my knees in sorrow. Sobs racked my frame and I buried my face in my hands in my shame. But there was no hiding. This is who I have become; a coward when he needed me most. And now they would offer him up because he will not fight for himself and would not let us fight for him. He will be gone and will not return.

He said he was the Son of God, and I said, "I know him not."

Letter To My Daughter

I have told you that I love you and I am proud of you, but lately it seems to be after some heated words when I know you need the affirmation. I despise the feeling that you are on your way to work or a friend's house, and are hurt or sad  because I was too harsh or my tone didn't match the feelings I had in my heart at the time.

But I am proud of you and love you. I wonder if you know just how much. On the day you were born, I realized a love I had never felt before, and a responsibility that took my breath away. I knew the minute I first held you that my life would be defined from that moment on by the way I treated, nurtured, and loved you. An overwhelming desire to protect and provide for you was the mantle that was placed over my life at that moment. I was mom and you were daughter.

How I treasure moments watching you sleep, feeding you, and showing you off when we went out. How I loved dressing you up and holding you close, watching you learn. As you grew, I reveled in your joy at the discovery of the world around you and I caught that sense of wonder like a virus.

These days I treasure these memories. Newborn, helpless, milk-sweet smell. Toddler, jumpy, smiling, spinning, laughing. Teen, moody, friends, sleepovers, makeovers, games and dances. I look at you now, woman, working, learning and breaking free. I simultaneously treasure the little girl you were in your footie pajamas with baby-shampoo-clean hair and your crooked smile and grieve her loss at the same time.

This emotion is new for me and my heart is at war with itself. I want to say, "Stop, stay here, don't leave," and also, "Go, I trust you, trust yourself." And I do trust you. I trust the woman you are and the choices you've made and I give you the permission to keep being yourself because I love who you are, not just what you do.

I would say, "Go, make me proud." But you already have. As you continue this journey, know that you have my unconditional love and my heart is always open. I am always your home if you need it.

Chocolate

I love chocolate. I don't mean that in the quaint way people say, "I love kittens or warm rainy nights," or even "I love God." I mean, I LOVE chocolate.

My co-workers forbid me to eat chocolate before or during staff meetings and they keep it on their desks and give me some after lunch if I've been particularly helpful. You've seen a cat on catnip? Well, that's me on chocolate. Hyper, talking, frequent laughing. Add a couple more pieces and I'm bouncing up and down in my seat, gritting my teeth and slobbering like Cujo.

BRB. I'm going to get a chocolate doughnut.

Okay. It's amazing how much of our lives revolve around food. Baby showers, weddings, birthdays and funerals, from the cradle to the grave we celebrate and mourn with food. New baby? Eat!  Birthday? Eat! Sick or in the hospital? We'll feed your family. Eat! Married? Eat! Lost a loved one? Eat!

There are some things we don't celebrate with food and probably should. Divorce. Bankruptcy. Getting fired. Failing a grade. A spoonful of sugar and all that. I celebrated the end of each Weight Watcher's meeting with a Big Mac and super-sized fries and wondered why that particular program didn't work for me. Food celebrations are all through religious tradition. Marriages, communion, baptisms and confirmations. But no matter what I celebrate, chocolate will be on the table.Unless my nephew is there. He doesn't like chocolate, never has. Personally, I think he was dropped on his head when he was a baby. So, if he comes, we try to remember to bake two cakes. One without chocolate. He will eat tootsie rolls though, which makes me happy because I always suspected they were counterfeit chocolate anyway.