Alright, enough of the update! I feel good today, despite the fact that I�m here, back in this shit-hole some people like to call �work�. As if scrubbing down an apartment that hadn�t been thoroughly cleaned in over 6 years wasn�t enough, I did a bit of cleaning myself last night. I guess I really AM a typical Virgo. Once the dishes, laundry, clutter, was out of the way, I felt like I could relax a bit, which is exactly what I did. And fell asleep on Downey-fresh sheets and pillows. Sigh. I still have a lot more to do, but give a girl a break, it was a dent, alright? A nice, big, effective dent. Then I felt like I could breathe again.

I woke up easily this morning, wide awake, in fact, which I thought odd after 3 days of sleeping in. Took a shower with the lights off, leisurely got ready, hummed and talked to my cats. What�s with this good mood? And why do I question it so? When we have a moment of contentment, we should stop and revel in it, not wonder why and how we can feel so contented when so much in our life is stressful or seems to be going to shit. So I just went with it, after I reminded myself a few times not to question it. I�m okay, life is good, there is time. I will get my car crap taken care of, I will get my new bed, nightstand, dresser, and bookshelf (my mother promised!), and I will finally be COMPLETELY settled in to my place, my environment, and once that happens, when my habitat is in order, so will be my thoughts. That�s just the way it works with us obsessive people.

I need some kind of neatness and order in one little area of my life, then I can work my way outward from there. Trust me, there�s logic in this, even if you don�t see it. Despite universal morality and universal logic, we each have our individual and warped ways of seeing everything. Of feeling �right�. Mine are just a tad bit particular, that�s all. Speaking of OCD, heh heh. Just kidding. But I find, in those times when I am most stressed out, I am MOST obsessive-compulsive. I know, it�s a bit freaky. Especially since I�m just so selective with it. I can be surrounded by clutter right now in my office, but if one paper is crossing another paper a certain way that I suddenly decide I don�t like, I must fix it immediately or I will be bothered immensely. Stuff like that. It�s cool, I�m sane. Trust me.

So here I am. Another week. Another day of making it through without incident. My parents� divorce is almost final. My mother is a wreck. A four-year-long process, and still not done. It�s hard to be around her when she�s asking about him, bad-mouthing him, projecting bitterness and anger at me for associating with and still loving him. And there he is, getting everything he can out of life, smelling the flowers, breathing the air, enJOYing all of it. What a difference, the two of them. What a learning experience it is - of life and choice and reaction and love and acceptance � to watch the two of them; how they are each moving forward in their own way. It�s so easy, from an outside perspective, to see how someone can, by their reaction to a situation, actually make things worse for themselves.

We choose how to view things. Our perceptions are created by us. When we realize that, we can have a bit of control behind our emotional steering wheel. But some of us like to imagine that we are locked in the trunk of this vehicle of our emotions and that it will go wherever it wants. That�s just not true. And the saddest thing about it, is that this imaginary trunk only opens from the inside. So that those people who love you, standing around your vehicle, you, your barriers, your emotions, your psyche, your choices, can only hear the faint muffle of the real you, screaming and crying for release, for assistance, somewhere deep inside, behind your eyes. And all they can do is stand about and hint and encourage in every way they can, �Just grab onto the handle and come out. You can do it.� Waiting, watching, helpless in knowing that I can�t just open this metaphorical trunk from the outside and help you out.

I guess that�s on my mind. See how cathartic this writing thing can be? Now I need to go deal with being pensive. I�m emoting all over the place, not knowing how to feel about the parent situation. And I don�t, you know. I don�t know HOW to FEEL. I don�t know WHAT I FEEL. I just don�t know.

-Barbarella

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