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piepa_regbu's journal
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piepa_regbu's Journal  1) I wake up automatically at 6:30 am on my days off. I hate that I do this. I really do. I can stay up late. Have a glass of wine before bed. Take a couple of aspirin. Drink some chamomile tea... it doesn't matter. No matter how hard I try to sleep in, I wake up at 6:30 am every single day I'm off of work. And most times? I can't get back to sleep. 2) I am (practically) addicted to my morning routine. Every morning I wake up, it's the same thing: bathroom, coffee, Atkins bar. Then it's TV (Carlos Faura), computer checks (LJ, email), and shower. After that, I dress, pack my lunch, and check on the cats. If anything is different about my morning (like hunky suddenly wakes up and wants to have coffee with me), I am totally thrown off base. I either end up running really late, or forget to take needed things with me (like my lunch). I think this is why I'm extra quiet in the morning when hunky is home... I just want to complete my routine in peace. I also think this is one reason why I enjoy vacations so much; it's like a temporary release from my routine. When I'm away, I don't have to do my routine and I don't miss it. But at home, I have to do my routine. I'm very Monkish that way. 3) I can't sleep with body parts hanging off the bed. This dates back to my childhood fear that the Boogie Man was under my bed at night. Even on the hottest nights, if my foot ends up dangling off the bed, I suddenly wake up, fearful that something is going to grab me. 4) Sometimes when people talk to me, I "type" what they're saying onto my thighs with my fingertips. This happens mostly when someone is either scolding me or boring me. 5) I rarely return phone calls. Oh, I mean to. But I usually don't. I hate using the phone. I think this is more a product of today's "call waiting" and "caller I.D." options than of simply not caring to return calls. I hate calling someone, only to have them say "I'm already talking to Brad Pitt. Call me back in an hour." Um. Whatever. I also hate that feeling of that I'm interrupting something important with a phone call. The only people I ever call regularly are my parents (no call waiting) and hunky (who always wants to hear from me). 6) I read magazines from the back, forward. This drives hunky crazy (probably because of his Asperger's). I've always read magazines from the back, forward. I tried reading from the beginning to end, just to please hunky, but I can't. It throws off my rhythm. Plus, sometimes the best things are in the back, like the sex ads! ;-) 7) I can't read a magazine without first tearing out all the magazine subscription cards, ads, and anything else printed on stock that differs from the magazine pages themselves. In other words, if the texture and/or size of any thing in the magazine is different than the pages themselves, I have to tear them out first. I can't read a magazine with all that crap in it. I think that's why I have such a difficult time reading Home Companion, Mary Engelbreit's mag. Each mag contains paper dolls and other things printed on card stock. The magazines are more valuable with that stuff kept in, so I refrain from tearing them out. Still, it makes it very difficult for me to read her magazine, because I focus more on the crap that's in it, then the actual reading material. Well, I don't think I've ever drawn the Queen of Pentacles before as a daily pull. In fact, I'm sure of it. The Queen looks friendly. She sits on her thrown, holding a coin. There is a rabbit near her side. Honestly? I had no intuitive first impression after looking at this card... and that rarely happens. Turns out, the Queen of Pentacles challenges the readee to be more like her. And for anyone who knows me (including myself), knows that is a huge challenge. The Queen of Pentacles is nurturing, big-hearted, down-to-earth, resourceful and trustworthy. Okay. I'm at least three of those things, but definitely not nurturing and big-hearted. So why will these traits be needful today? I have absolutely no idea. I hate it when that happens in a reading... Last week, hunky bought me an arrangement of tulips and heather from Trader Joe's. I brought them to work, where they lasted almost all week. This morning when I came in, I couldn't help but notice they had met their maker. When hunky called to let me know he was up, I happened to mention that my flowers were dead. Then I added "So feel free to replace them!" In true hunky nature, he said "Did you do anything to deserve them? I think not!" "Yes I did. I made you SEVERAL meals this weekend, without you having to ask." "Seems to me that I did have to ask." "I don't remember you asking. And in fact, I made dinner while you were holed up in your office last night, so I know for sure you weren't bugging me for dinner, I mean, um, demanding that I... oh you know what I mean." Laughter. Then "Still... I am not convinced you did anything special to deserve them." "Of course I did. Maybe not for you, though..." "That's my point." Foiled by my own big mouth. This morning while doing my hair, I started thinking about asking for a raise. The first year I was here, I got a raise automatically. This year, my anniversary came and went without any acknowledgement, monetary or otherwise. Yes, I think I deserve a raise. My responsibilities have increased, and I've been able to grow with them. However, when doing my daily pull, the card I got was the Eight of Pentacles. Yes, "pentacles" is seen as the money suit. However, in this case, it shows a cat working hard on making money (literally; he's carving coins). The card represents diligence and attention to detail. I think this probably isn't the right time to ask for a raise. Instead, I suppose as much as I hate to admit it, this card is telling me to just keep working, and to pay attention to detail. Sure, it's not immediately rewarding, but perhaps it'll pay off in the end. A friend of mine recently had a miscarriage... her second. I feel for her loss, I really REALLY do. However, the one thing I don't understand (and maybe because I haven't had one myself... not even to mention that I never wanted children in the first place) is her extreme jealousy and rage at others who are either currently pregnant or have young children. Don't get me wrong; I understand that grief is a powerful emotion. It's just that I will never understand people who believe that their loss somehow supercedes the happiness of others. My friend admitted that when she sees a pregnant woman, she sometimes feels an urge to slap them or spit on them. What? WHY? It's not their fault she had a miscarriage. And, it seems so unhealthy to focus so much rage on others who are happy, instead of working on healing. My mom is a little bit this way, since the death of my parents' dog a year ago. My mom gets angry and resentful at people who walk their dogs. Why? Isn't it their right to own a dog and be happy with it? I know it was tough on both my parents to lose Gracie. She had been with them for 14 years, and was a huge part of their life. Still... why can't they mourn their loss without resenting those who haven't yet lost their pet? Hunky and I had a long discussion about this issue on Saturday. It's more than just my friend... it's all others like her. You have some of these people in your circle of friends: the single woman who gets angry every time one of her friends gets engaged. The childless woman (married or unmarried) who throws a hissy every time she finds out someone in her circle is pregnant. The married or single man who feels wronged every time one of his friends gets that promotion at work, or is able to buy the car he always wanted. I just don't understand it, and neither does hunky. He did bring up a good point, though, and it's one I happen to agree with: the happiness of my friends doesn't make me happy, just as the sadness of my friends doesn't make me sad. Yet, it doesn't mean I don't feel empathy and/or sympathy for them. It just means that my emotional state doesn't fluctuate with their ups and downs. And yes, I'll admit to occasionally feeling a little bit of jealousy creep up when a friend of mine gets something I want. Still, that little bit of green doesn't prevent me from being glad that my friend obtained a wish of their own, nor do I feel resentment that "they have what I haven't got... how dare them!" It doesn't make me want to spit on them or slap them. If it did, I surely wouldn't have been a bridesmaid as many times as I've been... no, I'd be in jail instead for assault with a deadly spitwad. I wonder what causes people to feel such rage when others get what they don't have? Is it a life of getting everything they wanted, so that when something happens that is out of their control, they don't know how to handle it? Is it self-centeredness? Or something all together different? I have no idea... I just hope and pray that I will never be that person... the one who wants to slap my friend when she gets engaged, or the person who wants to key the brand new car my other friend just bought. By the grace of God, I'm not that person... now. The part that scares me, though, is not knowing if I have the capacity to become that person... Lord, please let that answer be no. And if it's "yes," then smack me down before I feel that kind of rage. (And feel free to slap me, as getting loogied-on is just not my thing!) Deck: The Halloween Tarot Question: What will my weekend be like? Card: Two of Pumpkins (Pentacles) Oooh, the money suit. But, in this case, it's not about money; it's about balance. Juggling. Fun. I think instead of telling me what my card will be like, this card is telling me I need to take some time to have some fun. My initial plan for the weekend was to work on the cottage and to work out at the gym. This card doesn't tell me NOT to do those things... but it encourages me to also take a look at doing the fun things... the things that will keep me in touch with my man and my sanity. I should keep this card nearby to consult it this weekend, lest I forget its very important message. You're never too old to be a hot nude lady I know I'm not! Last week, I received an email via one of the local Yahoo groups I belong to. It was from a guy I met at The Enchanted Realm. He said he was going to start teaching classes on "the Risting Tradition" and if intersted, to email him off list. I couldn't get this class out of my head. Sure, I said I'd had it with Wicca; it seemed too complicated and involved, blah blah blah. But... still... this class seemed interesting. Plus, I am really drawn to Steve. Not in a romantic way; he's probably 20 years younger than me. No, in an intellectual way. Steve is not only charasmatic, he's well-read and well-versed. He not only knows what he believes, but he knows WHY he believes. I admire that about him. Yesterday at lunch, the class popped into my head again. I thought "Nah, he probably started it already." Then that little voice inside my head said "Just email him already!" So I did. He replied back within three minutes. Turned out, the class was to begin LAST night; I was just in time. And hey, if for some reason I couldn't meet on Tuesday, he would give me a one-one-one makeup class. Cool! So, I went. And I am really glad I went. Turns out, what he's teaching is a tradition and not a religion. He doesn't identify himself as Wicca. He has a particular tradition (Risting) that he follows. And that's what I really want to know... the basics of witchcraft, not of Wicca. Class lasted just a little over two hours last night. There were eight students. Surprisingly, I was not the oldest. And not even the next-to-the-oldest. (Okay, I was the third oldest, but hey, that's not bad odds in a class of 8!) We will meet the 2nd Tuesday of every month. Class & materials: $15 each meeting. That covers any one-on-one time we schedule with him on his days off, plus we also get discounts on his tarot readings. (He is an excellent tarot reader; in fact, he's probably the only man I would ever get a reading from.) I'm glad I listened to my little voice. I should probably listen more often! Question: What do I need to know about my new class? Card: Five of Wands Okay, deck, what are you trying to tell me? The Five of Wands? Cats beating each other up with sticks. Nice. Well, in all fairness, I did pull this card reversed, but I normally don't read reversed cards unless it "feels" reversed. It didn't feel reversed to me... So. Let's take this step-by-step. Five of Wands = disagreement, hassles, competition. One source says "when this card appears, prepare yourself for a bumpy ride." Okay... well. Maybe it just means class won't be easy for me. The people seem very nice. The discussion was fun. But perhaps the actual learning won't come easy? And that makes total sense. Sometimes it takes me awhile to grasp things, especially when I'm learning new things. And hopefully that's all this card means... When I was stationed at Ft. Drum, I met a girl named Sheila. She was new to our unit, and quite a bit older than the rest of us in the same rank. Turned out, she had joined the Army just under the age limit, and had obtained her rank because of college credits earned before her Army enlistment. Now, that information might seem a bit fluffy, but it actually has a lot to do with the dynamics of our friendship (if you can call it that). She kind of drifted towards me, not because of my age, but more because of my maturity level. We became friends, and she also became friends with my other friend, Chris. Sometimes the three of us would hang out, mostly at the mess hall, sometimes in our room, just talking. Sometimes we went places together. And sometimes she would not hang out with us at all, but instead hang out at the bar. I don't think I realized it at the time, but Sheila had a drinking problem. At some point, Sheila decided she wanted to be roomies, because I was more mature than whoever it was she was rooming with at the time. She made a request, and moved in to my room before I could say "What's happening?" Things went okay at first. But, at some point, Sheila kind of began to hate being my roommate. The first time I realized she was unhappy was during a room inspection. The first sergeant gave us compliments on how clean our room was. Sheila said "First Sergeant, you need to take a closer look at P's side. She didn't vacuum very long." To his credit, he kind of just looked at her, crooked his eyebrow up (gawd, I loved it when he did that... he was so sexy!), and left the room. Soon, during each and every inspection she would tell the First Sergeant or platoon leader what to look for on my side of the room. "She didn't dust very carefully... you might want to check the grates." "If I were you, I'd look closer at the baseboards. I don't think she wiped them down." "It was P's turn to clean the bathroom; you might want to check the shower to be sure it's been wiped down." During a room cleaning the night before an inspection, she finally stopped being passive-aggressive about it, and said something to my face. I asked her what her problem was. And it boiled down to this: she felt that she cleaned her side of the room longer and more thoroughly than I, and was kind of pissed that I kept passing inspection without as much effort. I told her I was simply more efficient than she was, and hoped that would end the griping. It didn't. As time went by, I noticed more and more how many times Sheila would be out drinking. A male friend of mine stopped me one day and said "P, you might want to say something to your girl. She passed out at the bar last night, and I think she's got a problem." I didn't say anything to her, mostly because every time I attempted to have a serious conversation with her, she'd ridicule me. She would call me "Little Bapto Girl" and pepper the conversation with barbs and digs... I got the hint really quickly. The final break in our friendship occurred when we were all ordered to paint our rooms. They had all been white, and in an effort to spruce things up and individualize our rooms, Supply had obtained gallons of paint. We could all pick out the color of our room from four different available colors: blue, green, yellow and pink. The catch, of course, was that we needed to schedule a time to go to Supply to pick up the supplies and tools. Because there was so much for us to carry, one of us couldn't do it on our own. I tried several times to get Sheila to go to supply to help pick up the supplies, but she kept putting me off, opting instead to go to the Club and drink. Finally, we were all given a final warning. I went to supply without her. The only colors left were green and pink. The green reminded me too much of the color of an Army hospital I visited in Germany, so I chose the pink, someone helped me grab up the other supplies, and we left. I started painting the room, because we only had a couple of more days left to get it done. When Sheila finally came back into the room, she threw a fit. "I can't believe you picked pink! Pink is for sissies. I should've know that the Little Bapto Girl would go behind my back and pick a color I hate!" I reminded her that had she gone with me to pick up supplies days ago like she was supposed to, this never would've happened. We would've gotten yellow (as we had hoped). But she wouldn't listen to reason, and instead rattled on and on about how I maliciously planned this so she'd have to live in a pink room. After the painting was done, we of course had another inspection. And this one wasn't any different than any other inspection I'd suffered through with Sheila as a roommate. The First Sergeant and Platoon Leader entered our room. They looked around and said "Good job." Sheila piped in: "You should really take a closer look at P's side. You'll see that there is some white peeking through the pink." Once again, neither of them took the bait, and just left the room. That was it as far as Sheila was concerned. She went to our Floor Leader and told her that living with me was impossible. She had to have another roommate. She made up some lies, and embellished some truths (like the pink room). Next thing I know, the Floor Leader pulled me into her room and told me I was a troublemaker; that no one wanted to live with me (not true). She said she'd have a difficult time trying to find someone to room with me, but she would pull Sheila out as soon as she could. Within a week, someone heard that Sheila wanted out and traded rooms. The girl who traded was a lot of fun, and we became fast friends. Sheila was soon miserable with her new roommate, as expected. See, Sheila was never happy for long, and soon most people caught on to that (although the Floor Leader never did, and always sided with Sheila no matter what trouble came her way). Our friendship didn't end when she moved out, but it became more distant and we talked much less frequently than before. We did keep in touch after she left Ft. Drum, and I even visited her in Heidelburg when she was stationed there (and I was stationed at Ramstein). Some time after that, though, we lost contact. Fast forward 20 years. Or so. The other night my friend Chris called me. He said "Guess who I talked to tonight?" I answered "Sheila B." "How did you know?" "Because I'm psychic." He had been on the phone with her for four hours, and he sums it up this way: "Pamela, she hasn't changed. She is STILL the same. Guess what one of the first things was that she brought up?" "The pink room?" He answered with a laugh. "Yes, yes, and guess what else?" He went on to tell me everything... how she harbored these "wrongs" as if they had happened yesterday. He said she hadn't changed at all; that she was the same bitter person she was back at Drum. However, she wanted my contact information, and was eager to get in touch. He asked my permission to pass it on. I gave it to him. I didn't hear from her though, so I contacted her via email (thinking that a phone call might just be too intense). She took a few days to reply, but when she finally did, it was a sort of sad reply. She told me that after speaking to Chris, she became very depressed because his life was so great and hers hadn't changed. She said she drank for several days afterwards and couldn't contact me because of it. Then she said "Now tell me what you've been up to so I have somebody else to compare myself to: I'll probably kill myself when you start telling everything that you've accomplished in the last few years." I told her to put away the noose; my life isn't all that great. I did catch her up, though, with the very basics of what happened since I saw her last. I haven't heard from her since. I hope she didn't grab the noose. Or a beer. But I'm afraid she might've. |
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