Like Two Bulls in a Small Pen

“Be thankful for every heartbreak, for they were planned.  They come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then leave.  Their purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform your life.  And you do.”  I would give credit to the author here, but I got this from Pinterest and no author was listed…

Let it go on the record…I, Aleta Kaylee, am not the best at discernment.  Discernment is simply not my gift.  For others, red flags and warnings and alarms can be going off and I will sit there blissfully unaware, dazed by the newness and shininess of a new person. 

That dazed state is a pretty accurate description for myself for the past few months.  Perhaps I had simply been optimistic.  Perhaps I had really only scratched the surface with the person that I’d been spending time with. (Shrugs sholders).  Who knows?

Hindsight is 20/20.  Looking back now, there were so many signs that I had missed; or things that I didn’t analyze that I should have. 

Things had begun going south about a month ago, but as I sat at my friend’s wedding recently, I began reflecting…and I began thinking about what I needed and what was really lacking.

I think in any friendship, relationship, what have you, you will sometimes learn new things about yourself…and this had been no different. 

Now, while I have not been blessed with the gift of discernment, I have been blessed with the gift of encouragement.  I am always very forthcoming with compliments.  I love to give them.  I love to build people up.  In turn, something that I realized I desperately needed in a relationship was compliments. 

Call me vain all you like… I may be a chubby girl, but I put a lot into my outfits daily….ESPECIALLY when I go out.  It may seem like such a small, superficial thing, but for me…Very few things make me happier than if I have a headband, necklace, and purse to perfectly match my dress.  I put a lot into my outfits.  Frankly, in this day and age, where dressing like a homeless person is almost celebrated, I think that for one to put so much thought into their outfit…well, it SHOULD be acknowledged.  If you see that I have in any way dressed up or “gussied up something special” for you, I would like for it to be acknowledged.  It is nice for the little things to be noticed. 

Perhaps I’m vain, but even a “you look nice” wouldn’t have been that bitter to roll off the tongue.  What I got was “I’m no good with compliments.”  Frankly, I think at the very heart of the matter, it was more of a power play.   

Also, I’m finding that I am an extremely extroverted person.  I thrive when my schedule is chock full of social events and meetings with friends.  Again, this may seem silly or frivolous to some, but I enjoy “peopling” my life as much as I possibly can.   While I understand that not everyone is like me in that, it is something that I truly enjoy.

Although I already knew this little tidbit about myself…it has become abundantly clear.  I, Aleta Kaylee, am a control freak.  Before you begin chanting “amen” and vigorously nodding your head, I want it to go on record…he was too.  While I may can dress the part of a 60s housewife…I am wholeheartedly an independent, free-thinking, foul-mouthed, full of sass, millennial.  And him?  Well, he is a man with the mentality of a man in the 1960s.  Neither are bad things…neither of us are bad people…or “wrong” in our line of thinking.  However, in retrospect, I’d say we got along about as well as 2 bulls in a small pen about 60 percent of the time. 

Finally, the last thing that I can say that I’ve learned is…I am very okay with myself.  I know, I’m overweight.  I know that I have flaws.  But I am very confident in the skin I’m in.  There are things I want to change, sure…but I am “okay” with myself.  And that, in itself, is becoming a rarity in this day and age.  I hope that in relationships/friendships to come, no matter the opinion of another, I hope that I will not lose sight of that. 

To end this, I will say that in every “parting of the ways” there is always a bit of grief.  A person’s absence, whether it be a friend or more, leaves a bit of a void, and takes a part of you with them.  Who you were at that very point in time, when you were with that person, you will never be exactly that person again.  There is a loss there, and a bit of grief.  But we learn, we grow, and we move on. 

On my heart

I haven’t really prayed since my dad was diagnosed with cancer.  It wasn’t necessarily that I was mad with God, but felt it unimportant and useless because it was terminal and we knew what the end result would ultimately be.  I believe in God.  I also believe that God knows everything.  At that point in my life, pleading with God seemed helpless and hopeless...I knew what would happen.  I saw his struggles, witnessed him getting sicker and sicker.  I realize now that that was not the point.  The point is to talk to God, let him know what’s on your heart.  In that, I have failed.  Perhaps he knows my thoughts.  I hope that he knows what’s on my heart.  

There has been something on my heart for the past week.  Maybe it’s my hormones, maybe my emotions have been high this week...but tonight, I had to pray. I don’t say that to be boastful about my prayer.  I had to get something off of my heart.  Had to let God know one of my worries.  I have sat through the funeral of someone that died to soon in the military.  I have heard the 21 gun salute.  Felt the person next to me tremble and cry out.  I have seen a soldier hand the fallen soldier’s fiance a folded American flag.  I will forever have the image of the Patriot Guard Riders, standing with the flags on their motorcycles waving, creating a buffer between the funeral proceedings and the protestors.  I’m unsure of whether those images, feelings, and sounds will ever become less vivid.  

As much as I am proud of those who join the military, I always have concern wash through me.  That image will always cross my mind and I never want to go through this again.  I never want to see another person/friend/family member go through that.  

T-Shirt

I smile at the very thought of it.  Like sunlight beaming in the kitchen window, making even the dust seem magical; or the smell of Dixies baking in the oven; or the feel of the water splash up on your legs as you walk the beach.  The memories are warm, and affect the senses.  

It was a simple t-shirt.  It made me smile.  Given as a Christmas present.  

I hadn’t thought that much about it.  It was a gift.  It was just  a t-shirt that reminded me of you.  

Later, you told me it was your favorite.  Even after you had worn it for a few years, you still loved it.  Holes had covered it by then, and she often asked you why you still wore it and why you wouldn’t throw it away.  You told her the same, that it was your favorite.  

But then, after telling me that, you looked at me and smiled.  You said “It has holes all in it, but I still love it.  Every time I wear it, I think of you.”  

That memory fills me with sunshine on my dreariest day.  It brings warmth to my skin...warmth to my soul.  It was a stupid shirt, but it meant the world to you.  Ultimately, is has meant the world to me.  

Letter from a Homewrecker

I don’t wear his ring.  I don’t don his name.  I get calls only when the timing is right.  She is his 8 to 5, I am his shift caught here and there, when it works for him.

She is nice.  She takes care of him and makes him smile after a bad day.  It makes me thankful for her, but also hate her.  I am his missing piece and she is everything I’m not.  

No family gatherings shared.  They do not know. Other people, aside from a few close friends, do not know.  No hands held in public.  No cute little public displays of affection.  Even our conversations in passing are cut short if the wrong person walks by.  No arm placed around me.  I am, after all, not “your girl.”  Eyes diverted, so others don’t see the emotion behind them.  Letters thrown out on your ride home...there is no evidence left.  

Many a night spent alone.  You'd be amazed to know how very much it eats at a girl to realize that a man wants her but not enough to change his current situation to be with her.  After a while, that takes an enormous toll on a girl's self worth.    

Guilt sets in when I decide to talk to someone new.  Irrational jealousy is inflamed in you.  Good guys come, and good guys go...and I cannot see past you.  I....can’t do that to you.  Ridiculous, isn’t it?  And the precedent is set, I am the one left waiting.  Always...Always.  

Moodiness.  Aggravation.  Then you make me smile.  Damn you.  Always.

I have to see you every once and again.  Have to deal with the memories.  Have to see her....sometimes with you.  Are you really happy when you’re home?  Do your worlds ever collide and you think of me while you’re...not with me?  

This is the double standard.  It is fine for your behavior.  Somewhat expected.  I am, in turn, labeled the homewrecker, the problem, the whore.  I am a good person, I swear.  I didn’t want this either.  But I am the one judged.  Because, as I damn well know, that ultimately, this falls on me...because it was “my decision.”  And that is the horrible burden that I bear.  

Ultimately, we will never really introduce each other to each's family.  We will never know what it's like to move in together, or get married or have babies.  I will never know what it's like to wake up in the morning next to you.  Or to know how rowdy you get watching football games on a lazy Saturday afternoon.  I won't ever really have that moment when I get to introduce you to my friends.  And if I was completely honest with myself..that's all I've ever really wanted.  You've always meant that much.  

Shaking my fists and the sky.  Hating myself.  This is not what I wanted in my life.  Not what i expected with my life.  And yet, you still remain.  10 years is it?  And nothing more than a screwed up, bleak abyss...not even a relationship....Could you even put a name on it?  And God no, never any commitment.  At least where it concerns me.  

Perhaps this is what our elders warned us about.  If I'd been smarter...If I had only listened....

But...after all this time...after all of this...mess...I still wait for a phone call.  And that makes me hate you.  But it makes me hate me more.  

Demons

 

I would love to give photo credit for this, but I got it off pinterest, 

and I have no idea where it originated from.

I would give photo credit to whoever took this, but I have no idea.

So I know, I know, I’ve posted a lot about Philip Seymour Hoffman this week.  Honestly, I am just downright heartbroken.  I can’t really even explain why it has hit me so very hard.   

The first time I ever saw him that I could remember was maybe Patch Adams.  I saw him on Along Came Polly as Sandy Luke, the grown-up child star with little tact, and he made me laugh.  But I really fell in love with him in Capote.  He embodied the high-pitched, flamboyant, lovable man that took himself a tad too seriously.  Honey, anyone that can keep that crazy voice that Truman Capote had throughout all of filming?  I tip my hat to.  Having read In Cold Blood, and partly knowing the background of the movie, I really had a deep appreciation of it.  All I can say is: his acting was AMAZING.  Which was evident when he took the Oscar home that year for Best Actor.  If you have not seen the movie, I simply demand you see it.  

I recently went and saw Catching Fire (my favorite of the Hunger Games books).  I cannot tell you what a happy surprise it was to see him in the role of Plutarch Heavensbee.  I am now looking forward to the movies that will come out posthumously with him, but I won’t guarantee that I will not cry through them all.

I hope that he will be remembered for his incredible acting ability, not the manner in which he died.  His ability to be a chameleon and very subtly turn into his character.  No, he never half-assed it.  He BECAME the character and had the audience believing every word rolling off his tongue was the “true” him.  An asset to his profession and a mournful loss to those he entertained for the past twenty years.    

His acting career isn’t really what this blog post is about though.  I wanted to react to some of the comments other actors have made about his death this week.

For those of you who haven’t read the articles.  When PSH was in his early twenties he had a substance abuse problem that he sought help for.  He had been sober for 20+ years before he fell back into the throes of his addiction last year; finally succumbing to it last Sunday.  

To be honest, I have been obsessed with reading just about every article in the past few days.  Perhaps, I wanted to take in every word hoping to be able to wrap my head around the fact that he’s no longer here.  Maybe hoping to understand his ill-fated last days.

Today, I read something that made me really angry.  There were some celebrities that made remarks such as that he was “selfish,” “senseless,” or “stupid.”  Some even said “what wasted talent.”  

Granted, doing drugs is not nearly the smartest thing one can do.  These comments just hit me really wrong.  Surely, SURELY, those that made those remarks do not realize what a strong hold addiction can have on someone.  An “addiction” is not simply social drinking...it’s not the occasional pot use.  Do they not realize that anyone facing an addiction feels guilt any time that they put that needle to their arm?  That glass to their lips?  Their need for their vice is just too strong.  It’s not necessarily a “selfish” life...it’s a guilt-ridden one.  

We all have demons.  For some, alcohol plagues them.  For some, drugs.  For others, adultery.  Gambling, excessive shopping, the list goes on and on...it could even be thoughts or a form of mental illness.  

To bring this point home, I will share this:  My personal demon would be thoughts of suicide.  There is probably not a day that goes by that that thought is not in the back of my mind.  Granted, I know that these are not rational thoughts...I know this, therefore I do not act on them.  But that’s the thing about “demons”...they’re always lurking somewhere in the background.  Brought forth to the front at the slightest sign of insecurity or resignation.  I can be smiling and seemingly full of self-confidence.  But there is always that voice in my head saying that I am worthless and unnecessary.  When my mind wanders to those dark areas, I often wonder if a loss would be felt if I was not here.  I feel a lot of guilt for things that have happened in my life that perhaps could not have been avoided, but I have strapped on my shoulders.  I’m just illustrating a problem, that I’m certain that others deal with as well, and fight every day.  Again, I’m just sharing a darker side of my story to prove a point.  

I tell you that to say this:  Money cannot make you free from addiction or “demons.”    Nor talent.  Nor status or popularity.  Nor friends or close family.  Nor faith (although it can be an aide in getting through it).  

Let’s always keep in mind that people can be facing battles that others may not can see or understand.  That’s something I, myself, need to work on, too.

Rather than scrutinize his death, and talk about what he could’ve/should’ve done...let’s celebrate the life of a brilliant actor.  One of the greatest of his time.  Let’s remember him.

I wish this past year could have been easier on you, PSH.  

You will forever be missed. 

For those of you who have seen the Hunger Games,

 or read it, you will understand this reference.

Christmas traditions with a Southern Flair

Tonight, as Mom and I were driving home from Chiefland, the Redneck version of the 12 days of Christmas came on.  Y’all know the one....  Jeff Foxworthy belts it out as only he can.  Now, while I believe that The 12 days of Christmas (the original version) might possibly be the most annoying song ever.  But the Redneck version...well, it cracks me up.

Why?  

Well, right before I left Hitchcocks to go to work at the Journal, I was up there one day right before Christmas.  We were all just hanging out in the back.  I don’t know how, but we got to talking about the 12 days of Christmas song (the original).  Dennis was trying to list them off.  He got stumped on day 8.  Without missing a beat, I blurted out “It’s eight table dancers.”--Please note here, that I feel SURE Dennis had never been privileged to hear that version of the song--Insert crazy look from Dennis, as he kindly said “Yeahhhh....I don’t think that’s it.”  I’d said it without even putting a thought to the words tumbling out of my mouth.  Needless to say, my face was crimson.

This being said, I will mention yet again, that I’m “a far cry from white trash, and a shoutin’ distance from Southern Belle.”  

You can dress your casserole up in a pretty dish; slap on a cute apron and matching hairbow.  You can gussy up in full Scarlett O’ Hara fashion and let pure sugar drip off your tongue.  You can win people over with your “y’alls” and “Sugars” and “Honeys” and “Darlins.”  You can say your prayers to Jesus, and idolize the great Mrs. Paula Deen...But if you’ve got Redneck in your roots, there’s just no shakin’ it or coverin’ it up.  It’s there...Sure as death and taxes.

Lately, what with thoughts of Christmas cookies, Christmas decorations, jingle bells, and reindeer dancing in my head, I got to thinkin’ a little about Christmas traditions.  

My Holidays are as deep-rooted in tradition as the next Southerner.  Every Christmas, inevitably the “Santa” Christmas blocks get rearranged to say “Satan.”  The “Noel” blocks wind up saying “Leon.”  Our Christmas mouse goes missing from our Advent Calendar.  Somebody cranks up the dancing Black Santa.  Someone might possibly chip a tooth on one of the baked goods.  Someone tries to find a lower fat version of a Classic Southern dish.  Somebody gets mad.  Someone always takes it upon themselves to buy the “person who has everything” a truly awful gift...such as sailor pants or a stuffed, real-looking chicken wearing googles and a #1 medallion around his neck. Someone may or may not come home with a new piercing and gets chased with a bug zapper.  And someone may or may not bring a (friend and) drag queen to add a little spice to the holiday :)

No matter how crazy your family is, love and cherish them.  I love mine dearly...fruits, nuts, and all.  Variety is the spice of life, and without a few nuts, life would sure be dull.  When you’re watching a scene befitting an episode of All My Children, or the family drama Cake Boss, or...well, Cops unfold at your Holiday gathering...Just think: “Without these stories, I’ll have nothing to talk about when I’m 80.” 

Christmas traditions with a Southern Flair

Tonight, as Mom and I were driving home from Chiefland, the Redneck version of the 12 days of Christmas came on.  Y’all know the one....  Jeff Foxworthy belts it out as only he can.  Now, while I believe that The 12 days of Christmas (the original version) might possibly be the most annoying song ever.  But the Redneck version...well, it cracks me up.

Why?  

Well, right before I left Hitchcocks to go to work at the Journal, I was up there one day right before Christmas.  We were all just hanging out in the back.  I don’t know how, but we got to talking about the 12 days of Christmas song (the original).  Dennis was trying to list them off.  He got stumped on day 8.  Without missing a beat, I blurted out “It’s eight table dancers.”--Please note here, that I feel SURE Dennis had never been privileged to hear that version of the song--Insert crazy look from Dennis, as he kindly said “Yeahhhh....I don’t think that’s it.”  I’d said it without even putting a thought to the words tumbling out of my mouth.  Needless to say, my face was crimson.

This being said, I will mention yet again, that I’m “a far cry from white trash, and a shoutin’ distance from Southern Belle.”  

You can dress your casserole up in a pretty dish; slap on a cute apron and matching hairbow.  You can gussy up in full Scarlett O’ Hara fashion and let pure sugar drip off your tongue.  You can win people over with your “y’alls” and “Sugars” and “Honeys” and “Darlins.”  You can say your prayers to Jesus, and idolize the great Mrs. Paula Deen...But if you’ve got Redneck in your roots, there’s just no shakin’ it or coverin’ it up.  It’s there...Sure as death and taxes.

Lately, what with thoughts of Christmas cookies, Christmas decorations, jingle bells, and reindeer dancing in my head, I got to thinkin’ a little about Christmas traditions.  

My Holidays are as deep-rooted in tradition as the next Southerner.  Every Christmas, inevitably the “Santa” Christmas blocks get rearranged to say “Satan.”  The “Noel” blocks wind up saying “Leon.”  Our Christmas mouse goes missing from our Advent Calendar.  Somebody cranks up the dancing Black Santa.  Someone might possibly chip a tooth on one of the baked goods.  Someone tries to find a lower fat version of a Classic Southern dish.  Somebody gets mad.  Someone always takes it upon themselves to buy the “person who has everything” a truly awful gift...such as sailor pants or a stuffed, real-looking chicken wearing googles and a #1 medallion around his neck. Someone may or may not come home with a new piercing and gets chased with a bug zapper.  And someone may or may not bring a (friend and) drag queen to add a little spice to the holiday :)

No matter how crazy your family is, love and cherish them.  I love mine dearly...fruits, nuts, and all.  Variety is the spice of life, and without a few nuts, life would sure be dull.  When you’re watching a scene befitting an episode of All My Children, or the family drama Cake Boss, or...well, Cops unfold at your Holiday gathering...Just think: “Without these stories, I’ll have nothing to talk about when I’m 80.”