A New Direction: The Philosophy of All of Us

When I first started this blog, I was in a very different place emotionally, physically, and about any other -ly you can think of.

Me in 2014

 Me in 2010

I'm going through some pretty hard-core health drama at the moment, and I have found myself unable to write.  My plan is to move this blog in a new direction, to either write about topics you (my readers) recommend or what I see on the news.  Or maybe the naked guy in a Santa jacket my husband and daughter saw at the ice cream shop yesterday.

If there are topics you'd like me to tackle, please either comment below or read through some of the posts I'm linking and ask for clarification or to look at something from a different angle.  You can contact me at kloud1026 at yahoo(dot)com.  I have got to get rid of this stupid writer's block (I intend to leave a mark on the world in some way), so please, I encourage suggestions for writing topics.

Going back to the beginning of this blog (gulp), here are some things I think might be interesting reads for newcomers ...

*  My sister and I had the most epic Facebook conversation ever.  It gets into horse urine and lettuce and really odd places. I just peed a little when I reread it ;-p

* In 1998, I was raped at a small party at a friend's house.  I can say those words aloud now, but back when I wrote this, I could only write them.

*  Stephen King on writing before he wrote On Writing; in fact, he compares it to masturbation.  Okay, he's a little weird, but best author ever, really!

*  I'm quite amused by my random ramblings about pink tissues.  Who knew?

*  This is where I honor the man my ex-husband used to be.  I forgot some of the finer things about him, and I'm sorry to report that they haven't returned.

* I got caught up on why children's television is so milquetoast these days.  It's a bit soap-boxy, but I enjoyed rereading it.

*  If you know me well at all, you know I am fascinated by Charles Manson.  That is explained a bit here.

* If you are from New Hampshire, you are probably familiar with the name Michael Addison.  I am still bothered by the potential racism in a criminal case here in the Granite State.

*  Way back in 2009, I got rather indignant at the whole "Lipstick on a Pig" debacle during the Obama vs. McCain election.

*  I used Socrates to talk about the Easter Bunny in this post.  That sort of makes it a must-read.

I guess that's a pretty wide variety of posts for you to read, if you're interested. Again, starting tomorrow, I am blogging daily.  I am hoping desperately to find something to write about since I've been blocked for so long.  Please share your ideas in comments or via e-mail and let me know if you read any of those Golden Oldies listed above.

I'm sort of laughing and crying both right now ... and wishing I had a pink tissue.

Be well,
<3 katie="" p="">

I'm Sweet and Versatile ... and Full of Random Facts ;-)

I love receiving blog awards.  I really do.

I'm not always great about passing them along, mostly because it's so hard to choose from so many deserving blogs, but this one has the added bonus of allowing me to explore random facts about myself (which is something I enjoy doing, for some reason or another), plus Richard at Writing and Living by Richard P. Hughes is such a cool person that I just can't not go for it.  (Yes, I know that last sentence is an English teacher's nightmare ... heeheehee).

Plus, the timing is right on this once since tomorrow is my first day back at work and I never sleep the night before school starts up again, so this is as good a time as any to occupy my time (and better than reading this horrible chick lit book I'm in the midst of, which is horribly lame and predictable but I still want to know what happens, or watching NCIS reruns).

Also, there's the added privilege of this being a "two for one" blog award event ...

According to Richard, I'm deserving of these two titles:

And he also, in his wonderful post awarding these two very complimentary honors, referred to me as a survivor ... which is something I really needed to hear.

So, the deal is that I share seven random facts about myself then pass this dual award on to five deserving bloggers.

Seven Random Facts About Me
1.  I get skeeved out by really weird things.
Like everyone, I have some odd fears (snakes, thunderstorms, airplanes, feet), but every once in awhile I'll get completely freaked out for odd random reasons.

A few weeks ago, my dog Sonja's invisible fence collar stopped working, so I had to walk her on a leash.  I happened to be in the middle of reading 'Salem's Lot by Stephen King, which is about vampires.  I've read the book probably twenty times and it's never once scared me, but while I was out there in the dark by myself, I got totally freaked.

Then tonight, when I got home, I was walking up the brick path to my house and a toad hopped out in front of me.  Now, I'm not scared of toads at all, but the suddenness (and the fact that I almost stepped on the poor thing), completely threw me for a loop.

2. I am an excellent teacher and 100% comfortable talking to classes of 25-30 kids, but I stutter and sound like a rambling idiot when I try to speak in front of adults.
I hear this is a fairly common problem, actually, but it still bothers me.

Most interesting, though?  How my students react after an adult has come into my classroom.

"Why were you stuttering?  Are you afraid of him?  No offense, but you sounded like a moron.  You turned magenta when you said the word 'balls', and we weren't even going to laugh until you started to."

It does lead to some good discussions on how teachers are human, too, that we have weaknesses and fears and stressors and so on.

3. I have become something of a Tweetaholic.
I started using Twitter in earnest as a writing tool, actually.

If you read my blog with any regularity (and if you're at this point in my "list" of seven random facts), you'll note that I have a tendency to go on.  And on.  And on.

I have never been a concise writer, despite the many accolades I've received, and I realized this summer while rereading my finished novel that this little issue of mine might be part of why I'm still unpublished.

So Twitter, which holds me back with a character count limit, has forced me to just spit it out.  Simply.  It's been invaluable, all joking aside.

And that simple, tell-it-like-it-is mentality has allowed me to share and explore my pathetic short story repertoire and recognize this as an area in need of work.

4. I can't cook.
I don't know if I've ever mentioned this on here, but I cannot cook.  I've completely ruined macaroni and cheese out of the box, set oatmeal on fire in the microwave, and destroyed a pan boiling water ... and those are the ones I'll admit to publicly.

I have many other skills (I can do a split, tie a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue, write about any topic, and so on), but it's very interesting to me that a skill that pretty much any fifth or sixth grader can do is beyond me.

5. Motherhood is my greatest adventure.
My kids crack me up.  In fact, sometimes I wonder how I ever laughed before my daughters were born.

I am incredibly proud of both Addie and Belle, and I would not change either one of them for anything.  They are beautiful, brilliant girls with their own thoughts and ideas; they are polite and respectful (well, at least in public); and, just to emphasize the point, they are freaking hilarious.

If you are my friend on Facebook, you know ...

I also have to note that becoming an aunt to my two nephews is also an unspeakable, enjoyable treat.

6. Sometimes I find it hard to solve a problem, then a very obvious answer will appear as if from a bolt of lightning.
*  I couldn't figure out how to charge my old iPod Nano (which, although it's been replaced by an iPod Touch, still contains 3,000 of my favorite songs that I can't access on an account which I paid for ... it's kind of a long story).  I'd been using a speaker dock as a charger, but I accidentally dropped it, and it's for some reason stopped charging.

It finally occurred to me that I could just plug it into my computer.  Success!

*  The mouse on my work computer sucks balls (actually, it still has a ball, which is the majority of the problem).  I sat there for an hour fighting with the stupid thing, then it occurred to me to put in a new mouse ball.

*  I can't think of any more examples off the top of my head, but I guess the gist is that I have a tendency to miss the obvious, then feel pretty cool because I figured it out ... before realizing that it wasn't exactly a difficult problem to solve.


7. I am so lonely sometimes.
Following the irreparable marriage dissolving into divorce, I enjoyed being single for a long time.  I really did.  I hadn't had random hook-ups like that since college, and it was pretty good for my ego.

After a really traumatic incident last spring which I will probably never write about on this blog since I can count on the fingers of one hand the people I have told and that it's something that hit me harder and more viscerally than rape, divorce, or anything else, I realized that the problem was bigger than I'd thought.

I am a kind person that loves to help other people.

I'm told that I'm smart and funny and have a great personality and so on.  I don't like myself enough to come up with a list of my own adjectives, but those are the ones I hear a lot.

I have the capacity to be pretty.  When I'm in gym-going mode and lay off the Barq's Root Beer and Milky Ways (and Big Macs, who the heck am I trying to kid?), I can look pretty good for my age.

(well, at least not totally disgusting ... lol)

I have a good, solid job and many enjoyable hobbies.

I am hygienic.

And yet men either want one thing from me, or they want to be friends.  I can't seem to find a situation where those two expectations are not mutually exclusive, and it's very frustrating, very daunting.    

It makes me wonder what the heck is wrong with me, why the occasional Friday night hook-ups (or Monday night hook-ups, as the most recent case may have been) are the only way to salve my damaged ego.

And yet I would give a great deal to be able to have "a real boyfriend", which sounds pretty ludicrous when you're 34 years old.

But it's true.  I get so depressed watching couples everywhere, hearing love songs, observing body language in a restaurant.

I know that patience is a virtue, but I'm not good with patience.  If anyone knows any nice single men in the New Hampshire/Massachusetts/Maine area, give them my e-mail ;-)

Okay, pity party over ... time to share the love I feel for five sweet, versatile bloggers that I enjoy ... and bear in mind that "sweet" and "versatile" can be taken a number of ways ;-)

1.  Half Past Kissin' Time

2.  Anything But Theist

3.  Just Another Blog

4.  Peaceful Reader

5.  The Frisky Virgin (who, I should note, also gave me an award ... and I'm working on that post :-))

I hope you check out these five amazing places in the blogosphere.  You will not regret it :-)

E-mail Exchange Too Funny Not To Share ...

I apologize to my Facebook friends as I've already posted the really funny part of this on there, but I have been unable to stop laughing for about half an hour now ... and that kind of humor doesn't happen all that often, so I had to share.


My ex-husband is not able to drive himself anymore, so it  makes the visitation situation a little complicated.  Getting him to commit to a day, time, and place in writing is a new challenge, and he is evidently reluctant to do that.


He made a vague reference to brunch this Sunday, but I don't think a time window of less than eight in the morning until two in the afternoon is too much to ask for.  Anyway, my desire to be able to plan out Belle and Addie's weekend led to this exchange that is truly too absurd to be made up.


E-mail from Me:
Hi Pythagorus,


Just checking to see if you have a time/place in mind for Sunday yet.  Please let me know when you do.


Thanks,
:-) Katie


E-mail response from Pythagorus:
Hi:


Name of the Restaurant in City of Restaurant at 9 am EST.


Pythagorus


E-mail I considered responding with (but ultimately decided not to ... like I keep saying, that high road's a tough trek sometimes ...):
Hi Pythagorus,


So I'll see you at 6:00 a.m. PDT, 8:00 p.m. ITC (in case I take a jaunt to Bangkok), 4:00 p.m. EAT (or Somalia), 5:30 p.m. AFT (perhaps Afghanistan), 7:00 a.m. CST (Nicaragua), or 3:00 pm CEST (Paris).


Bye--uh, Sawatdi...uh, Nabad gelyo...uh, De kuday pa aman...uh, Adiós...uh, Au revoir,
:-) Katie


I guess it shows how ridiculous this whole situation has gotten ... but at least I'm laughing and not crying now :-)


And I'm glad I, at least, was able to keep my immaturity in check (well, mostly ... I'm getting it out here), because this isn't about Pythagorus and it isn't about me ... it's about Belle.


I wish that he could see that ...

Honoring a Marriage That is Over

Nine years ago today, I got married.  I took marriage very seriously, and I certainly never intended for it to ever end.  As a child of divorce myself, it was vitally important to me that I make the commitment of marriage only if I was 100% sure.

Obviously, things didn't work out the way I'd intended.

Mental illness and alcoholism brought on by stress and long-suppressed memories changed the man that I married--and he was a good man--into an unrecognizable monster.

There are two people in every marriage, and there are two people that contribute to the destruction of one.  I have a boatload of faults, and I do not pretend to have been the perfect wife.  I wish that my ex-husband could have communicated his concerns to me before reaching for the bottle.  I wish that with all my heart, because we had a really good marriage for a very long time.

I will never be sorry that I was married to Pythagorus.  Ever. (And we had an extremely unpleasant phone conversation last night that falls under "bullying" and "verbal assault" as defined by my school and by pretty much anyone with a clear mind, so these words carry greater weight today, as far as I'm concerned, than they would have yesterday at this time)

The most obvious reason that I don't regret my marriage is obviously Belle, a magical, funny, beautiful, intelligent miracle of a child.

But there is a lot more.

The man I married had a wonderful sense of humor.  We spent hours laughing together, sharing stories from our days, discussing current events that crossed into bizarre territory, and finding entertainment everywhere we went.

He was unfailingly kind.  He would give the shirt off his back to a stranger, and I completely mean that.  I watched him, over the course of our marriage, offer assistance to human beings of every age and walk of life, and he did it without expecting anything in return.  I can't remember him ever raising his voice--much less his hand--to me for the lion's share of the years we dated and were married.

Pythagorus was a master at finding random adventures.  We would get into the car and just drive, talking the whole time, and ending up in many different and unexpected locations.  It's a rare person that can find excitement in the seemingly mundane, and Pythagorus was a genius at this.

Pythagorus unquestionably made me a better person.  I was at a very low point in my life when I met him, and his positive attitude and appreciation for things like sunsets on a mountain or flying a kite on a windy day dissipated the bitter, cynical attitude I had adopted toward life.  Many of the good parts of who I am today are because of the love, support, and patience that Pythagorus gave to me.

I do not trust easily, and there were things I never told Pythagorus about my past (in retrospect, I'm relieved, because he's turned into the kind of jerk that would find a way to use some of these things against me), but I did fully believe in him and completely trusted that he would always be there for me just as I intended to always be there for him.

My husband, for all intents and purposes, died several years ago.  It's only recently that I've fully realized that, and I still grieve for him.  I loved him very much, and I still miss him.

However, the man with Pythagorus' face today, the bitter and cynical and mistrustful liar that has taken over his body, is not that man.

Which makes it even worse.

When somebody that you love passes away, the pain is enormous.  Death is the ultimate closure, in a way, because you have to forge ahead with life and figure out a way to live without a loved one.  You can look back fondly, can visit a cemetery, can appreciate the difference someone made in your life and honor that person through words and deeds.

I lost my stepdad and my grandfather, both great men in terms of their families and of the larger world, within a few years of each other.  I loved them both very much, and I miss them every day.  Their legacies live on, though, through memories and stories shared at family events and, yes, through those of us they left behind.      

It is impossible to honor the Pythagorus that exists today.  There is nothing--not one single thing--noble or fine about him.

The fact that he was once a great man makes the cruelty of not being able to honor who he used to be even more difficult.  The face I once loved is still in the world, spitting out lies, bullying, manipulating, endangering the lives of other people, and thriving on mind games.

It makes it difficult to even mourn the man who was my husband, and that just breaks my heart.

But I can still honor our marriage, and so that is what I do today.   

Sustained by Laughter

I love to laugh. In fact, I think it's safe to say that, in some ways, laughter has saved me. I know a lot of people that become bitter and jaded and cynical when faced with ugliness, and while I've had my moments of feeling that way, I've always been able to search deeply for the humor in a situation and ultimately come out laughing.

During my blogoversary (how do you spell that, anyway?) week, I've been doing a lot of rereading (how fortuitous that it's coincided with school vacation week).

And I found that my blog contains quite a few really hysterically funny life adventures. Since I have a lot more followers now than I did when these were originally written, I figured I'd do some recapping. Definitely check out the original posts if you get a chance (there are links) ... remember, laughter is the world's best medicine :-)

My sister and I had a ridiculously funny Facebook exchange. It involved horse urine and lettuce from a different country. You can find it here.

If laughter is your panacea, teaching is the career for you. Only in education can tampons come up in a conversation about spare tires and the yearly occurrence of 4/20 bring hysterical laughter.

Then there was the night that Belle and I spent hanging with a giant chicken.

And then there was the whole Andy adventure, which was of course a laughter-fueled train wreck. If you haven't read about Andy before on here, he was my best friend for a long time--we reconnected for awhile when I decided that, for my own healing, I had to tell him about the rape. Anyway, we had some great adventures during our reconnected whatever-the-hell-you-want-to-call-it that were incredibly funny, including:
* Going to a Monster Truck show (I'm not what you would call a Monster Truck kind of girl)
* Why I ended up leaving my final divorce court date laughing like a loon.
* I walk into a men's room for a stupid purpose and see a man ... in action.
* The skiing adventure (with video ... my personal favorites are when we got Addie and her friend on the real chairlift when they were snowboarding for the first time or the last one, where you really get a feel for what tools Andy and I are together)

Andy isn't my only funny friend, though. Take BJ, for example, who received a mail order prayer rug and nearly had a nervous breakdown over it.

Hope I was able to brighten up your day a bit :-) ... which did you find to be the most humorous?

Oh, and don't forget about my wonderful, amazing giveaway. Enter now!

Yes, There's a Banana on My Windshield (or, "Friendship Rocks")

Friendship is an amazing thing. It's so odd how you can connect so strongly and completely with other people sometimes. Perhaps the best part, as far as I'm concerned, is when someone truly gets your sense of humor ... especially when the sense of humor in question is as ridiculous as mine is. What a treasure it is, as long as it is around, to feel completely understood for once.

So I had court today. No, I didn't do anything wrong (much to the chagrin of my students, who thought it was hysterical that I had to miss half a day of work to go to court); this was just the final chapter in the great divorce debacle. To say that I was upset and anxious would be a gross understatement and, despite my trip to Starbucks after dropping Addie off at school (I thought I could use the time to WRITE but--surprise, surprise--nothing was coming), I found myself almost to the courthouse nearly an hour early. I spent much of that time on the phone with Andy, who listened to me freak out as he is so good at doing.

Andy's current job involves bananas. And driving. A lot. I'll leave it at that. We have the kind of friendship where we laugh at everything; even things that are really serious somehow become funny, I swear. Anyway, Andy is referred to by some people he works with as "Banana Boy", and so there's this running joke that his alter ego, Banana Boy, is really a superhero with magic powers. It sounds very stupid when I write it and I'm sure it sounds very stupid as you read it, but it's just hysterical when it comes up in reality. Anyway, I had to explain that so you can fully appreciate what happened next, a lesson in friendship and being there for someone and, most importantly, making life a little more humorous.

I left my CrackBerry in my car when I went into the courtroom because I was scared it would ring in the middle of court or something (and I have a tendency to think it is on "vibrate" when it really isn't). When I got back to my car, I got in and turned my phone on. I noticed that I had a text from Andy, so I read it and could not stop laughing. It read:

"LOOK ... down in the alley ... it's a cat ... it's a dog ... no, it's BANANA BOY!!!! Here I come to peal away ... Banana Boy will save your day ..."

It just cracked me up like you cannot imagine. So I pull out of the parking lot and am on my way to work, and I call Andy to thank him for the text. I cannot stop laughing, and then he starts talking about "the banana", and I stop laughing because I'm very confused.

ANDY: "You mean you didn't see it?"

ME: "See what?"

ANDY: "The banana I left on your windshield."

ME: "There's no banana on my windshield."

ANDY: "I left a banana on your windshield."

ME: "There's no ... Oh, shit, there's a banana on my windshield."

And of course that was it for both of us. Hysteria ensued. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time, and trust me when I tell you that it was necessary.

I teach literary symbolism to my freshmen, and it occurred to me today while talking about shoes as a symbol in Sandra Cisneros' The House on Mango Street that Andy's banana, dropped off while he was working in the area, was a symbol of sorts. "I'm here," that banana said. "I know you're upset and scared and hurt and all sorts of bad things, but someone is showing that they are here for you--metaphorically speaking--and thinking of what you're going through." Able to send a message that serious while causing me to laugh hard enough to pee my pants (not literally, of course) ... Andy is the best friend ever, and I will never forget both his support and his laughter today.

What are some memorable moments your best friend has given you?

The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same

So Pythagorus fell off the wagon yet again. Hard.

I don't feel guilty writing that here, by the way. No, I think in the great scheme of things, I took the highest of the high roads this evening. And it's not like it's the first time this has happened (okay, I feel a little bit bad for writing that here).

So basically, he wanted to see Belle for dinner. He knows I don't get out of work until three and started texting at about 3:30 wanting to know where I was since he'd been waiting for two hours. That pretty much gave me an indication, and talking to him on the phone made it even more clear. Once I saw him, there wasn't a doubt in my mind, but I already had Belle so I decided to just try to get through dinner, get Belle home, then bring him back (an hour and a half drive, by the way) to his parents' house.

He picked a fight with me all during dinner, kept making cracks at how I always accused him of drinking when he wasn't, swore up and down he hadn't been drinking, staggered across a parking lot holding Belle (and I could kill him for that, I swear to God), and thought that chewing on cough drops and a wad of gum bigger than Pamela Anderson's boob would overpower the stench of wine. However, he passed out in the car when I was bringing Belle home, so I figured at least it would be safe to bring him home.

I was quite wrong there. I'm not getting into it, but suffice it to say that my arm hurts and has a bruise on it, that I was tormented emotionally (which hurt even worse), and that he further proved that he is the most insensitive human being on the planet. When somebody knows some of your dirty and horrendous secrets, what does it say about him that he brings them up and basically rubs your nose in the worst thing that's ever happened to you?

And you know what I did? Nothing. I didn't take him to the hospital to be admitted or to the police station to be arrested, although either would have documented his blood alcohol level when he was having visitation with Belle and would certainly have solidified my position that he not be allowed unsupervised visits with her. Nope, I didn't want him to get in trouble, so I let him take it out on me instead. I am such an idiot.

Divorce is a foregone conclusion now. However, I can't help but notice that the behavior he is exhibiting now is EXACTLY what he was doing last year when this whole alcoholism thing reared its ugly head. He blamed his job, he blamed me, he blamed a lot of things for his problem, but the truth is, he makes his own issues. He has had more fresh starts and second chances than you can imagine, and he's pissed Sutter Home chardonnay all over them.

So why has it taken me this long to figure that out? Why do I always end up feeling sorry for him? I realize that alcoholism is a disease, but this is beyond what I've ever seen. This was the last time I expect to see him--someone else can supervise his visitations with Belle, and sad as it is to say, I'm not sure how much longer he'll be around for. His liver must look like swiss cheese by now :( Anyway, I think he's finally driven the point home for good: the more things change, the more they stay the same.

I'm a slow learner, but I'm not a complete idiot. I've got it, Pythagorus. I've got it.

And now I've got my life back, too.

It Takes a Lot to Render me Speechless ...

I'm appalled. There's no other word for it.

Anyone who reads this blog with any regularity knows that I take pains to keep references to my personal life rooted in philosophy, in thinking. Most are also probably aware that, despite my best efforts to work things out, I'm doing the divorce thang.

What I'm throwing up here now is an informal log of the past four nights, nights when Pythagoros was supposed to call Belle at seven and didn't. What this means, of course, is that he's drinking again. Either that or he's found some other substance ti send him off the deep end.

How do I know that? The man I love(d) would never, ever disappoint his precious Belle. Not one night, never four nights.

And yet ...

Friday, 9/4: No call, no explanation from Pythagorus beyond, "I fell asleep". Belle left a good night message at my insistence, cried afterwards as I killed myself trying to help her process, wanted to know why Daddy didn't call, was he okay, maybe I should call the police because he might have been hit by a car, and so it goes.

Saturday, 9/5: Pythagorus did not respond to various calls/e-mails so did not get the message that Belle would be at a rehearsal dinner for a wedding (she was a flower girl in my cousin's wedding). He did call at seven but was acting confused, defensive, and argumentative when I spoke with him. Did not answer when Belle called upon returning home. Belle did not want to leave a message and, as she was exhausted and quite upset, I did not force her as I usually do when this happens. We both fell asleep crying.

Sunday, 9/6: Called Pythagorus from my cousin's wedding reception at seven. No answer. I forced Belle to leave a good-night message despite her lack of enthusiasm (to say the least). I also sent some pictures of Belle in flower girl glory and encouraged Pythagorus to view others on Facebook. No reply at all. In fact, he never looked at them (as of a Monday afternoon conversation between he and I).

Monday, 9/7: No call. Forced Belle to leave a good-night message for Pythagorus. She asked why, since he never seems to get her messages or he wouldn't keep "forgetting"--kid's got a logical point. I also had to explain to Belle why we didn't go to Friendly's for lunch as "Daddy promised" a few days ago that he would be visiting Monday and taking her to Friendly's.

Am I crazy to be appalled? Am I crazy to think this whole mess is just ... crazy?

Am I crazy to wish that Pythagorus would just be a douchetard like this all the time since he'd been so solidly himself for weeks before this transgression that I (and more importantly Belle) was starting to believe in him again and since I know he'll go back to being himself in a few days.

What do you do when you love Dr. Jekyll dearly ... but truly want to kill Mr. Hyde?

And does it really matter anyway when your kids are suffering the way mine are right now?

A Grief Worse than Death?

Death is horrible. Based on what I've seen, it's usually horrible for the people who go through it. It's horrible for those left behind. It's just ... horrible.

I'm wondering, though, if losing a person through mental illness or substance abuse or a complete change in their personalities and values is even worse. I'm thinking that, in my opinion, it might well be.

Although several people close to me have passed away, the most difficult loss was unquestionably my stepfather. Even when I acted like an idiot and hurt him and my mother repeatedly, made mistakes that forced them to face things no parents should ever have to, he never gave up on me. He was always there, for me, for my family, and for thousands of other people (he was in a service industry--helping people was his life's work).

He died of lung cancer almost five years ago, and I still think about him every day. I try to live my life under the tenets that he lived his, and I take great pride in knowing that I help children every day.

While he is in my daily thoughts, though, he is no longer here. There will always be a hole in the hearts of those of us who loved him, but time passes and the hole grows a little smaller. It's an eternal pain in the heart that swells up and bleeds anew on Father's Day and Christmas and his birthday and the day he died and sometimes out of the clear blue, but it has shrunk because we have all had to figure out a way to live a life without him in it. It's incredibly difficult and it doesn't make the missing any less, but he came to this earth and shared his love and magic and then left for what's hopefully a better place.

When somebody becomes a different person and it happens in increments so small you are almost completely unaware, it's completely different. You can't help but think that the person who laughed for hours with you over a sign advertising for a wife in a way-up-north New Hampshire town and who was steadfast during nineteen and a half hours of labor and who knocked over a Diet Coke display in a foreign country and who convinced you that you were okay just the way you are ... he must be somewhere in that pathetic, hollow shell. All the caring and kindness he possessed, the desire to do good ... where could it possibly have gone? Can a person vomit out their positive qualities?

I truly believe that it's the worst to know that a person I was once madly in love with became so altered that he is no longer identifiable ... and that I can't even grieve for him. After all, he still walks the earth. It feels like the same sort of grief as death, though.

I suppose in a way it is a death ... the death of a person who once existed. And I can (and should) grieve for him, for I loved him beyond words even as I'm sickened by the puppet that walks around with his face and hands and feet.

Am I wrong on this? Is death worse than a loss like this in your opinion?

When People Change, it's not Always for the Better

Everybody changes. It's the one universal fact of human nature. Although many hold onto certain personalities traits they've always possessed, there is still a level of changing, of molding, of growing that takes place.

Although I've changed in some pretty awful ways over the course of my life, I can proudly say that I've changed for the better in the past year. I have found courage I never knew existed within me, learned how to balance my less than praiseworthy traits such as a quick temper and impulsiveness with the nobler parts of myself, and reaffirmed that my children are the center of my universe. I love my job and feel very fortunate to have found success and daily joy there. Without some small but vital kinks worked out of my psyche, this would never have happened.

What I don't understand, though, is what could bring about the change from a kindhearted, honest, hardworking, overall decent human being to a sneaky, nasty, lying, manipulative guy who stays in bed all day instead of getting up to go to work. I have tried desperately to figure out what role I played in bringing out Pythagorus' Mr. Hyde, but I'm not successful. I truly feel that I've done everything I could do, tried desperately to stop the changes back in December when they were just starting to heat up, begged Pythagorus to go to marriage counseling, worked hard to find out the root cause of his misery ... but I just couldn't reach him, couldn't get him to reach out his hand and meet me halfway, wasn't able to lift him up when he fell despite my greatest efforts--I just don't possess the strength to carry him, I guess.

I know this is probably rather enigmatic, but I do not want to be accused of "talking trash" about Pythagorus, so it kind of has to be that way.

I filed for divorce this morning. I am devastated, distraught, and destroyed, but it was the right thing to do for the girls, myself, and even Pythagorus if it means he will get help.

Even if you can't be married to someone, you can still care about them. That part of me wants more than anything for Pythagorus to face down his demons, to become once more a man of integrity, honor, and courage.

I wish I could say I truly believe that will happen ...