Change, perhaps.

Things here have been going fairly smoothly. My promise to myself "not to get upset" has had a great deal to do with that, I think. People may not be able to be trusted, all affection may be absent, discussing and listening reduced to matters of chores and the need for the vehicle, but life is just more pleasant without whining, complaining or screaming about one's dissappointments.

There's been the danger, though, of thinking "everything is fine." It looks fine (as long as one doesn't look too deep), it feels fine, (as long as one doesn't feel too deep)--so who wants to mess with the illusion? Doing so (accidentally and totally unprepared) is how I discovered the mess we were in.

So, I decided I wouldn't mess, but nothing would change until something changed.

But, the night before last, something did. He made me a sandwich. Not a sandwich, exactly, really, but a burritto. I'd just come home from my Bible study (Book of Esther with Beth Moore. Can't recommend her enough!) and the kids and he had just got in from their activities. The burrito could have been for anyone.

Sad to say, I don't think he's ever made me anything without my asking. In fact, he will often make himself a snack without saying a word to me about it, let alone offering to fix me something too. I railed on him for years about it.

So, there it was, all wrapped up in a soft disk of dough, dripping with melted sour cream, hot from the microwave--an offering. Exactly of what, I'm not sure. But I'm watching.

Please, Don't Panic.....

Life is actually fairly normal.

As the days are lengthening, my spirits are brightening. I still have no idea what's right and what's wrong, all I know is that decisions need to be made. It's a very weird situation to be in: viz., to choose to be responsible in what is essentially a moral vaccum. The existentialism which haunted me as an adolescent is back, though it is time to deal with it as an adult. (I don't say that lightly, either. I'm reading Diane West's "The Death of the Grown-up" and so many lightbulbs are popping off, I'm beginning to get a headache from all the flashes.) Thankfully, there has been a profound sea-change since then: I now have my Bible.

Anyway, one thing at a time and the moral precept of the moment is: Don't get mad.

as in: "Better to live on a corner of the roof than share a house with a quarrelsome wife." (Prov. 21: 9)

I could go on, but you get the picture.

Hello, my name is

and I'm a ***** survivor.

I remember once being in a class for ***** survivors and being told to celebrate the fact I had survived. As is my wont, I had to question the instructor: what did she mean "survived"? Because, you see, I hadn't survived well. There had been a train wreck. My reactions to the train wreck had sparked other perhaps even worse situations and events. It all had most definitely not gone well: and yet, here was I to celebrate?

Well, yes, it seemed I was. Anything short of death itself was a cause for celebration: a reason to supposedly feel good about oneself to begin the long, slow, tortuous climb back to good mental health.

I can see the point, really I can. It is essential to focus on the one working limb when all the others are broken and the train is lying on top of you. But, unfortunately, it glosses over the "how." For, though you may not have a choice about the train wreck happening to you: you do have control over how you handle it, if not right away, then, some day, eventually, yes. There comes a day when you wake up and say, "no matter how I got here; today, this day, this life, right now and tomorrow, this is my responsibility (and no one else's)."

So, the question before me today is: What's beyond mere survival? Merely surviving my current situation isn't going to be enough. I have to survive it well. And what does that mean? What counts as "success"?

I haven't a clue.

I haven't a clue.
(did I say that loudly enough for you?)

The frustrating thing about this whole mess is that I desperately need to talk to friends: and it isn't anything I can discuss publicly.

I apologise to you.

And that is why the blog has been quiet.