Cadbury Egg

When you bite into a Cadbury egg, you have to jab your teeth in and push really hard. It's not an easy task to break through in order to get to the oozing part. Maybe this is why I don't like Cadbury eggs. It hurts to get to the middle, and when you do get to the oozy part, it is too sweet, too sticky, and too much.

I believe I can compare myself to a Cadbury egg. I can be tough, like the outer chocolate shell. Sometimes people have to dig really deep with me and it hurts. Once you make it to the center, it spills out fast and I think people quickly discover my toughness, is really not that tough. More over, it is easier to express toughness and strength for me. I am much more uncomfortable and inexperienced to explain pain, sadness, and vulnerability. I need lessons on how to speak sad, because when I try, I am inarticulate and sometime do more damage.

I have a lot of anxiety. I hide it by being tough and strong, but it is to my fault. Tough can look abrasive, and strong can look ridged. But please know, I am going for tough and strong, not the latter. The latter can be hurtful, and when it all comes down to it, I truly do not want to be hurtful. My oozing part, longs for the anxiety to go away, and for a happy medium to be created. Balance.

I am going to an event today for a dear, dear friend. I adore her and I truly could not be happier for her and watching her bask in happiness is a privilege. Unfortunately, there is a cloud of anxiety as I prepare for this event. I hurt people there and they hurt me. We are both at fault, and the unfairness stings. I am trying not to be the chocolate shell and appear harsh, because really, I am just hurt. I believe our hurt is similar.

C'est la vie I suppose.

Notes on Vulnerablity

I think I am good at my job...most of the time. I am not saying this so that all of the people who care about me will write wonderfully supportive and lovely things about my counseling skills once they are done reading this post. Although I feel like I am good at my job, if my clients are not willing to work hard, I'm pretty much useless and I suck because they won't do jack, therefore wasted skills. Today, the cosmos aligned and one of my clients utilized my skills and our trust at the same time. I was totally shocked and mystified at first, and then, it just flowed. We problem solved, together. (Cue the chorus of Hallelujah!)

There is something to be said about walking along side someone while they are experiencing their true emotions for the first time. I can't say that its fun and I can't say it is all that satisfying, but I can say that you feel like you just walked in on someone's at home water-birth. It is very exposing and you feel vulnerable in their vulnerability. Plus, it's so fascinating that you can't look away and break your attention; it like the experience is pulling you in even though it almost hurts with intensity. Really, a tricky, tricky place to be.

When I encounter vulnerability, it reminds me of elastic, or a rubber band covering your whole body. It stretches and bends, and only when you try really hard, does the elastic pull away and we get a glimpse. Not a large gaping stare, but just a glimpse and a stepping off point to encourage you to try again. Then, just as surprising as that glimpse, it is gone and the elastic is back in place, tucked away securely and safely hugging your body tightly and protecting you dearly. Then, the session is over, and the exhausting yet gratifying experience starts over next week.

So today, I watch an emotional at-home water-birth. Pretty cool. We made it through together, without drugs or back-up.

Then I went home and jump-roped.

Not knowing.

I have been on a blog break. Longer than a break, a black hole of a blog break. I don't know why. I recognize that the only people who read my blog are my family members and sweet EP, so I wondered to myself why I would stop "blog talking" to them. I forgot, I read it as well. I was bored with it. My sissy recently posted the reason behind her blog break, and it makes sense to me. She was bored of her little rants and comments, so now she is recalling her wonderful memories. If a terrific idea, as she is the keeper of most of my memories and I love to hear what she remembers of our childhood.

Ill try and write more, as I really do love to share, but I cannot guarantee longevity or quality. That's the truth.

Enjoying:

Dave. If I would have known of such happiness before, I would have said yes eons ago. It's a lovely thing to be deliriously happy in someone else's happiness. He stares at my left hand in such a sweet and wonderful way. I catch him sometimes and he looks away smiling. He says "fiance" to everyone and relishes in our new title. I know it is super lame, but a rough day melts away around his joy and adoration. Luckily, I willingly bask in it.

Jump Roping. My circus friend brought me a jump rope, and I am crazy over it. Take note: jumping rope is a BIG no bueno in the rain...don't even try it for fun. I almost ate shit and got muddier than a five year old in a ditch. But, with some exhilarating music and an hour jumping, I feel like I am in elementary school jumping for the American Heart Association again. Plus, I really don't enjoy the repetitiveness and blandness of a gym, so this is perfect for me. It's new, fun, hurts so good, and makes me feel like I'm super tough.

My nails. I have a terrible combination of hand issues: I have man hands and I bite my nails. Since I can't control the man hands, I decided to control the biting of nails, and I think I finally broke the habit! It feels good to be rid of a habit that has lasted me 22 years.

Not Enjoying:

You know when a hair is stuck in your bra? Either the front of the back, but a hair (from your head) is tickling your chest or back...you know? Yea, well I hate that. It has been happening a lot this week, which makes me think I am shedding hair at an alarming rate, creating more worry, but I find myself contorting my body and searching down my shirt for the illusive hair bothering me. My favorite is when I am in a meeting or walking in my office and I suddenly feel it. I react too soon to realize that I probably shouldn't have my hand down my shirt, claiming to be looking for a missing hair. Probably doesn't send the right message to my clients.

Fluff's scratching. He is at it again. I cannot even write the full account of torture that we go through when he decides to scratch. I adore this cat, but, hand to God, he would be a street cat in a moments notice if it wasn't for his cutie face. When he scratches, he brings out the abusive parents in Dave and I. We throw pillows at him, we yell, we ignore him, we even lock him in his cat carrier. It' bad, real bad. Anyway, I can feel myself getting worked up about it again, so I will stop here. Just know, he looks like a gem, but he has his flaws.

EP thanks for inspiring...