Almost posted it on my blog last night, then didn't.
Can't seem to shake off yesterday's sadness. Saw a photo of that horse right as she was going down, both those front legs bent all wrong...and it really shook me up.
Maybe I'll post the song later. Maybe it'll cheer me up.
I love the Fugees' version too, but I grew up with Roberta Flack, so I posted the best I could find with her (there was another one that was a karaoke thingee with the words printed on the screen).
I took Isaac to my mom's today. The first thing she said after we got out of the car was, "Did you see the Derby, did you see her go down...oh my god, it was horrible...her heart just gave out"
and I said I thought she went down because she had fractured both legs, but she was adamant and terribly disturbed about the whole thing. Only three fillies ever, I think she said.
It is sad. Many sad moments in life, but many moments to embrace the joy the day gives us.
I am one of the world's worst at looking for worse case scenarios, but I do smile to see my grandchild there sleeping in his bed, to see the heirloom Irises my mom gave me last year opening up, to see that my peonies have about 15 blooms, to see Molly's tail wag when I come in the room, to listen to my youngest talk about prom, which is coming up next weekend, to eat a delicious and satisfying meal with my family and friends...
I guess I am really more the glass half-full than I even know at times. My sorrow is my sorrow. I have carried it so long it would be like losing a friend to just give it up, but it does drag me down and I can't say it isn't still with me.
Post the song. I am going to post one that comes to mind now as I type this (and by the way, cheesy, yes, but She came calling Wildfire is one that I loved, too, so thanks for posting it).
I guess I'm more glass half empty. And I swear, I was born that way.
My mother said to me once after my father died that I only remember the negative memories. Which isn't true. But at the moment she made that observation, I was recalling out loud a memory with a negative spin on it--both of my brothers interjected and said they remembered it differently.
A few weeks ago at work, I said something, in joking, I think, I can't recall exactly what, but whatever it was, it caused the woman who sits in the cubicle in front of me to exclaim: My goodness, Laurel, you're always so negative.
That really knocked me back. Because I was trying to be funny.
Meanwhile, her father died on Friday, her father who was 82, and she'd just told me the day before about how he was in the hospital for the first time in his life and how confused he was and how adamant he was to go home.
I wish my father had lived to be 82.
I guess I was lucky to have him for as long as I did, even if I took him for granted every minute that he was alive. (that's a lie, of course--I worshiped the ground he walked on when I was a child.)
I hope this sadness goes away tomorrow.
I was sad before the horse went down. On Friday, driving home from work, an ambulance blew by me at a high rate of speed, siren screaming. My window was down and I felt like the ambulance blew right through me. Actually, it felt like my father blew right through me.
Whenever I hear an ambulance siren, I think of him.
I've had enough of this sorrow. I need it to leave.
Glad you liked them, Laurel. Tossed them all this morning but think I'll put one of them back. Or perhaps another favorite. A really cheesy one. One I loved when I was a child.
I wasn't always so negative. I used to be quite the little smart-ass, which was not such a bad thing, but I wasn't particularly negative. I was angry, though. Angry that I didn't have what I wanted and thought I needed in a parent. I was jealous of my friends whose mom's took them shopping and cooked them their favorite meals and had long talks with them and were there for them when they were upset or hurting. I didn't have that. As with most families, my growing up years were fraught with dysfunction and chaos.
I understand the origins, and I understand I can't change what happened, and I understand I am all grown up now and must make my own choices, but some of that sorrow I carry with me comes from years of feeling inadequate, unloved, unimportant, lots of un-word adjectives. Lots of negativity. I want to let it go, but I have not succeeded in doing so yet.
Did you see The Green Mile? I want someone to suck all that poison out of me and blow it into the air where the largeness of it is all diffused into these tiny particles, which cannot affect anyone else because they have lost their power--their host. They die on contact with air. I want that.
I woke this morning thinking about where I was twenty years ago--about what I was doing. I was 29 years old. I had only been back in the workforce for two years after staying home with my children for eight. I looked good; I felt good; I made a good and lasting impression; I was wonderful at what I did (teacher's aide in kindergarten and then adult ed teacher); my co-workers valued and liked me; my kids thought I was a good mom and their friends enjoyed being at our house; I had just started college and was receiving so much positive feedback from my instructors (all A's--only had one B in 132 hours of college, but what does that matter--which is another thing I was thinking about this morning and is another thing I need to address) and peers; I heard on a daily basis what a talented, articulate, intelligent, and beautiful woman I was; I was just getting moved into this grand old house we live in and I had such big dreams for it--for the renovations; I had lots of friends and there was rarely a weekend that someone didn't come here or that that I didn't go to one of their houses; my husband and I had lots of couple friends as well and we were always doing things together--sometimes just as couples but most of the time with our children--to museums, parks, the lake, picnics, mini vacations; I was actually a bit too self-assured at that point, and I found that to be very detrimental to my spirit.
Self-assurance does not equal self-confidence or self-worth. I had no self-efficacy skills, so even though I was being lavished with praise and positive feedback, I could not make the connection and could not see any relevance or correlation between those external influences and my internal conflicts. If anything, it just made more of a mess out of me.
I must find those things in me and they must be important to me FROM me. They must. But there's that old friend sorrow. Ah, yes. He just has made himself so comfortable here. And I haven't had the heart to kick him out.
I have been told, more in the past ten years than ever, that I am a negative person. Like you, sometimes I think What the hell? I was just trying to be funny. Some people can't take sarcasm. I used to be sarcastic most of the time, but not now. I'm a bit beaten down but I'm not down for the count. And I am tired of the beating.
So, if you were to ask those who know me best, they would likely tell you I am a glass half-empty person, but I was feeling yesterday more like a half-full. It's a day to day thing, I think.
My, what a ramble. You'd think I'd feel better, but I just have so damn much thinking to do--hard thinking--thinking I've been avoiding but can put off no longer.
It is a sad thing about the horse. It's a sad thing to me that we can connect and emote and feel such deep distress (and please don't take this the wrong way) with the death of an animal in a much more visceral way than the death which takes place all around us every day of so many innocent people--either through natural disaster or illness or violence or child abuse or war. I don't think it's because we are desensitized as much as we are sure if we think too much about it (speaking personally here so I need to use "I" instead of the collective) that I may really go off the deep end. So many things just don't make sense and they are a shock to my system each time they occur.
Ok...that's a start on some of the things I need to think about today.
Glad you stopped by. Always good to hear from you, Laurel. Always.
4 comments:
I love this song.
I love the Fugees version.
Almost posted it on my blog last night, then didn't.
Can't seem to shake off yesterday's sadness. Saw a photo of that horse right as she was going down, both those front legs bent all wrong...and it really shook me up.
Maybe I'll post the song later. Maybe it'll cheer me up.
I love the Fugees' version too, but I grew up with Roberta Flack, so I posted the best I could find with her (there was another one that was a karaoke thingee with the words printed on the screen).
I took Isaac to my mom's today. The first thing she said after we got out of the car was, "Did you see the Derby, did you see her go down...oh my god, it was horrible...her heart just gave out"
and I said I thought she went down because she had fractured both legs, but she was adamant and terribly disturbed about the whole thing. Only three fillies ever, I think she said.
It is sad. Many sad moments in life, but many moments to embrace the joy the day gives us.
I am one of the world's worst at looking for worse case scenarios, but I do smile to see my grandchild there sleeping in his bed, to see the heirloom Irises my mom gave me last year opening up, to see that my peonies have about 15 blooms, to see Molly's tail wag when I come in the room, to listen to my youngest talk about prom, which is coming up next weekend, to eat a delicious and satisfying meal with my family and friends...
I guess I am really more the glass half-full than I even know at times. My sorrow is my sorrow. I have carried it so long it would be like losing a friend to just give it up, but it does drag me down and I can't say it isn't still with me.
Post the song. I am going to post one that comes to mind now as I type this (and by the way, cheesy, yes, but She came calling Wildfire is one that I loved, too, so thanks for posting it).
Wow. I love all the songs you posted.
I guess I'm more glass half empty. And I swear, I was born that way.
My mother said to me once after my father died that I only remember the negative memories. Which isn't true. But at the moment she made that observation, I was recalling out loud a memory with a negative spin on it--both of my brothers interjected and said they remembered it differently.
A few weeks ago at work, I said something, in joking, I think, I can't recall exactly what, but whatever it was, it caused the woman who sits in the cubicle in front of me to exclaim: My goodness, Laurel, you're always so negative.
That really knocked me back. Because I was trying to be funny.
Meanwhile, her father died on Friday, her father who was 82, and she'd just told me the day before about how he was in the hospital for the first time in his life and how confused he was and how adamant he was to go home.
I wish my father had lived to be 82.
I guess I was lucky to have him for as long as I did, even if I took him for granted every minute that he was alive. (that's a lie, of course--I worshiped the ground he walked on when I was a child.)
I hope this sadness goes away tomorrow.
I was sad before the horse went down. On Friday, driving home from work, an ambulance blew by me at a high rate of speed, siren screaming. My window was down and I felt like the ambulance blew right through me. Actually, it felt like my father blew right through me.
Whenever I hear an ambulance siren, I think of him.
I've had enough of this sorrow. I need it to leave.
Glad you liked them, Laurel. Tossed them all this morning but think I'll put one of them back. Or perhaps another favorite. A really cheesy one. One I loved when I was a child.
I wasn't always so negative. I used to be quite the little smart-ass, which was not such a bad thing, but I wasn't particularly negative. I was angry, though. Angry that I didn't have what I wanted and thought I needed in a parent. I was jealous of my friends whose mom's took them shopping and cooked them their favorite meals and had long talks with them and were there for them when they were upset or hurting. I didn't have that. As with most families, my growing up years were fraught with dysfunction and chaos.
I understand the origins, and I understand I can't change what happened, and I understand I am all grown up now and must make my own choices, but some of that sorrow I carry with me comes from years of feeling inadequate, unloved, unimportant, lots of un-word adjectives. Lots of negativity. I want to let it go, but I have not succeeded in doing so yet.
Did you see The Green Mile? I want someone to suck all that poison out of me and blow it into the air where the largeness of it is all diffused into these tiny particles, which cannot affect anyone else because they have lost their power--their host. They die on contact with air. I want that.
I woke this morning thinking about where I was twenty years ago--about what I was doing. I was 29 years old. I had only been back in the workforce for two years after staying home with my children for eight. I looked good; I felt good; I made a good and lasting impression; I was wonderful at what I did (teacher's aide in kindergarten and then adult ed teacher); my co-workers valued and liked me; my kids thought I was a good mom and their friends enjoyed being at our house; I had just started college and was receiving so much positive feedback from my instructors (all A's--only had one B in 132 hours of college, but what does that matter--which is another thing I was thinking about this morning and is another thing I need to address) and peers; I heard on a daily basis what a talented, articulate, intelligent, and beautiful woman I was; I was just getting moved into this grand old house we live in and I had such big dreams for it--for the renovations; I had lots of friends and there was rarely a weekend that someone didn't come here or that that I didn't go to one of their houses; my husband and I had lots of couple friends as well and we were always doing things together--sometimes just as couples but most of the time with our children--to museums, parks, the lake, picnics, mini vacations; I was actually a bit too self-assured at that point, and I found that to be very detrimental to my spirit.
Self-assurance does not equal self-confidence or self-worth. I had no self-efficacy skills, so even though I was being lavished with praise and positive feedback, I could not make the connection and could not see any relevance or correlation between those external influences and my internal conflicts. If anything, it just made more of a mess out of me.
I must find those things in me and they must be important to me FROM me. They must. But there's that old friend sorrow. Ah, yes. He just has made himself so comfortable here. And I haven't had the heart to kick him out.
I have been told, more in the past ten years than ever, that I am a negative person. Like you, sometimes I think What the hell? I was just trying to be funny. Some people can't take sarcasm. I used to be sarcastic most of the time, but not now. I'm a bit beaten down but I'm not down for the count. And I am tired of the beating.
So, if you were to ask those who know me best, they would likely tell you I am a glass half-empty person, but I was feeling yesterday more like a half-full. It's a day to day thing, I think.
My, what a ramble. You'd think I'd feel better, but I just have so damn much thinking to do--hard thinking--thinking I've been avoiding but can put off no longer.
It is a sad thing about the horse. It's a sad thing to me that we can connect and emote and feel such deep distress (and please don't take this the wrong way) with the death of an animal in a much more visceral way than the death which takes place all around us every day of so many innocent people--either through natural disaster or illness or violence or child abuse or war. I don't think it's because we are desensitized as much as we are sure if we think too much about it (speaking personally here so I need to use "I" instead of the collective) that I may really go off the deep end. So many things just don't make sense and they are a shock to my system each time they occur.
Ok...that's a start on some of the things I need to think about today.
Glad you stopped by. Always good to hear from you, Laurel. Always.
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