Who we really are

Who are we, really?

I watched an episode of ‘Once Upon a Time‘ last night, and there was a part that struck a chord with me. One of the characters is told that she will see something only when she accepts who she truly is. After some deep discussion with a friend, she admits that she is an orphan, even though she has met her family.

Once Upon a Time (TV series)

Once Upon a Time (TV series) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

She realizes that even though she isn’t the same person she was before, even though she is an adult with a respectable job and house, even though she has met the rest of her family, she is still the same lost little girl that she was long ago. She is still an orphan. Sometimes those big, defining things don’t just go away.

Even when we try to move past things, sometimes they linger. Even when we aren’t the same person we were before, that doesn’t change what happened before. No matter what we think we know about ourselves, there can still be scars or wounds from before.

It struck a chord with me because it pointed out something I’d been denying for a while. I never really dealt with the death of my Mother. I thought I did. I told people that I did. I wanted to be done with it. What I  never actually did was deal with it.

I covered the wound with bandages. I kept changing them until it stopped hurting. I told everyone it was better. I never stopped to check and see if the wound was infected. I just assumed it was fine.

As a child, I think that I never knew what to say, or who to say it to. I ‘got over it’ quickly, because I didn’t know how to be appropriately sad. I figured if I didn’t know how to grieve properly, I should just not do it. I should be a little sad that everything changed, (I mean everything,) and I should be sad that  I didn’t have my Mom that I loved very much anymore. I didn’t know how to process those huge feelings.

I’m sure there are things that this affects, but I don’t really know what they are yet. I’m just beginning to notice that there are things about that time in my life that never really got addressed or solved. I was 9, and I didn’t want to be sad about it all, so I just kind of stopped being sad. I’m only now, 19 years later, realizing how bad I screwed that up. I can’t say I should have known better, because I was a child, but I can say that I now realize that I didn’t do all the things I needed to to come to terms with all that happened.

The trouble for me now is, that I don’t really know what to do with this new information. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do about how I handled things 19 years ago. Especially when it’s not as if I wronged someone, I just didn’t properly handle my own emotions. So at some point, I’ll need to figure out what to do about it all.

For now, I’ll just be content that I finally realized that I didn’t do it right. I’ll have to worry about the rest later.

Crikey! The inkling in its natural habitat

Being as we’re celebrating Labor Day here in the USA, I am off work. Which means that my writing today is occurring from home, as opposed to work.

I would like to point out that even though it’s a holiday, I did NOT take today off. I’m just making you all aware.

I actually prefer writing at home. The trouble is, I don’t like to wait until the evening, and I’m not awake enough to get coherent thought onto the virtual page before I leave. I know, I could write something and then schedule it, but I typically don’t think my posts out that far in advance. So what you usually get is me writing not from home.

I’m not sure where I write is particularly important. I know I write better when I get a chance to sit down, get comfy and just dive in. I don’t get as much of an opportunity to get completely comfy as I would like. I suppose I’m not alone in that.

Traditional pajamas for sleeping.

Traditional pajamas for sleeping. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’ve written posts on my phone before. I’ve written on my tablet before as well. Nothing really beats being fresh to the day with a cup of brain-stimulating tea, and pajamas for writing. For me, anyway. I suspect this also means that if I ever plan on writing anything longer than short stories or blog posts, I’m going to have to find some sort of freelance type of job. If I write best in my jammies, I’m going to need more time in my jammies. I strongly suspect I’d have to be retired, or independently wealthy for that to be an option.

Such is life. I think you’ll notice that I’m posting this rather late in the day as compared to the previously mentioned scenario. I did not do that today. I also am not still in my robe and slippers. I did get up and move about today. Washed dishes, went to the grocery store. I was not a total lump.

Tomorrow it’s back to work, albeit a short week. I missed the worst day, Monday and hopefully the post-weekend funk will not carry into Tuesday. I do have a post I’m considering, so I think I’ll dive into that tomorrow morning. Until then, I bid you Adieu.

Growin’ Up

Know what I find weird? Adult chores. Don’t get all excited, this isn’t some sort of raunchy way to get work done. I’m talking about those chores you didn’t even realize someone had to do until you were an adult and no one did them for you.

Now obviously, you get slowly introduced to some of these things as you grow up. Cooking, cleaning, mowing the lawn, shoveling the driveway. Things of this nature you find out about early enough, usually because your parents make you participate. It’s partly giving them less to do, partly “Character Building”.

The weird chores I’m talking about are like subsets of chores or portions of chores that you just never realized required attention. I’m sure we all know that someone has to go get the groceries, and there are no grocery gnomes to go shopping for you over night. I wish there were, because those little bastards would save me SO much trouble. The thing you might not realize at a younger age is that someone also has to DECIDE what to buy at the store. You have to pay attention to how much you’re getting, how much it costs, what meals you can use it for. Another thing is mowing the lawn. Sure we know that someone has to go out and actually start the mower and move over the grass, but there are other little tasks that require your attention. Make sure you have gas, make sure there’s oil, make sure the blade is sharp, make sure the grass can be mulched and doesn’t need bagged or raked.These are the responsibilities that really put a damper on the whole “I’m an adult, I can do whatever I want” thing.

I think the thing that really gets to me is that there isn’t really anywhere to get this info. Some people might learn more about mowing, for example because they live on a farm or whoever mows their lawn is very particular and teaches you more than the average parent. It’s almost like there should be some post-graduate high school classes on useful information that you might need as an adult. Little stuff like “make sure you use fabric softener either in liquid or dryer sheet form(but not both) if you don’t want t-shirts made of thin cardboard.”

Eh, I’m probably over thinking it. I just had to get my mower blade sharpened today, and I was musing on how it’s not something I’d ever thought of doing before.

English: Reel lawn mower

English: Reel lawn mower (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

What are the little things that get you?