I love this life!
Seriously, I couldn’t have created it better myself.
Wait…
I *did* create this myself.
I live in a beautiful home, with an amazing man, with two fabulous kids, great dogs, fabulous kids…
My partner is my best friend, my confidante, and my sounding board. We get along PERFECTLY, and agree on all the main tenants necessary to make a relationship work. f
I have a job that I love love LOVE, and am doing really well in school.
I live in the best neighborhood with ABSOLUTELY FABULOUS neighbors.
We have enough food to get us through until next time, and the bills are able to be paid on time.
Pretty soon, we’ll be able to pay off debts that bind us to the past. And once those are done…
I am able to do the things I love: blog, garden, play the piano, talk amongst super intelligent people…
Every day I lead a fulfilling role. I care for people whose children are sick, and I make it easier.

So, what’s next?

A little girl
A little conversant
You’d never know she
Doesn’t wear big girl pants
A little girl
With faultless elocution
Who learns to read
To escape reality

She learns to spell
And begins writing her story
On a typewriter
When she’s five
And it’s a story
That she rips up
It never sounds right
Just right
Just write

A little girl
Whose best friend
Talks to her through the mailbox
But there are rules
So many rules
To being friendly
You must smile
And do as you’re told
And eat all the meat off the bone
Or you won’t be invited
You have to have manners

A little girl
Who must get A’s
Because her mom did
But the A’s
Are good fodder
For conversation
And good fodder
Draws out smiles
For those who smile
At little girls

The only child
Doesn’t always mean more attention from grown-ups.
Sometimes it means
Waking up mom when you need a diaper change
And putting blankies in fish tanks
And records, too
And my bottle.
Twice.
Sometimes it means you create a vivid imagination:
An imaginary friend named Jesus,
And angels.
Sometimes it means whispering goodnight to the lion
Who protects you at night,
Even if he’s only a pillowcase.
The only child,
With friends,
But hard friends,
Because it’s hard to share
The little things,
Like Secrets
And Barbies,
And my aunt Becky calls me Sell-Fish.
But she doesn’t know
What it’s like to be alone.
She doesn’t know
What it’s like to have to fight for what’s yours.
Because being an only child
Doesn’t always mean more attention from grown-ups.

Terror filled nights
Violence pervades
Who’s my daddy, not my daddy, you’re my daddy
No father
Mommy screams in pain and anger
Mommy’s hurt
Holes in walls
And drugs and guns
Someone rescue me
Not you, you’re not my daddy, who’s my daddy
No father here
Rescued once and then again
Rescued nightly
But not by daddy
I sat alone
Was lonely but
It didn’t matter
No wonder fears
No wonder abandonment
Who’s my daddy, you’re not my daddy
No father here

I’ve been inspired to write an autobiography. The problem is that I don’t really care to share all of those things from my past with you. Honestly, it’s nearly never that I think of my childhood– mostly because I don’t remember much, but also because it’s important for me to focus on creating a wonderful present and future for myself, not be traumatized by the past.

However, there are certain things that might be helpful for me to share– perhaps in the form of abstract poetry, that can help me understand myself and understand parenting in general.

My life is beautiful. I have healthy relationships, and I’m doing everything I wish to do. I am accomplishing my goals, and I lead a healthy, happy life. I’m not living in my past (thank goddess), and I am constantly moving forward. Still, it helps me to appreciate just how far I’ve come in order to not become wary of the challenges I face in my adult life.

There is more to come, and it only gets better, because the story turns out like a faerie tale. *grin*

Exhaustion Junkie: one who is constantly exhausted because they choose to constantly go-go-go at a million miles an hour.

Hi.  My name is Ash, and I’m an exhaustion junkie.

Is it healthy?  The overall consensus is no.  Being exhausted constantly isn’t good for your body, psyche, or soul.

So I can either change what I’m doing, which doesn’t seem like a viable option at this time… (See last post), or I can change how I look at it.

If I can lose nearly thirty pounds by affirming, “I love my beautiful body,” then it seems reasonable that I can get by with less sleep by saying, “I am alive and energetic.”

Right?

I’m either delusional (from the exhaustion) or on to something.

It sounds so remedial, but it’s still amazing to me that how you feel is affected by so many variables.  Maybe I’m just getting “old” in my ripe young age and therefore more sensitive to the things that make me feel bad.

Sleep is a great example.  I have always said that I need, generally speaking, eight hours of sleep.  This semester, I’ve been getting somewhere between six and seven hours.   In the last two days, I’ve been getting about four hours of really shitty sleep.

It’s no wonder to anyone that today I felt baaaaad.  Like sad, angry, irritated, lonely, needy kind of bad.   Ladies, you know what I’m talking about.  I know you do, I am one.

I’ve begun to discover that there are certain triggers that push me into feeling bad like that– alcohol is a big one.  Not eating right?  Check, another.  And not sleeping enough.  Well, hell.

I know I’m doing a lot and conquering the world and what not.  I know My Eyes Were Bigger Than My Stomach when I filled my plate… but I love my life.  I’m doing exactly what I said I would do.  I’m just, I dunno, exhausted while I’m doing it all.  Which makes for a less overall happy Ash sort of functionality.  And anything less than happy is, well, it’s not happy.

I’m taking inventory of everything in my daily life that is preventing me from sleeping.

Work is the biggest one.  I spend two hours every day commuting to and from work.   Then, I spend between seven and nine hours at work, depending on if I have class afterwards.  If I have class, I spend another fifty minutes in the car getting to class, and then a little more than three hours at class, half an hour commuting back home… but it doesn’t end there.  I spend an hour and a half taking care of the kids in the morning (making breakfast and lunch, getting them up, getting them dressed, getting them ready for school).  Then I spend another two to three hours of helping them with homework and getting them showered and ready for bed.   That leaves half an hour of not busting my ass to eat dinner– which my amazing wonderful honey makes for me– gourmet, nine times out of ten (thank you, love), one hour total to hang out with my guy (broken into ten six minute intervals), and five minutes to use the toilet in privacy, once a week.  (wink)

*sigh*   It’s a lot, and none of it is negotiable.  Work, school, and the kids is part of what I desire, it’s what I’m doing, it’s what I want, and all three are taking their fair share of my attention.  If I could really work it to the best of what would work for me, I would work from home, and have more time with my honey.  And by more time with my honey, I mean, a few more hours a day.  Yesh… that would work beautifully.

Here’s the problem with the job and working from home:  it’s not going to happen.  My managers won’t allow it.  Even though I could just as easily do it here as I could at work.   It’s just not going to happen as far as they’re concerned.

And I don’t want to find another job, that’s nearly a certainty.  A) I love what I do, and I’m really, really good at it.  B) I love the department that I work in, and get along perfectly with the other staff.  C) I make excellent money, more than I’ve ever made.  D) I work for doctors who are professors at the medical school I’m going to attend, and they encourage me to go where I am going.  E) Medical school that I will be attending is on the same campus as work, so I have to be used to the drive by the time I get to medical school.

We’re not moving any time soon, either.  My mom owns this house, is flexible with rent due dates, it’s relatively inexpensive to live here, we’re already putting money into the house to fix it up the way we want, and we have the awesomest most wonderful neighbors in the universe.  And that ain’t no lie.

So.

As exhausted as I am with everything I do, I really, truly LOVE what my life is.  I just don’t know how much more of this burning both ends of the candle thing I can do any more.

And, oh, look, here’s a pattern: I wrote Exhaustion Junkie in April.

Yep.  I’m crazy.

*sigh*

Soooo sleepy today.  Didn’t sleep well last night, didn’t sleep well the night before… What’s up with that?

I’m not lying there, worried.  I’m just not actually falling asleep.  Not really thinking about stuff– maybe hallucinating some with my eyes closed.  I know some people would call that dreaming, but if your aware of everything in the room, where in space  your body is, and aware of the noises around you, that technically isn’t (to me at least) “sleeping.”

I’m foggy.

A little cranky, even.

The pockets under my eyes could hold elephants.

Please deposit fifty cents.

I realize I haven’t been terribly expressive lately.

I’m sure, though, that you can gather what I’ve been up to, given my record:  Work, school, kids, work…

That’s about it.  Except for one small deviation: I’ve been doing a family tree.  Family trees are interesting and great fun.  I found a site that will host a family tree– one that allows for multiple marriages, various fathers, et al, which falls right up my alley.  It’s called www.myheritage.com.  So what’s cool about this is that if there is another family on MyHeritage that has matches to my family, then I get this notification and can look at that part of their tree– and that means I can update my tree, contact them, or… whatever I want, really.

There’s a beauty in this time of history.  We will be known as the information age.  I can google any one of my ancestors and there’s a significant chance that someone else has put up a documentation of that person and how it links to their family.  I’ve done this, in fact, and am still working on the researching of people further back in time.

Also, I discovered that my father (the biological one) has a half-brother, who has a son he named after my father.   And conveniently, this son’s wife, has an interest in ancestry, and was easily found on Facebook.  And she’s fabulous.  She’s my new cousin.  Literally.  Amazing.

In sharing the tree with my aunt (my father’s sister), I discovered some pretty awesome stories.  One of which involved my father’s first wife and the possibility that I may have another sister, who would be about thirty-eight.  I haven’t found her on Facebook yet, but there’s a probability that I might… we live in a time where nothing is private.  Of course, what did I do with this new-found information?  I forwarded it to my father, whom I haven’t spoken with in… oh, years?  Because, of course, that’s the logical thing to do.  I also forwarded it to my little brother with the same father.   The response was rather interesting, in that my father actually EMAILED me (I know, I was shocked, too) with some pretty interesting details.   I responded in detail, he responded again with one-word replies, and now I guess I can officially say that we’re not no longer talking.  Somehow if you believe you’re not getting a response from someone, the key is to bludgeon them with details.  In some sort of retailiatory explosion, you’ll get contact.  “Houston… ”

Anyway, some how this spurned into my step-sister (whom I blogged about a week ago-ish), reading the blog and commenting here.  Not really sure what to make of that.  Probably won’t make anything of it, as there’s no guarantee that a simple comment on my blog would mean anything.  *not overanalyzing* Repeat after me…

*sigh*

Anyway, I suppose that all said and done, having a family history is very rad.  Do you remember me blogging about V.D. Kirchner?  He’s the renowned European composer?  Well, he’s not that far removed from my bloodline after all. He’s the son of my grandmother’s cousin.  Fascinating.   Also, I have history linking back to some counts in Germany and Sweden.  And I did follow the line straight back to the dude who taught Beethoven piano.   So that’s pretty neat.  I get all goose-bumpy now when I play the piano.  Maybe my soul is connecting with the dead or something.  *shakes head*

I’d like to tell you all some stories– perhaps I’ll tell you my grandmother’s story here one day.  It has to be repeated.  It’s just like television, only it was before television, with all the drama of Jane Austen and Dante’s Inferno.  Only it wasn’t a book nor a show, it was real life.  Just have to make sure I get my story straight before I put it into eternity.

Also, my aunt is mailing me the rest of the research on our family tree– and apparently there will be a bunch of pictures along with it.  (HOOOOOOORAY!!!)  She uploaded a picture of my grandmother from when she was young, and I was absolutely shocked.  I look JUST like her.  Except blonde.  And my face is a bit longer– that comes from her husband’s side… but I look more like my father’s side of the family than one could imagine… Funny, I look just like my grandmother, and in a plethora of ways, I ACT just like her.   Isn’t that funny?

I did know her, she taught me piano.  She and I were very close.  She died when I was 13, too young to have even formed a personality or to have known how to get into the nitty gritty details of the ways I would one day be like her.

Fascinating.

Anyhoo, I’ll give you more in the future.  Come back now, ya hear!?

This is an adorable picture of Tyler reading me his first book.

Hooray for reading!!!

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