2.5 hour stroll through my settlement.

I had to take a 45-minute nap to try and restore my sense of humor after spending over two hours with the mediator today. Why is it that when I ask a lawyer for clarification I get a 20-minute discourse that leaves me further befuddled? Why can't lawyers communicate clearly? Ours likes to use her hands and I find myself desperately searching her finger triangles and air diagrams looking for meaning.

Our kitchen-sink but standard and simple settlement is over 30 pages long and includes language like this:

"A general release does not extend to claims which the creditor does not know or suspect to exist in his favor at the time of executing the release, which if known by him must have materially affected his settlement with the debtor."

Fun! I think I'll top the day off with a good bikini waxing and maybe watch some re-runs of speeches given by George W. Bush.

Fear, sadness and uncertainty with a side of Botox.

When I was new in recovery I never knew how I was feeling because until that point I only felt good = stoned on my drug of choice or bad = waiting to be stoned on my drug of choice. 

At recovery camp, I was given a daily exercise of checking in with my fine self. I picked emotions from a two-page list the staff had typed up. I was told it was OK to feel more than one at the same time! I faked it most days and picked emotions that matched what I was wearing. But checking in is a habit that stuck. 

Most mornings I just feel "off" which is nebulous and vague so I sit and try to mine what, exactly, is underneath "off." Today I feel fear that I haven't received a single call to the resumes I've sent out. (The economy is really bad in case you didn't know.) I always feel sadness; apparently I'll be stuck in that phase of the grief process for a while. I'm flush with uncertainty about the first holidays as a pre-loved parent. (Aaah!!!) I also have a slight headache from the Botox my niece's doctor injected into my forehead on Thursday morning. He said I must worry a lot considering the state of my forehead and my age. It's nice to know all that work wasn't for naught. 

The results are supposed to kick in around Thanksgiving day but I can feel it working already. For the first time in my life, my forehead feels relaxed. I'm hoping it effects my mood, a fake-it-til-you-make-it kind of thing. 

My niece promised me I'd love the it. Coincidentally, that's the same thing said by the person who gave me my first line of cocaine, which was also free. Ha ha. I found my new drug and it costs more than all of them. Botox: the new heroine. 

No poppage, just leakage.

So I didn't explode with a major epiphany at the Landmark Forum® but I'm leaking like a weepy sore. Apparently enough information took hold that it's having some effect. I've had actual, real-time moments when I'm aware that I'm not my opinions, experiences, rackets or strong suits and don't -- and this is truly incredible!! -- react to them! 

My whole life I've been a knee-jerk reactionary, as if somebody's banging on my brain with a reflex hammer. An example: the other day big-ass arms was talking to me about a highly charged subject. He has a problem with one of my friends and was trying to explain to me why. Externally I sat and listened but internally my committee was going off, crafting retorts and assassinating his friends. I didn't respond, however. I just let my angry little thoughts pass on by. And then it happened -- I really heard what he was saying to me and none of it was a personal attack on me or my friend. (Apparently this is how I show up in life: defensive, angry, and ready to roll.) What do you know? It's a Christmas miracle! I owe it all to my higher power and the Landmark Forum®. Stay tuned; more will be revealed.

Taking an "F" in the Forum

As soon as we settled into the basement conference room, our Landmark Forum® leader began promising us that by Sunday evening we would transform, or "pop" as she liked to call it. (It's the moment of epiphany when you realize that you've been doing everything wrong or how to do everything right except that there is no wrong or right.) She said some of us would pop early and some of us later, but most would pop on Sunday. The pressure to pop made me anxious so I went up to the mic and voiced my concerns. I'm afraid I got labeled as the seminar cynic. (It's not bad to be the cynic if you're the good kind of cynic a la Mark Twain. Unfortunately I'm the bad kind of cynic -- anxious and fearful.)

What followed was three days/39 hours of listening which is difficult for me because I like to talk or at least respond to what's being said. I had some mini epiphanies, tiny aneurisms of self awareness, but no major pop like some of the yippee skippy folks who were jumping around as if Jesus had just come into their hearts. Indeed, at times the Landmark Forum® feels like a revival because it's all about promotion, rather than attraction. There's a lot of proselytizing and pressure to get what they've got and I wanted it! I would have died to pop but they also preach about integrity and authenticity so lying about popping seemed inappropriate. 

By Sunday evening I was feeling depressed and my ass hurt from sitting. A fellow, popped attendee approached me with the information that my face wore my suffering and he could tell I didn't get it. Thanks for the insight, dude. 

I signed up for the advanced course. Apparently I'm a cynical optimist. 

I'm off to The Forum in the morning.

The Forum is EST lite. My friend D promised me it would change my life. It already has; I'm $400 poorer and my stomach hurts. I'm scared. Apparently lots of people have done it but nobody talks about it until they find out you've sent in your non-refundable registration fee then a look of glee and terror washes over their faces and they repeat how it will change my life. Bonafide EST-holes deny that I won't be able to go to the bathroom and that I will be yelled at and cry. At this point, I'll cry if anybody looks at me funny. It will all be over by Monday. If I never post here again, it will be because I have evolved into a breatharian with no need for food, toilets, or dirty, little blogs.

Oh. I should mention that I'm dating a man, big-ass arms. This is our second time around; we were bf and gf in college but I was a bitch or, as he so nicely put it, "emotionally unavailable." Now I'm an emotional tsunami. Fortunately, he's really strong. I've come so far in 24 years and I have the forehead lines to prove it. (Where's my Botox, beautiful niece?!)

OMG

I just realized that 18 years ago today I was getting married at Ralston Hall in Belmont. The weather was just like it is today -- sunny and cool. At this time, I was probably putting on my 25-lb. Scaasi-designed (which happens to be Isaacs backwards) wedding dress -- soon to be listed on ebay -- and doing last minute touch ups, including following the bad advice from the dress lady at I. Magnin's to cover-up the tan lines on my bare shoulders with foundation (don't try this at home.) That sentence was about as long as my marriage. Anyway, tomorrow is my son's birthday and I still haven't shopped for that or written my daily nanowrimo. It seems the thing I'm most talented at is procrastination. Onward.

My mind is a bad neighborhood...

... that I shouldn't visit alone. I can't remember which writer said that -- Mary Karr? I'm squirrely on the weekends I don't have the boys. I think it's because I'm convinced that during this free time I should be uber productive, writing and painting and self actualizing. I imagine that my ex is using his free weekends to beat me to the top of Mazlov's hierarchy. (Competitive? Me?) 

This weekend I mulled around the house leaving a trail of empty Halloween candy wrappers behind me, unsure of what to do with myself, not wanting to do anything really. Sunday I realized it was the first of the month and the first day of nanowrimo, the national novel writing month. I opened a file on my computer, the equivalent of putting a blank sheet of paper into a typewriter, then freaked, trying to convince myself I could do this. I got up and sat back down over and over again. My friend L called and gave me another great quote from Dorothy Parker: "I don't like writing; I like having written." Amen, sister. L and I also decided that we both hate beginnings, on top of which I hate endings (of all kinds) and that the best part of novel writing is the middle. So I should be enjoying myself toward the middle of this month.

The daily goal is 1666 words. I wrote 816 yesterday and they were real dreck. I can't wait to see what putrid vile I come up with today.