Rebellious Thoughts of a Woman

Feel good about yourself.

Think of some things that you did in spite of your husband:

• things that show how much better you are for yourself than he has been to you or for you;
• things that show how you have been supportive and loving in the face of his negativity or reign of terror.

It seems to me that I have done good deeds not simply in response--out of weakness or fear, but out of loving and caring, and, more importantly, because I am a good person. I did not always act in response to his actions, but in response to who I am. He did not, fundamentally, change my core, or embitter my soul.

Remember those things now, and hold onto them, let them embolden you.

THE ROMANCE OF THE HAIFA-TIBERIAS BUS

The man I had just spoken to briefly, inquiring about which bus would be leaving next for Tiberias at the Haifa Central Bus Station, walked slowly down the aisle of the bus once it had pulled in and we had started to board. Was he going to sit next to me or was he going to claim an empty seat? Holding his duffle bag high, he seemed hesitant as he walked down the aisle. I was sitting next to the window in a seat between the front and middle of the bus; he would have to decide fast. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to sit next to me; I had met enough people, especially men, on this six-month visit and besides, I was leaving in two days, which was why I was in Haifa that day, purchasing a plane ticket to London.

Six months in Israel had been a great experience, but I was ready to leave. The war in Lebanon (the 1982 war) had broken out two months before, a friend had been injured by shrapnel to the head and another friend’s best friend had been killed. It had been more than enough reality for me. I was drained by my inability to do something while the killing went on; all I did was deliver cookies to resting soldiers. I felt that I needed to get started on my life, not this hiatus, and the solemnity of that time made it even more critical to leave and find a purpose.

It was Friday afternoon, so there was a lot of activity on the bus, people on their way home or to visit friends or family for Shabbat. Indecisive for a few seconds standing over me, he finally sat down, next to me. We exchanged introductions. And with that we began a three-hour conversation in halting English and Hebrew, from Haifa to Tiberias, and what would, unfathomably, become a relationship that would extend for more than 24 years.

After six months of half-day Hebrew classes at only partial attentiveness, my Hebrew was not very good. And after years of school-English, with two years out of school, his English was not very good. But we managed to communicate.

I thought that this tall, skinny man with short black hair and an intense look of innocence and intelligence was a high school student; young even for me (I was 21 at the time). But it turned out that he had already been in the army for two years and was on a two-day leave from fighting in Lebanon. The difference between my impression and the reality was great. He didn’t swagger and talk about his experiences, as so many others did, boasting of their experiences; he wasn’t even wearing his uniform. When we arrived at the Tiberias bus station, he asked if he could come visit me the next day. I was hesitant, since I was leaving in two days and I already had a few men who I needed to say goodbye to already. But hey, one more couldn’t make my already bad reputation much worse. (This was the first and last time that I would have, I think, a bad-girl reputation, and I quite enjoyed it.) At home I was always so shy and hesitant with men, but here, in Israel, I had made connections easily and was enjoying the attention.

On Saturday afternoon, while his parents were napping after their Shabbat meal at their hotel, he came to visit me. We continued our broken language talk as we walked around the kibbutz where I was living. When it was time for him to leave, we exchanged addresses, and he warned me that we were only friends. Considering that even for me in my new racy persona we had only talked, I laughed at the idea that there could be anything more—that he could even think that I had been attracted to him in any way. He still seemed the high school student to me, and I had already graduated from college. And he was off, and I was off to say good-bye to other friends.

The next day I flew to London and from there I was to go, within a month, to Perth, Australia. I had always dreamed of living in Australia. Things had really worked out: one of my friends in the extremely basic Hebrew class was from Perth and she said that I could stay with her when she went back to make her arrangements to return to Israel to marry her kibbutz boyfriend.

But my plans changed in a London dorm room, when I realized that it was important for me that I live someplace where my very presence was meaningful, would add value and significance to the very ordinariness of life. So, I altered my plans, deciding to move to Israel rather than Australia. I am not a religious person, I question God’s existence, I question the validity and usefulness of religion, what with all of the wars and conflicts it has engendered, but my heritage, who I am as a person–as a part of the continuity of generations of Jews—I felt that I needed to live within that identity and honor it. Especially growing up during the Vietnam War and then Watergate my skepticism for things American was great, it should have been for Israel, too, especially since the war in Lebanon had started, but I felt that this was a statement of self that I needed to make, that I needed to tether myself to something and not just wander through life on my own behest.

While I was in New York preparing for my move, I exchanged a couple of letters with the boy from the bus. I remembered his dark intent eyes and his inviting smile; I had no idea who he was, though. My reaction to one of his letters (in which he talked about the war and losing friends showed a depth that connected to me) either showed that I was truly ripe for love or that this man really was to be my true love: I told a friend, “I could fall in love with this guy.” There was something about the letter and his sensitivity that touched me. I have no idea what I wrote in my letter, but apparently it ignited a spark, too, because he wanted to see me again when I returned to Israel.

After turning up at the airport for the wrong flight (I never told him on which flight I would be arriving), and then finding out which kibbutz I was living on, he came to visit me a few weeks after my arrival. He arrived very late at night, having taken a helicopter from the Syrian border and then hitchhiked to the kibbutz. It was awkward, he was there for the weekend, yet we barely knew each other. Meeting this man I had barely thought of or knew as I was embarking on my new life, and then to be confronted with his determination to see me may have helped ignite something in me. He had lost his schoolboy aura by the time I had returned; he was an officer in the army by then. He seemed more capable and in command whereas before (on the bus) I had felt so much ahead of him. It turned out that he was about two years younger than I, but it didn’t seem so anymore; he had lived through things and matured since we had met.

The next day, along with some members of the kibbutz (a different one), we drove in the kibbutz van to the beach and the seaside town of Akko (Acre). It was a lovely spring day, with clear blue skies and rolling waves on a roughly pebbled beach with the worn ramparts of the ancient city behind us. We jumped through the waves (something we would do many times during our courtship and beyond) and talked, excited rapid words to match the energy of the sea. He looked so handsome with his sharply delineated V-chest and powerful arms, and Speedo (oh, the appeal of a 20-year-old buff, olive-skinned six-foot man in a Speedo cannot be denied), certainly not the boy I had envisioned in his blue polo shirt on the bus. In that moment of watching him, of seeing his confidence and ease, I realized, again, that I could love this man. He must have had an epiphany as well, since we left the beach holding hands.

That led to two years of dating. During that time he completed his army service, and I studied in Jerusalem,then Tel Aviv, and finally got down to business and started working in Ramat Gan (a satellite city of Tel Aviv). Since he was still in the army and generally stationed in bases far from the center of the country, we would meet a few times a month. The unexpectedness of when he would come to visit or my going to see him on bases in different parts of the country (occasionally flying to get there) added an aura of excitement to our relationship. Add that to the fact that I had no family in the country and he was shedding his religiosity, we became pretty close and dependent upon each other.

A few months after he finished his army service, we got married and he started studying at university while I worked to support us. Sounds like a good beginning. And it was. Only beginnings don’t last forever, they progress into middles, and sometimes ends, bitter ends.

Today

Do you regret something that happened or did not happen today? What? Why?

TO MY MOTHER

Mother's Day is here once again in its annual cycle,

and again, in that same cycle, you have comforted me instead of

me comforting you.

How is it that you have not tired of my

tears

and sadness, because it doesn't feel like I bring

anything else

to our daily conversations.

Is that what it is to be a mother? To be my mother?

To give without asking,

To give without making me feel that I am tearing you apart with my sadness,

To give with an unconditional, bolstering support,

To give with care and concern,

To give with love from an unbroken cycle of

mother to daughter.

Know that in the eyes of at least one beholder you are the most beautiful woman in the world.

Know that even with cover-up, foundation, blush, eye liner, eye shadow, mascara, lip liner and lipstick there is one beholder who won't see your beauty--external or internal.

"I don't want noodles. All you make is noodles!" my sixteen-year-old screamed at me at the end of another Laura-day. (That is a day filled with depressing news from my lawyer, parents e-whining about their children's grades, students inattentive/bored as I extol the wonders of Romeo and Juliet, third-day-in-a-row left-over lunch, morning supermarket stop for toilet paper, afternoon supermarket stop for milk and other essentials, gas station stop--Sunoco--for $15 worth of liquid gold, and grown-up conversation restricted to lunch half-hour.)

I HAD IT!

To hell with the psychologists and their theories of not telling the kids what's hiding under the rug.

"Do you know what a deadbeat dad is? Well that is your father! HE PAYS FOR NOTHING."

I think she was saying something to me as she retreated up the stairs.

"NOTHING BUT A COACH POCKETBOOK FOR YOU, THAT IS!"

And with that disappeared my "conversation" with my daughter, who was on her way to her room to close the door on her mad-mother. But at least she heard me, I think. Okay, so the next day she swooned to me that her father had paid for the Mac laptop she recently purchased with him even though originally he said that he would pay $400, and then he said that he wouldn't pay the $400 because she didn't do what he wanted her to do, but now, now it turns out that he is shelling out $1,300 for the laptop. It seems to me that it's a lot easier to be generous (and still be a DEADBEAT DAD) when you:

• don't buy food for your children;
• don't buy clothes for your children;
• don't buy contact lenses for your children;
• don't buy books for your children;
• don't buy school supplies for your children;
• don't pay school dues for your children;
• don't pay library fines for your children;
• don't pay for the SAT;
• don't give your children lunch money;
• don't give your children an allowance;
• don't give your children money for the movies;
• don't buy friends' birthday gifts for your children;
• don't put gas in your car to drive your children around;
• don't pay the cable bill, the water bill, the electricity bill, the garbage collection bill;
• --you get the idea.

So, because he is the bad guy--he gets to be the good guy! Speak of a paradox.

I will keep mentioning that he does not pay for those things because the facade needs to be dropped, they need to know what their father is and who their mother is. It doesn't seem fair or right to me that I spend energy pretending that he is better than he is when it is not good for me, or for them. Reality, babe, reality. They're old enough to do without the pretense, and it's too draining to pretend--especially at home.

Self

Are you pleased with what you have become, with what you are doing with your life? Why? Why not?

Some more one date wonders from Craig's List. You don't wonder why they are unattached, you do wonder, though, how they got so far in life (age-wise only) without having learned anything about women, and how men need to interact with women.

Divorced? Oh, yes.

Before agreeing to meet, I asked Thomas his marital status. (There's a reason for the question which I haven't brought up yet, it is because of the separated man who was not as upfront as he should have been about the degree of his separation.) Thomas told me that years ago his wife had left him and their two young sons, because she felt that "she couldn't do it," and that he raised them himself. One was in college and the other had already graduated. What the heck, I thought, maybe a sensitive man.

So, when we met for wine and appetizers, I was a bit stunned when his life story had an important chapter that he had not mentioned when answering my question. It seems that there was another marriage. It seems, too, that his answer that he was divorced only referred to wife number one, not wife number two. From her he had only been separated for two months. Oh, and while he was figuring out what to do, he was living in a friend's basement.

Need I say that there were no more meetings. But I did get a needed ego boost, he asked me out again at the end of the date.

Widowed for how long ago?

I was definitely looking forward to meeting the successful Jewish widower, who was semi-retired at 35, totally devoted to his children and cared for his wife through her illness. Can I say that I was thinking "rescue" as he described his life and what he was looking for in a woman. But, as always, there were some hints at wrinkles in the smooth sail to early retirement with him.  First, his wife passed away less than three months prior. Try as I could to validate his rush to remarry, it still made me feel uneasy. I was separated for three years before I ventured into the field. Also, he did have some lack of esteem issues, even though he built a successful business that was supporting his early retirement, he kept commenting on how intelligent other people were. I mean who's afraid of an English teacher once they gets out of high school?

When we met, in one of my favorite restaurants (I was going for food with him, not coffee), he stared at me, assessing my observable qualities. But, vixen that I am, I stared right back at him. Perhaps my forthrightness was not the way to win the man who was willing to buy an $800,000 beach condo for his next wife as he had done for his deceased wife. Ah, well. I didn't really want to retire from life at 47 to have sex, eat breakfast, have sex, go for a walk on the beach with him for the rest of my life. It had an unseemly quality, since he wanted to "save" someone from her trailer park life with his McMansion lifestyle. Besides, I have things I still want to do.   

Insight from a Singer-Songwriter

And then there was Jeremy, the singer-songwriter who, upon meeting at Greenberry's Coffee Shop got me a cup of coffee, but none for himself, since he only likes Starbucks and had just had a cup. What to say to that?

As he told me about his two divorces and three children, his being estranged from his two children from his first marriage because she poisoned them against him, and how his second ex-wife was moving with his daughter to California, I kept thinking RUN LAURA RUN. And I should have, because when he espoused to me his opinion of my life, I became poisoned by his thoughts. According to his version of Zen philosophy, I am where I am in my life because that is I where I have led myself and where I want to be. How people think that we really are masters of our fate, and that we have control over other people and their actions, stuns me. Is this a man thing? this impression that you are the rudder, mast, and even wind of your life? So now, every once in a while, I have Jeremy's "insight" swirling about in my head, as if I need even more negative thoughts there.

By the way, Jeremy, you have a lot less hair than in your picture, and your teeth are much yellower, too.

Needless to say, Jeremy won't be writing any songs about me.

Well, the boulder blocking the tunnel that is my life and which supposedly leads to a light at its end has just got even bigger. On May 23, the judge who apparently did not correctly schedule the judges and courtrooms for April 17, so that there was no one there to hear my case, and who closed my case because beastman said that I didn't show up and so forfeited my chance at a hearing, will now consider my motion to reopen my case.

Blubber'd. That's what I did when I read the email from my lawyer. I cried, I wailed. What is this? Nothing makes sense. I feel like I am living in a Twilight Zone version of reality where his twisted logic is the norm and mine is considered outrageous.

IT IS ABSURD. And I need to live through this and maintain a sense of sanity and stability.

People do crosswords and suduko to keep Alzheimer's at bay. Maybe lottery really is the only game in town, at least it would give me a glimmer, even if only ten million to one that there will be a light and a shorter tunnel.

Seek out and create crevices of calm.

Luckily I am not on Weight Watchers, because I wouldn't want to tally the things I ate today. I can say, in my defense, that the KitKat and mint candy (for my "com-mint-ment to teaching") that I received today are still in my drawer. But other than that, I ate far too much. But I'm not happy, and I want something to make me happy, even if only for the few moments of contentment derived from eating an apple fritter, slice of Entenmann's raspberry danish twist (thanks to whoever brought it to the teacher's lounge this morning), cheese quesadilla, chocolate chip cookie (one, I kept to one). Well, you get the idea. I try to balance the good with the bad, but that's not the point. The point is that my unhappiness needs an outlet, it needs a place to find happiness. And eating has become too easy of a way to temporarily dull the pain and loneliness of my life.

But why am I unhappy?

• Is it because I am divorced?
• Is it because I am still living in the same home as my ex-husband?
• Is it because my daughters challenge me all the time?
• Is it because I have financial woes?
• Is it because I don't have anyone to hold me?
• Is it because my life is so far from where I had thought it would be, and not in a good way?
• Is it because all of the above will be all of the above for the foreseeable future?

I have started swimming, and that does make me feel good, and it is good that I have found one thing to counter the negative things that I am doing. But it just seems that the unraveling of my life that began with my decision to divorce is ceaseless. I, in no way, regret the divorce, the ending of a marriage to a man who was unyielding and crushed my psyche, but that doesn't make the present a constant euphoria. I know that I am better off divorced than married, of that I have no doubt, but the void that enveloped me when I left that relationship has become far too familiar. It is as the whirlpool Charybdis, sucking me down, engulfing me.

What is this void? It is an emptiness of spirit and expectation that should enliven me, embrace me. Is this all from a failed relationship and what that relationship has wrought in me? I won't say that I have ever been the chipperest of people, but a lot was lost. Being with someone for over twenty years, from when I was twenty-three to forty-three, and then coming to the realization that it was wrong, that you were treated wrong, that your intentions were not recognized is a bigger hardship than I could have expected. Could I have prepared myself better? Even if I could have, I have no idea how. I finished my master's degree, I got a job, it even worked out that we could return to the US from Israel. I seemed so prepared.

I think that, really, living in the same home is the albatross around my neck, it has not enabled me to fill the void--and create a phase two of my life--it keeps everything out. And try as I can to remove the albatross, it is still there. I am still waiting for the judge to reopen my case open and consider my petition so that I can reduce the price of the house enough to get it sold. I am waiting for the housing market to bottom out and start up again. I am waiting for the beast to decide that he wants to move and move on with his life. I am waiting for teachers to get paid as much as divorce lawyers so that I can afford to move before the house is sold. I am waiting for a miracle.

Emotion

Is there something in your life that you feel passionately about? What?

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, the average woman's family income drops by 37% after divorce. I'm not quite sure what they refer to as a "woman's family," but for me the income drop has been more severe than that. And it's not just monetary, it's understanding where I am economically and socially that has changed--for the much worse. I was raised in a middle class family, with the expectation that if I work and/or my spouse works, we will maintain that level, and it was so for quite a while. (Afterall, I worked while he went to law school, with the expectation that things would even be better, we would be comfortably comfortable.) But now, now there is living from paycheck to paycheck, with no expectation of change, and a bitterness at the hand I have dealt myself.

Yesterday I practically cried in the car when my daughter told me of the impeding birthday parties and Bat Mitzvahs she has to go to. Presents, someone's joy is an agony to me. And my sweet, sweet daughter actually said that maybe she doesn't really want to go to the birthday parties.

At first, there was the job loss that came on the very day that I told him, that, no, this attempt at staying together we had been on for the past five months is not working.  And, so, on that day the "family income" plummeted from approximately $200,000 per annum--all his earnings--to zero. It was at that point that I took a part-time job, I think I was earning around $20 per hour for about 20-30 hours a week, for about six months. It was then that we began to say goodbye to savings. (Yes, there had been some savings, but no investments, he never wanted to hear my input on this, and he was incapable of making a decision.)

But tell me, how is it that a man whose job was in business development--networking--can't find a job for a year and a half! He wasn't let go because he wasn't doing his job well, but because there were mergers and acquisitions going strong and he just didn't fit into their new business model.

For a year and a half, I supported the "family" on my teacher's salary. Luckily I had finished my master's degree the previous year, but our income, which had been $200,000+ was now approximately $50,000. We were (ARE--the housing crisis and a man who is too stubborn to see that the price of homes has fallen) still living in the home that the larger salary could afford, not the beginning teacher salary.

Since fall 2006 he has been working. Last I heard, in our mediation discussions, his salary was approximately $90,000. But since I will not get any spousal suppot (alimony), and since he has opted out of paying any home or child expenses, I am basically attempting to support my family and that man (who enjoys the water, electricity, garbage collection, grass mowing, telephone, cable and internet service that I and my credit cards pay for) on a salary that is 25% of what had been the salary that was supposed to support this lifestyle--life.

So, for me, the fall in family income has been steep and tragic. According to the numbers it's about 75%, which doesn't leave a whole lot of room for birthday presents, or illusions of future comforts.

Was your whole married life a sham? Probably not. Take some time to think about some good experiences that you had together, some experiences that show that you have known happiness and fulfillment and pleasure in your married life.

Next, to reinforce your conviction to get out or that you did the right thing to get out, remember some bad occasions. Remember when your husband violated the sovereignty of your soul, when he made you cry and question yourself, when he was not your Prince Charming.

Remember the good and the bad. Don't deny the love, but don't deny what was done to violate that love, that trust that you had in him. He cannot be your soulmate if he makes your soul curl up in anguish.

Apparently, I am now waiting for a law clerk named Rocky to get some action going. The judge he clerks for has yet to decide if they need to reopen my case that was only closed because they had not scheduled a courtroom on the date they had scheduled my case to be heard, and so there was no place to be heard or judge to hear it. But, mr-ex somehow convinced the judge that I was not there, that I had not come on purpose, that I was not interested in having a hearing on an issue that I had filed in court, that somehow I had asked to be absent from the docket.

Looking back on these interactions or lack thereof with the courts, I can say that I am glad that I managed to stay out of them for most of the divorce and custody issues. Luckily, we, our lawyers and a mediator managed to get a somewhat workable agreement without going before a judge. Seeing how things are not in control there, how they are ruled by the vagaries of too big a bureacracy, and by far too many old white guys, I really am thankful that we were able to make most of the decisions in a more or less controlled environment. Although I bemoan so many things in these agreements, at least it was only between the beast and me, and not some judge who doesn't know us, nor does he care, nor can I be sure that he can discern truth from fiction. I guess it really could have been worse.

Now, on May 5th, I still wait to have a hearing on an issue that I filed in November 2007, namely his constantly harassing me, not complying with the PSA by not paying bills for home or children, and not cooperating in the sale of the home.

I was supposed to hear the judge's decision today or tomorrow, after having filed this letter to keep the case opened on April 24. I guess today is moot. I sure hope the judge likes his breakfast tomorrow, wears his most comfortable undies, and that Rocky doesn't give him any grief. I need a break, just like Rocky. (In which movie did he win?)

Past

What kind of memories has your life given you? Do they represent the life you have lived?

The weather this weekend has been glorious, but I spent it being drained, drained of absolutely all energy. The weekends are supposed to be a time for replenishing one's energy, but for me, they leave me emptier than I had been on Friday after a week of teaching. The only advantage is that I don't have to get up at five a.m. The constant battle to try to get children to listen and learn is nothing compared to a life that is a constant battle.

Thermostat on, thermostat off. Thermostat on 63, thermostat on 69. Door open, door closed. Plate in kitchen, plate on dining room table. Slapping fist against fist as he passes me on the stairs. It is all too much. What is this battle about? Trying to get me to leave the house? Trying to diminish my self-esteem? Trying to maintain control over me? -- Trying to maintain my self-esteem? Trying to not let him control me? -- Well, it seems that no matter how much I think I am maintaining my integrity, this is a lose-lose situation. What can I possibly be gaining by keeping my door open in face of his closing it for what seems like time immemorial. What am I winning by turning off the air conditioner for two minutes for him to turn it back on? Time and again. I win nothing as he wins nothing.

What to do? Is court and a judge's decision to significantly reduce the price of the house my only way out? Is patience that the housing market will eventually pick up my only out? Is stopping paying bills a way out? When people say that my life is in my hands and that I am where I am supposed to be, I want to just shove his countenance at them. Have them face his immoveable, narcissistic stubbornness and then have them "get to the place where they want to be." This is not a place where anyone should be. Not me, not my daughters, and, well, maybe my dog, he has pretty good conditions here.

I must not look back, trying to find the error that led to this situation, I must get out of my box and find a solution. Or, at least, a way to live that lets me replenish my battery until that SOLD sign is not just visualized but is, really, on the sign in front of the house.

The battle of the doors has been partially won by me, and partially by him. For two nights he kept his door opened. The first morning, upon seeing this, I accidently left the hall light on and made, perhaps, slightly more noise than usual in getting up. He turned off the light, but left his door open. But, when I went up, I couldn't find my way in the dark, so I needed to turn the light back on. The next time I went up, his door was closed. The next day he again left his door open, and he managed to sleep through the light and noise of three women getting ready to go to school at 5:30 am. But that was it. Now the door is closed--when he goes to sleep. When he leaves for the day, hours after I leave, he opens his door and closes mine. So each day when I come home I am unable to deny the reality of living in this ridiculous situation.

The countertop, oy. We are playing a game that no one is willing to give up on. It has become some sort of testament of the annimosity between us. (If only the judge could see this, he would certainly rule in my favor to reduce the price of the home and let us--and our daughters--out of this situation.) He puts his knife contraption on the countertop, I put it away. Unfortunately, he leaves last every day, so every day when I come home I see it, too (like the door) professing his presence in my life.

The thermostat. It's not just that he has never really taken anyone else's comfort into consideration, because this was always an issue of contention, but the absolute waste of money it is to put on an air conditioner when it is 64 degrees outside. It shows what a bubble boy he is, making things comfortable for himself and everything else be damned.

I have no patience with others. I need at least some parts of my life to be smooth sailing (I deserve some parts of my life to be smooth sailing), so when things don’t go the way they are supposed to, I get pretty nasty. I demand to speak with supervisors at the first “sorry, ma’am” I hear. My eyes narrow into little slits and my voice gets strident when I am told that something has been misplaced, or the extra charge is right, or, simply, “no.”

So, when I brought my new used car to get serviced for the first time, I didn’t put my best foot forward in the service department when I was told that, “No, you don’t have a service contract on the car and the charge is $78.” And, “No, ma’am, the remote won’t cost $30 like they told you when you got the car, but $133.32.” Let’s just say that after expressing myself to Leo, he called someone and said that his customer is “very, very upset.” I could feel myself about to explode or cry (two very valid reactions to being told that things in all aspects of my life are screwed up), so I opted to walk out of the service department, and sit down on a bench to grade some papers while they dealt with how to handle the irate customer.

I did hold myself back from biting off the head of the woman who sat down next to me on the bench when she implied that I need to move my things off the bench so that she could put her things down instead. I simply said that my things are there, her “I see,” was answered with nothing. I guess the crisis had passed.

When I was calm enough to confront the inefficiencies of the service department, I went back to Leo. It seems that there was human error regarding the contract and the other things would be taken care of, no charge. Ah, an irate customer calmed. But still, why, why, does everything have to be a struggle? Why can’t things be handled properly before I need to huff and puff? And, why do the feelings that need to be raged against “him” come out at bystanders? Maybe I need to do some kind of ceremonial burying of the anger to enable me to get a better grip on my temper. Or perhaps I need to go out into a forest and scream and wail until I no longer feel comforted by hearing the pain and agony of my life in shrieks and howls. Or maybe I need to keep writing post to this blog.

Tragedy is seeing life’s challenges as insurmountable. But having lived through them, you know that they are just that, challenges, and not tragedies. They are things to be lived through, unfortunately, but which add dimension and some great stories to your life.