As I was saying...

There cannot be greater rudeness than to interrupt another in the current of his [sic] discourse.
~ John Locke


Okay, when I started writing this this morning, I was pissed. Off. Now, I'm a bit pissed. Up. Somehow, my perspective is a bit better rounded, I think anyway...

So, as of this morning, I had a problem (stop laughing, I know I have many, but let's just focus in on one in particular for today thankuverymuch...)

On the home front, I am in the midst of a good 'ol rarin' to go scrap with my dear husband and from my point of view it's based on one pretty simple notion of respect and regard which is...he constantly interrupts me...and I do mean constantly...

Now, I know I'm putting a killer statement out there by using the word always in this argument, yet it's true...I cannot remember a time where I was able to complete a full sentence or rather a full thought that was not interrupted by him either interjecting directly with his own commentary, interrupting to "seek clarification" or interrupting the flow of my discourse by opening his mouth when I take a breath or insert a natural comma into my commentary. It's as though he's just waiting for his moment to pounce at my pause...


I've no doubt that those who know me, even socially may be saying "...but KSD, you speak so quickly that the only way to get a word in edgewise is to jump at those pauses"...or perhaps the argument in your mind is that dialogue and conversation is based on two parties sharing, interrupting, interjecting and fighting for their voices to be heard.

I agree, but disagree and if you'd be so gracious to read along while I finish my thoughts dear reader, you'll understand why I think the way I do...


Firstly, let's define dialogue...

One definition is "a dialogue is a reciprocal conversation between two or more entities." ...and another definition is ..."an exchange of ideas and opinions."


On the most banal level when someone is readying to speak whilst another is still in the midst of sharing a thought, it's a clear indicator that the other party is not listening to what the first party has to say; they are merely waiting for a chance for they themselves to be heard. Have I been periodically guilty of this type of behaviour myself? You bet.


So, why is it when my husband does this with me does it affect me so negatively and why do I get so angry? My reaction to these situations can generally go from bad to worse, depending on the time of month or how much I've felt disregarded and how compounded it's been up to that point in the day or week. Yesterday was worse. I slept in the attic.

As someone who fancies herself a writer, someone who absolutely needs to express herself as much as needing oxygen to survive, this is a full and complete assault on my sensibilities; a stifling of my soul, a stiffling of my voice and such a palpable slap in the face that he may as well haul off and knock me out with a punch to face; I feel that deflated and assaulted and I've shared this with him many times in the years of our marriage.


I recognize that my husband's behaviour triggers something within me that's so innate that he's often the uncomely recipient of the backlash that erupts in me for the years of being seemingly ignored (as I've written about previously). This goes back to the exact same reason why I feel like I need to constantly speak at 100 km/h because it's been my experience that I'm not going to listened to or given the opportunity, even in my own haven, my own home to actually finish my thought and fully speak my mind.


So, is it my ego? Am I self-aggrandizing, believing that I deserve to be heard more than my husband does? It does deteriorate and then become a battle of wills, a battle of tongues and whomever has the loudest voice wins...I'm pretty loud...


Then I also start to look at why do I write? What is it that has always drawn me so clearly to this medium and I've figured it out dear reader...it's because this is the only true medium where I actually feel "heard"...


...and my original post goes down a totally different tangent below, but i need to also contextualize my hypocrisy by sharing my experience tonight, a mere 12 hours later...


Tonight, I was with a collective of women, a grouping of souls that I have been waiting my whole life for...and barely throughout my whole night tonight did one of us get to finish a complete thought or a complete story without having to divert to one particular soul that would focus and hear the conclusion of that story...my wish for all of us at the end of us tonight was that in our next meeting of our four souls each one of us would be able to complete a telling uninterrupted, which erupted us all into bellows of reckoning and laughter...


So, how is it I can spend an evening with my women, interrupting, speaking over, doubling the audio with and at the same time completely and utterly resent the same from my husband?...fair enough question, I gather...yet, I don't have a fair enough answer that benefits him...

This all reminds me of another great quote..."A too active mind is not mind at all." ~ Theodore Roethke

When one is not able to share, communicate and be heard, the our minds are simply in a constant state of being a thought interrupted, girl interrupted or constantly transmitting the KFKD (K-F&C*#D) radio broadcast...

What I rail against with my husband is that I have the insights into my reactions, I have the answers that he's seeking, however he doesn't stop interrupting me enough so that I can actually share what those insights are. Then I'm hurt and I shut down and I'm dejected and I run away and lick my wounds. Last night, I slept in the attic.

I think what differentiates that experience from the one I have with my women is that I'm not around them as often as I am with my husband and I expect him to want to hear me more...it's not "equal" and it's not "fair" or "balanced" when viewed comparatively, but in my humble opinion, the dynamic and the relationship between my soul sistahs and my partner are very different in themselves and can't be measured on the same plane...

So foul and fair a day I have not seen...

~ MacBeth, Act I, Scene III

I went to sleep last night with anxiety and I awoke in my nightmare...albeit, at least it's a minority nightmare...

I'm just pissed today. Pissed at all the apathetic, blameless, sanctimonious, smug, superiority complex ridden twats out there that split the vote or just didn't bother last night (oh, don't take it so personally, I'm just venting!!)...it is truly beyond me how 39% of 59% of voters enable a right-wing, ideologically driven, sanctimonious, smug, superiority complex ridden twat to run this country...foisting censorship upon us, ridding us of rights that have been hard fought for and won, endorsing the emptiest of rhetoric and giving us more empty rhetoric in return..."a strengthened mandate"...indeed...

...and then to top it all off, my hubby's off for ten days to Vipassana. I can't begrudge him in the least because it's his turn to sit in Noble Silence and envelop himself in the quiet and solitude amidst a roiling and fervent stream of consciousness...besides, I signed him up for it...

It's only been hours and I miss him already. Part of my mantra when I was gone to Vipassana myself was to recite first thing every morning, "six more sleeps, six more sleeps...five more sleeps, five more sleeps..." counting down until I was home again. So far, my new mantra is "that's one night" whilst I busily distract myself with laundry, lunches, clean up, Corrie and writing.

I'm sure that I'm much like anyone else out there and that whenever change is afoot, my initial reaction is somewhat reticent. As much as my anxiety was primarily due to my husband's imminent departure (and definitely intensified by the crappy election results of yesterday) the funny thing is part of me is relishing the time alone.

I remember a scene from Hope and Glory, a film about growing up in post WWII England and one of my absolute favourites. Part of the draw is that it was nostalgic and a touch romantic for me as my mum often described playing around in bombed out, burnt out shells of buildings as her playground growing up which was a big part of the setting of this film, so it brought to life for me a part of my mum's history; but one line I clearly remember from that film is when the main character's mother is chatting with her male friend (the undercurrent of the interaction being based on a somewhat unrealized love affair between the two) on a train ride home from the beach one day and she speaks about how she never quite grew accustomed to sharing a bed with her husband (who was at that time off at war).

I know how she feels...it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I don't love and lust after my Mav, because in many ways I live for the feeling of rolling over in bed and resting beside him and having him reach out to me and hold me...however...after 10 years as a single mother and only sharing my bed when I really wanted to and then even after being married, giving over to his not being home due to multiple night shifts in a row, I've realized that I usually sleep really well when all alone. I roll over to his side of the bed, stretch out and barely move for the entire evening...truly, barely an inch...

So, although I did advise myself that I should not in my foul and fair day mood write anything for publishing today, I'd say this is rather tame...so, I'm bemoaning my quiet somewhat (along with this crappy same old $300 million dollar repeat minority government), but I'm going to make the most of this time flying solo with the kiddies and having the late hours to myself alone...

On being thankful...

Being Thanksgiving, I am thankful for...

...this incredibly beautiful weather, sitting outside on the porch, a glass of sangria, the sound of my daughter playing basketball in the drive and laughing with her best friend, the birds singing, for my beautiful boys sleeping in their beds, for my incredible husband and his love and graciousness, for the cooking and the dinner prep that's pretty much already done, for the memory of my mum and the tears I've shed for her throughout the day, for the incredible colours of the leaves in the trees in my neighbourhood, for my dad and the love and fun and companionship that he has has found with Terry, for my lovely little niece Miss Madeleine and her big, huge, happy hugs, for my sister's new job and all the security and freedom it's given her to have fun and enjoy her life more fully, for the wonderful smells in my kitchen, for my amazingly imperfect home, for my neighbours and the celebration of Jane's 50th, for a job that challenges me and let's me work from home, for my life all told, warts and all, for anapanna and vipassana, for my husband's 10 days away, for my love of writing, for my first non-friend response on my blog!!, for the great music on 103.9FM today that has fully taken me down memory lane, for the chance to sit, for a Thanksgiving in shorts and no sleeves, for the impending excitement of my family coming, for the phone call from my best friend to start my day, for the love I feel, for the blessings I have, for the friends I know and have yet to meet, I am ever so thankful...

A sign of maturity...

A sign of maturity is when someone speaks about their major surgery, and you don't speak about yours. ~ Anonymous

I don't entirely know why, but this is something that I grapple with and I realize that this is something that I've done throughout most of my adult life. I'm not proud of it and my awareness about this habit comes in waves; sometimes I'm super aware and other times, I'm totally oblivious.

Why is it I inject myself into almost every single conversation I have? When I'm delivering any training to the sales team that I support at work I often share with them that the best way to get people to talk to you is to get them to talk about themselves; if you listen to the next five people that you interact with, I guarantee you will hear, "me...our...we..."...why?...because it's all about me, man...it's no wonder that that's become one of the most common phrases to see printed on t-shirts and just about anything else commercial, especially for kids. What are we teaching our next generation about humility and modesty?

What drives this behaviour, this notion? Is it insecurity? Narcissism? A way for me to relate to a situation? A method for building rapport and showing understanding or empathy to my co-conversant? Does every conversation have to have me add a "me too!" into the mix?

I think it's a mixture of all of the above, really...and truly, I hate it. Even when I'm in the midst of a conversation and I'm telling myself in my head to shut up, I just can't seem to help myself...

I've realized after five years of cognitive therapy (aka psychotherapy, where you are basically aided by a therapist to answer your own questions because ultimately, you know what the answers are) that I have spent a ton of energy in my life raising my hand, jumping up and down doing the Horshack, desperately seeking acknowledgement for who I am or what I've done..."look at me, LOOK AT ME!!...can you see what I can do?...did you see what I did?"

It doesn't seem to matter if it really is a shared experience (I have a tattoo too...see how cool I am too??...see??...see?!?!) or if my husband's working through a weekend and then comes home and I show him all the projects I did throughout the day (cleaned this, organized that, replaced this, created this, took care of that), I find some way to highlight myself. A desperate means of seeking validation which really does embarrass me.

I recognize now that I spent a lot of my childhood feeling invisible. My parents are and were great people in many regards and I love them dearly. As far as being involved in my life though, they don't earn any stars for that part of their job. They spent little energy engaging myself or my sister or just being involved in our lives. I of course have taken things to the other extreme when it comes to my own teenaged daughter (much to her chagrin at times I'm sure). I felt dismissed a lot; one of the best examples I can share of that experience was when the song Lean on Me came out in the 80s. I remember turning to my parents and saying to them, "it's like an anti-suicide song" only to have my mother look at me derisively and then have my father say to me, "What the fuck are you talking about?". Hhrrmm. Is it a wonder that I pretty consistently still seek validation in my every day being almost 40 years old now...

This is still part of my journey; part of the me loving myself and accepting myself work that I'm still about. It's recognizing that I'm an amazing person in my own right and that I don't need to make it all about me all the time.

So, to those that I've offended, my humblest apologies...to those that I've annoyed, please abide me with some compassion...and if I keep it up, feel free to do what my family does whenever I start to repeat my stories that they've already heard over and over...just raise your hand, show me five fingers and remind me that you've already heard it all before..."five times Karen, five times..."