The goat/sheep skull thing gave me a giggle so here...
Yes, female (and male) domestic goats almost always are indeed born with the intent of having horns(with the exception of one breed, Pygmy goats, that are naturally polled, and and some goats in other breeds that have been selectively bread to be polled... which means hornless).
Most all goats in the us are disbudded shortly after birth though... no more horns!
(Sheep are a slightly different story and it's much more breed dependent... WAY fewer have horns.)
Lady goats and (some)sheep never reach the grandiose spans of their male counterparts... but can be impressive in their own right.
Some simply curved up and back (boring), some twist out the sides, some sweep back and down... with some of the sheep you even get an extra pair! ;)
Lady Goat... "Not impressed?" she says.
Well, how about some Lady Sheep then?
Yep, that's me, the sheep on the right.
Although, actually these days I think I look like this:
With the strings going in every direction. Watch out, those hip bones are [I]sharp[/I].
Okay. It's time to admit it to myself: I'm in tailspin. I don't want to be (clearly) and I deeply resent it as I do not want to give the source that much power in my life. Perhaps it's just that I have had a searchlight shining on the least edifying parts of my life/self and I am ashamed and cowering? I want to be stronger and more confident than I am.
And I still have such a lot of work to do.
Yesterday I managed to play. A four year old is good inspiration in that regard. We went to the swings and swung until I got sick (I get motion sickness very quickly thanks to an inner ear injury after losing a fight with a car). We went down the slide freestyle. I hung on the monkey bars and raised myself about an inch before the tyranosaurus arms were defeated so I did it again. Small boy drove the tractor and I skipped around like a capering loon.
But I'm sad. A door slammed in my face when I didn't want it to. And there's no acceptable space in my life to acknowledge it and I'm ashamed of myself, of my emotions, of my needs even. Husband is not a saint and is trying to deal in the best ways he can. We await therapy. So I swallow - food, wine - and hope the feeling will go away.
Back to square one. In truth where I always was. There's power in that. I'm rooted here at least.
Do we get just a hint? I won't ask you outright because if you really wanted to tell us you would have, I think, but outside of telling you that I really feel for you (I've seen some stuff in my life, and know deep places some), and hope the Universe sends you some answers or comfort, I dunno' what to say to make it all better and wish I could.
The play was good - I need to take mine to the park for some play - they would really enjoy it.
Today was almost the same as yesterday, but with less wine and whining, so, on the mend. Once this furlough has been passed through I'll forget all the emotion and look at myself in an unpityingly harsh light: wtf, girlfriend? It was ever thus.
I don't know which bit of my effed up childhood resulted in which bit of my warped psychology - that would take more shrink hours than I have left in my life to unravel - but I have a healing tendency to forget emotions. It's the emotional equivalent of the high pain threshold - once the feeling has gone (been eaten or drowned - whichever happens first) it's truly gone. Actually, I have the the ability to exert complete amnesia, particularly when I was younger on any aspect related to the birth family, that's positively helpful (although can be disconcerting to others - you remember that phone call last week...? er, no, what phone call? Should I?).
Anyway, as the silly profiling report from old employer had it: Badgergirl relates to people in the abstract. Yes, I do. Myself included. Aren't we all just a collection of abstractions looking for a pair of brackets to nestle in?
ETA: discovering this made me supremely happy: [URL="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abstraction_(computer_science)"]abstraction (computer science).[/URL]
I'm looking forward to returning to my abusive employer. Getting back to coworkers A-D (who I now think of in terms of the little cats from The Cat in the Hat Comes Back) and having some shape and constructive structure to my days.
Four days at home in a home I don't feel at home in (keep up at the back) have not been as restful as I would have liked.
It's not good form to split the record collection before the fat lady has started her aria. Though, if we do, husband will get the Wagner.
It gets easier, right? Iím out of practice with breaking my addictions. That year I spent sober, just to prove I could, got easier as the days and weeks turned into months. This will too. But I want just one more hit of sweetness. One more high. No. Be honest: I want to be high all day, every day and suck sweetness straight up my nose with a wide-bore straw all night. Iím sitting on my hands and waiting for the intoxicating addiction to pass. This is the come down, clearly. It sucks. Thereís the daunting promise of clarity and hard sodding labour on the other side of these shakes. How exciting.
In other news... Structure and form are good. Power walking through the streets of Melbourne makes me very happy Ė music and movement quickly bring my endorphins out to play Ė and the little cats A, B and C make work a joy, even if the actual work is dire. I also have bitching buddies who walk around the park with me every lunch time and train friends in the morning. Work days have a fullness and provide distractions that home does not. Distraction and fullness mean there is no need to provide myself with the fake distraction and empty fullness that is peanut butter and wine (classy Ė you can take the girl out of the Isle of Wight, but youíll never take the Isle of Wight out of the girl). What is it about peanut butter? Surely crack is less destructive? I can eat it by the tablespoon until I gag on its claggyness blocking my oesophagus and still go back for more as soon as I've managed to swallow.
Masochism, donít you just love it? Certainly one of my many less appealing traits, luckily for me I also have pride. It keeps me out of the gutter, just, for the most part.
I love contextual spamming. You know, Christine, you might be on to something. Perhaps I should starve one addiction by feeding another. Perhaps I should just climb on top of another woman too. And then I'll eat nothing but salted potatoes for a month. The threads are full of good advice this week.
[QUOTE=Christine484;972942]cravings! after weeks, months even, with no cravings, suddenly I'm a carb-craving monster. a deprived carbs-craving monster. I fed the cravings fetta until they slunk back into their hole...but for how long?[img]http://www.qijo.info/09dh.jpg[/img][img]http://www.qijo.info/09ht.jpg[/img][img]http://www.qijo.info/09ax.jpg[/img][img]http://www.qijo.info/09jh.jpg[/img][img]http://www.qijo.info/09bh.jpg[/img][/QUOTE]
Every day gets a little bit easier, but I'm still withdrawing and still have a peanut butter-filled spoon as my home-time companion. Give it another three weeks and a few more half-lives and I'll be clean of this; back to my usual flat self, rather than this substance-craving, shaking, tearful mess.
Last night I waggled weights. That's progress.
And today I applied for a job. That's a triumph in and of itself. So many hurdles to clear in that process: look for advert, see advert, check skills list, remind self that I have skillz, check pay scale, remind self that I'm worth it (or worth more and kick that ad to the curb), get brave, write cover letter, tweak resume, send. I easily fall at any of those hurdles or fall before I begin by not looking.
Husband is being very kind, all things considered. For instance, I've started a his'n'hers list of how to separate our shared life, but at the same time I cannot even begin to imagine loving anyone as much as I love him. I can see both paths very clearly right now and find it difficult to understand that they are 'either/or' rather than 'and'.
I wrote to best friend displaying my fine grasp of expletives and bemoaned the fact that life is real and not like they show it in the movies. There are no grand passions that don't also involve unblocking the dishwasher, screaming children and money worries. Where's my knight on a charger, eh? I can be a damsel in distress if that's what it takes.
(Pillow) princess, indeed.
Yesterday there was peanut butter, but no wine. Tonight I'm aiming for no peanut butter and I'm undecided about the wine. Also, there will be weights again as part of the alternate day schedule.
Since nailing this eating thing I've felt so incredibly alive and energised, but not when I'm at home and only sporadically at work. I feel younger, fitter and much more fierce, but in my relationship/home life all that positivity turns inward and festers. There doesn't seem to be enough space for me, somehow.
Husband and I are in an official holding pattern until therapy begins. Ironic, given that I started all this to tone up for a now-cancelled anniversary party. However, no regrets.
Every day gets easier, in fact now I'm just making excuses to gorge on nuts and alcohol. Last night was pistachios and walnuts (but at least not peanuts, right?) and Frangelico (nuts *and* alcohol, multitasking, woot). However, I really caned the weight waggling as a penance. I need to find an evening distraction that isn't reading other people's lives, as fascinating as that is. The evenings are getting lighter and I could walk the dog on nights where I'm not on bedtime duty with the small boy, but so far the motivation has been lacking. Perhaps tonight is the night for a stroll. I wish I had some friends nearby. I get so lonely and bored. All my friends are very far away and asleep when I'm up and about. Everything gets dragged down by the time lag.
The small boy was in the doghouse last night anyway. He had stolen my Elizabeth Arden lipstick (I'm not a big one for make up, but I do try to buy quality for the few times I use it); hidden it upon is person to avoid detection (husband searched his pockets after we mistakenly thought he'd cut his mouth on something and was covered in blood) - I suspect my best lipstick was in his undies, I pray it wasn't up his butt; taken it to kinder; and made over all the girls. He knows not to touch what isn't his. He knows he's not allowed to take things to kinder without asking. He knows that lying is unacceptable. I was angry/amused. He got to see the angry and one bedtime story (out of two) and bedtime cuddles were withheld.
He complained to husband that he was being over punished.
Later, I remembered the time my friend and I had 'broken into' my mother's make up and used it to give ourselves new faces. We were five or maybe six. My mother spanked - knickers down, bare bottom-style - both of us. Hard. Husband used to get beaten with a wooden spoon and whipped with a belt. Once his mother hit him so hard she broke the spoon. A good Catholic family, that one.
How times change.
I said to husband that this is a new display of cunning on small boy's part and that if he's upping the ante we're going to have to raise our game too.
Husband and I are being very wary of each other. Therapy cannot come too soon.