Peanuts for pistacios

I have an old friend, someone who has meant a lot to me in my life, but for all the wrong reasons. You see, I should've recognized him for the fraud that he is a long time ago, but my innocent/ignorance/unassuming way, I did not. I think perhaps there was much about him that subconsciously reminded me of my father, and I was intrigued by his blatant statements. Oh, and you see, also, I met him in my favorite building on campus. The building was the official Humanities Fine Arts center on campus. It's architecture was simple by today's standards, but at the time, the first time I saw it, this being after witnessing some wonderful castles and cathedrals in Germany, Austria and Switzerland, well, something about the simple nuveau lines of the building on the outside. The rumors of the ghost on the inside, but more importantly it was the place I sang in a choir, the Messiah, for the first time in my life having been talked into dropping choir in 7th grade with my rowdy, unmotivated best friend, so we could hang out in an extra study hall and do nothing but pass meaningless notes to friends and develop a crush on a particular upper classman who would be another person I fell for --for all the wrong reasons. "I didn't know what the right reasons were!" today I plead. Why wasn't I taught or why didn't I learn about self-dignity and self-preservation and more importanly self-love when I was a child. And more importantly, now that I realize this horrible lack (enough to publically post it on a blog--albeit an unread blog--even my husband doesn't care about what I write here--even though he gave me the computer for Christmas that I asked for and he set up the screen saver to flash and wave "Now I will write!" in shiny metallic block letters) Okay, enough, I digress, I go off on a little sidebar of the brain, follow a little synapse that goes happily on it's way off the main path. MAYBE THAT'S MY PROBLEM--I DON'T HAVE A MAIN PATH AND NEVER HAVE. Sometimes I think that....oh, what does it matter I think a lot and who ever heard of using a public blog as a sounding post? as a therapist? I write for my sanity sometimes. I get lost when I read too much about what other people write about what should be writtten or quality. I also get lost when I fall back on my suspect mysognistc upbringing. My father, did not respect women. He said that he loved his wife, most definitely, but he blamed women for the problems in the world. He said cutting remarks about women at poignant times throughout my "formative years." How do I learn to love myself and respect myself? I'm 45 years old, if I haven't learned it yet, when am i going to learn it. And I have 3 sons I am raising. I need help. But the pastor we have at the current church I "belong" to which I did not even go to at Christmas! this year, well, I don't feel inspired by him or like I belong. Oh, yes, I am a tormented soul and probably have a lot of material for some works of literature, some stories, some poems, a play or two, maybe a wonderfully hopeful children's book. The children's book of my childhood, the iconic book, the book that holds untold depth must be "the giving tree" by shel silversteen. Now that is a book. the problem is, it's a sad book about the exploitation of devotion--at least that one interpretation. The tree's ability to give all until nothing is left--maybe that was my mother. Oh, how I miss her and oh how I wished that she could've had a wonderful life. I am sure there were parts of her life that were much more notable and joyful than parts of my life. Simpler. Purer? I don't know. Maybe I just idealize her childhood. But she was beautiful and she was smart and talented and oh, so lovely. And had a best friend. And had a spirited mother who was like her best friend only she had another best friend Barbara who was the best friend a girl ever had.

I never got to the subject title of my post. I never told about HFA. I never explained much. I just rambled. If anyone reads my blather here, please know this is dross, but I believe some is worth refining. Also, I think I developed this maddening stream of conscious through Artist's Way workshop.

Oh, and to further muddle, here are some categories I have listed to help me organize my oldest son's room:
!) Entertainment
@)Sentimental
#)Academic
$)Useful

~Liz