So, since the beginning of this journey, I’ve processed being the adult child of a narcissist; coming from a family with addiction; Divorce Crazy; intimacy issues; hyper-responsibility; and emotional fuckwittery going both ways in my marriage. There’s a certain point where you think I’d be done, where the disorders and the issues and the endless fucking processing would cease, or at least have the common decency to wane a little bit. I’ll tell you something, there is nothing I find more annoying or precious than coming up with another flipping label for what I’m going through. And yet to my embarrassment, I have to admit: It kind of works.

Let me give you a for instance: I have severe trust issues, more severe than I ever really understood. I mean, I knew that I had certain problems with accepting love. Whenever a man has told me he loves me, my response has been to say, either in text or subtext, “Ah…. no, you don’t.” That ain’t right, and I always knew that. The thing is, I’ll trust strangers completely, but as soon as I’ve got an emotional dog in the fight, as soon as I’m really close, I stop trusting. In a weird inverse of rationality, the better I get to know someone, the more I care for them, the more potential they have to hurt me, and hence, the less I will actually trust them. Hell, let’s not forget - when my kid told me I was a great mom, my response was to tell her she was mistaken.

So, yes, I know – all of this has been apparent for some time. But as it’s recently cropped up again, wreaking some serious havoc on my emotional landscape, I cooked it down to its essence and realized that the heart of all these problems is trust. A quick session on the couch with Dr. Google, and I found these symptoms about a popular psychological ailment:

1. It might lead them into questioning their self worth.
2. They may develop low self-esteem and end up blaming themselves for the abandonment.
3. They might suffer from guilt, and convince themselves that they deserved to be abandoned because the parents thought they were better off without the burden of them.
4. They might not be able to trust easily and share their emotions with others.
5. They may develop general fear, insecurities and uncertainty. And they might feel the need to cling on to others.
6. In severe cases they might even have eating and sleep disorders like nightmares.
7. They might even suffer from physical ailments like depression, tiredness and anger.
8. In case of a single parent abandoning the child, the child might idealize the present parent and reject everything associated with the absent parent.

Yep, yep, yep, yep… all down the line.

Fucking abandonment issues now. Jesus.

Look, you know, I’m okay with flipping open the skull cap and poking around a bit. That’s great, everyone needs a mental tune-up every now and again. Fine. But here’s the thing… I’m a little tired of it. I’m tired of the labeling, I’m tired of the diagnosis. It all seems trite and wallowy and not a little self-indulgent.

But fuck if it didn’t help. Once I knew what it was, once I understood where it came from, it seemed to dissolve. Not entirely, not 100%, but enough that I was able to release my death grip on the damage. Which is the whole point of figuring this crap out, I know. You look at your gray matter, you tinker, you label, you get a handle on it, and you release it. I know.

Still. Just hell. Eventually, this’ll be done, right? I mean, for Christ’s sake. I know I had a crappy childhood, I know I took on a lot of damage, but my life is good now. I’d like very much to just move on.

Yeesh.

First, I have to tell you that I write this after finishing off half a pint of Graeter’s Mocha Chip. So the emotional eating… I’m back on that roller coaster. Exercise, I’m actually doing pretty well. I had a month where I didn’t exercise at all – first, I had the surgery that had me out for two weeks, then Alastair was here. But now I’m back to 4-5 times a week, so that’s good. My overall body image/weight issues? Still in full force, and what it all comes down to is the emotional eating.

Again. Because for some reason, I keep playing that damn tune.

For the last three months or so, my life has been in emotional upheaval. Things have been arcing toward the good, but the road there was littered with one emotional hit after another. Right now, I feel a little tattered, a little scattered, a lot disconnected. Part of that is the book – part of me always retreats when I’m deep in, and right now, I’m pretty deep in. Which sucks for my personal relationships, because I tend to live very much in my head during these times. But overall, I think I’m just processing the last few months’s worth of upheaval, and I’m processing it with Nutter Butters, wine, and cigarettes.

Ugh.

The thing is, as I’ve realized, this path toward health is not about being virtuous. I don’t think there’s anything morally superior about not going to Steak n’ Shake. I do think that, regardless of whether I lose weight or not, it’s important to keep moving towards a healthier lifestyle, because I feel better when I’m living to that. And I’ll get there, but not to harp on Meggrs, I think I’m finally at a place where I can accept and love myself the way I am, I’m just happier when I’m feeling healthy, which I haven’t been for the last few months.

So, tomorrow, I’m going to wake up and go to the gym. I’m going to get on the elliptical and do my thing, and once the weather becomes more amenable, I’m going to head back to the park and start the Couch to 5k over again. Because I really like the C25k program, but I like it in progress. I like the accomplishment of running 90 seconds, then 3 minutes, then 5 minutes, then 8 minutes, etcetera. Once I get to 25 minutes at a clip, I’ll probably head back to the elliptical and do that for a while. But I have to give myself credit; I’ve been exercising regularly for about 4 months now, which is more than I’ve ever done before. That’s something. Eventually, I’ll get the eating right, but for the moment, I’m still making progress, and I’m arcing in the right direction.

And really, what else can you ask of yourself, right?

Okay. Everything on the table, the woman has problems. I have trouble fostering a relationship with her because we don’t share the same reality. It’s one thing to disagree about something; I can handle a disagreement. But half the time, my mother insists the thing we’re disagreeing about doesn’t exist, and how do you work with that?

One example; when I was a kid, I got sort of abducted by a pervert for, like, 20 minutes. In the big grand scheme, not a huge deal, but we had to call the police and make out a report and whatnot. In my twenties, my mother insisted she had no memory of it. At all. Never happened. Then, ten years later, it comes up in conversation again, and she insisted that she remembered it, and never said she didn’t remember it. Shit like that, over and over and over again. Some of the gaslighting was much more malevolent and damaging, some of it was just annoying. The thing is, I can work out differences, I can even agree to disagree, but I do kind of need the person I’m dealing with to consistently acknowledge that said differences exist.

So… there’s that.

In November, we had our Final Straw, and those of you who were here at the beginning may remember that my mother is where the whole “who’s rowing your lifeboat” thing began. I haven’t spoken to her since. I have allowed her to write to the kids and for them to write back, but you know kids… they don’t write. And I’m not going to force them. But, this week, a big box came full of stuff for the kids along with a passive-aggressive letter to them about how my mother’s phone calls don’t seem to get answered, even though the terms of the contact was “no phone calls” which was made perfectly clear but she had to get the jab in, so… guess who didn’t read the letter from their grandmother? Which was just as well. The entire letter was me, me, me, me and oh by the way did I mention me? and you know what? My kids deserve better than that.

And yet… I’ve got the guilt. Which was the intent of the stupid letter to begin with, because I told her I’d read everything she sent them first. So, point one to Mom.

Now guilt, with me, is huge. I was raised by a woman whose victimized worldview was supported by my feeling sorry for her, so I guess it stands to reason. It’s been all I could do in this past year just to recognize the guilt when it happens. It’s so interwoven into the fibers of my subconscious that there’s no way to stop it; it’s a huge victory if I can just point and say, “Hey, there it is, the squirrelly little bastard.” Half the time, Jenny has to point it out for me. Thank God she’s here, she’s got eagle eyes, I swear.

But. Anyway. My point being… this. I’m thinking about reconnecting with my mother for no other reason than that I feel guilt about it. Which, I think, is probably a bad reason.

Look, I don’t believe you owe anybody anything just because they’re family. If they treat you like crap, they’re off the lifeboat. That’s it. That said, if you can create a workable relationship, you should try, because cutting off family is serious business, and it causes damage you have to heal. What it comes down to, I think, is what creates more damage; the relationship, or the radio silence.

My mother has got emotional issues, as stated above, that make it impossible to work things through, because the ground under our feet is always shifting on the whims of her chosen reality for that day. But still… she’s my mother. She’s their grandmother. I don’t want the kids thinking that it’s not a big deal that I don’t speak to my mother or my brother; it’s a big fucking deal. It’s just that they give me no happiness and all pain. Those relationships are toxic to me beyond the telling of it, and the very thought of opening up communications between me and my mother again makes me kind of want to vomit.

I’m taking that as a sign against.

What’s to be gained by resuming contact with my mother? For me, having a mother, I guess, although really… having no mother is better than having a toxic one, right? And what kinds of favors am I doing my kids in preserving their relationship with her? When do you leave it alone? What do you owe family? And when is it time to just drop it for good?

Toni (southern fried betty):

The “Glee” opening to the Emmys:

That’s genius! I love it! –L

280: It’s a Wonderful Job

Jenny:

Barefoot in the Park. There’s this scene where Mildred Natwick rolls down the steps . . .

Yeah. We’re definitely going to hell for enjoying that so much. Of course, we were going anyway… –L

Skye (Sunshine Betty):

I am the only person on the planet who hasn’t watched When Harry Met Sally. No one has yet sat on me to make me watch it.

Consider me sitting. We’re watching it at Popcorn Dialogues on Friday, November 12th. Set up your DVD at 7pm EST and tweet it (using #PopD hashtag) live with me and Jenny, and the podcast will be up the following day. Join us!

DivaBetty:

I cannot imagine having the conversation with a woman that I just had (shouted through bathroom door) with dh:

Him: (pounds on door) Lora! Lora!

Me: What? Is something wrong?

Him: Um, the dog drank some water.
(now said dog has to be coaxed to drink but still…)

Me: Anything else?

Him: Nope. Just thought you needed to know.

Me: Right now???

Him: Well yeah.

Me: I’m in the shower. Please don’t bang on the door unless there’s an emergency room or smoke detector situation.

Him: Why?

Me: Because. Just. Don’t.

Sounds a lot like me and my kids. –L

279: Sex. Bacon.

Gina:

You call the post Sex. Bacon. and mention neither? Tease.

Heh heh heh… –L

Alastair (Bald Betty):

Sam Adam’s Octoberfest sounds like a good compromise for any occasion. Lani and I tried the… was it the Autumn, darling?

It was the Summer Ale, and it was very good, as I recall. Also, I made him drink Pete’s Wicked Strawberry Blonde, which has always been a favorite of mine. Very girly, but Alastair pulled it off. Of course, he’s a 6’4″ Scotsman, so he can still look masculine while drinking a girly beer.

One of these days, he’s gonna make me try a Guinness. I just know it. –L

278: Dirty Sausage

I apologize for the title of this post. It was the kind of thing that makes sense when you’re writing a post last minute at 1 in the morning. I did appreciate the valiant attempts of the Betties to not get too dirty with it. Then again, low-hanging fruit… –L

Kara/Velvetty Betty:

Now I can’t stop thinking about sausages.

Yeah. That was bound to happen. It’s kind of like the conceptual version of an earworm. –L

Betty Fokker:

I’m so glad I’m not the only one with a nerdcrush on Alton Brown!

Oh, not the only one at all. Smart and wonky – that’s how I like ‘em! –L

Mary Stella:

Stormy, there is no waiting period to become a Betty. Just embrace the essence of Bettyism and you will be. Don’t need a Betty nickname unless one strikes you.

Welcome aboard. We’re all Betties on this bus.

What MS said. Welcome aboard to all new Betties – you’re a Betty the second you decide you want to be one. –L

277: What’s With all the Screaming?

DivaBetty:

The year my class was crazy for Taylor Swift I wished for the sweet release of death.

Darth Betty:

There is *nothing* quite as funny as a 6 year old little girl running around the house singing corporate-speak zombie.

Annie:

That was almost my wedding song.

Come sit by me, Annie. I can see you’re my type of person.

And for those of you who asked for Alastair’s version of the song, here it is. He’s awesome, isn’t he? –L

276: Pretty Maths

June:

I have no idea what he is talking about.

Yeah, me, either, but I love that he can write a song about arcane mathematical principles. And the video is very cool. Takes a lot of time and effort to do stop-frame like that. I love geeks. –L

betty behind the wheel:

I thought a Mandelbrot Set was something you bought at IKEA:)

DivaBetty:

I’m having what I call a Betty Day. Husband’s working so I’m home reading a wonderful book curled up on comfy clothes with a puppy by my side. Let freedom ring.

I love that. A Betty Day to all, and to all, a good Sunday! –L

So, for those of you who enjoyed Jonathan Coulton yesterday, here’s a cool music video made at Cornell University, set to his Mandelbrot Set.

Oh, and if you don’t know what the Mandelbrot Set is, do a search on Google. I’m not a math person by any stretch; the only reason I have any familiarity (limited as it is) with the Mandelbrot set is because Fish was into fractals. But I think that the visual elegance of a mathematical formula says things about the universe that I can’t begin to understand. All I know is, it says very, very cool things.

Enjoy!

For those of you unfamiliar with the sausage-as-product conceit, it’s basically this: no one wants to see the inner workings of any industry. No one wants to know how the “sausage” of any particular business gets made, because it’s either disgusting, disheartening, or depressing. In extreme cases, all three. I think with publishing, it’s mostly just disheartening.

But since it’s the major thing on my mind at the moment, I’ll share.

See, here’s the thing. I have this sausage, tentatively titled A Little Night Magic. This book has been with me for three years, in various forms. There are solid arguments to be made that the early forms resemble this current form only in the fact that the heroine’s name is Liv. I threw an early form out to publishers in 2008, and it got roundly rejected, and it should have, for it was Flawed. Finally, after much sturm and drang, wine and rewriting, I sold a later version to the brilliant Jennifer Enderlin, who is, without hyperbole, one of the greatest editors ever to walk the earth. I have wanted to work with this woman since I started writing. I’m trying not to let it bother me that she got me at what is possibly the lowest moment in my creative life; I’m just grateful I get to work with her. And, thanks to her guidance and the endless cheerleading of my equally brilliant agent, Stephanie Rostan, I’ve finally beaten this hideous sausage into something with a semblance of story. There’s a strong antagonist, decent structure, and a lot of fun there.

Where I fell down is in the romance. Considering I started writing this at the same time my marriage started to fail, and have been struggling with it throughout that experience, I’m not terribly surprised that the romance was anemic. But the thing is, whatever else it may be, this sausage is mostly a romance sausage, so I kind of need to fix that. Since it’s… you know… central, and everything.

And now, I think that maybe, possibly, I have. Maybe. I don’t know. I’m about to dive into what I’m hoping will be the final revision with what I think is a decent romance storyline, but hell if I know. It’s only what I do for a living. Jeez.

So all this to say, with the full understanding that opportunities for really dirty adventures in euphemism abound… FGBVs, please, in abundance, for my sausage.

God, there’s just no way to say that that doesn’t sound dirty. But it’s a blog, so I’m letting it go.

Oh, sure you are. Click to find out.

$40 gift certificate from JoAnn’s:

Congratulations, Brenda (Betty Boop)! I’ll send your e-mail address to CJ to get you two hooked up!

Signed ARC of Maybe This Time (in stores now!) from Jenny:

Congratulations, Georgie Porgie/Bodacious Betty/Kate George! E-mail me (lucy at lucymarch dot com) with your address, and I’ll get it signed and in the mail for you!

For those of you who didn’t know, Maybe This Time is out, and it’s fabulous! Hit Jenny’s blog for more behind-the-scenes stuff, as well as the recipe for the best banana bread ever. And I should know – I tasted all of them!

Some of the fabulous movies I’ve enjoyed over the last few days are:

Music & Lyrics

Down with Love

French Kiss

The Sure Thing

Amelie

I have more on the docket, but I’m wondering what your favorite romance movies are? Chances are, if it’s good, I’ve got it, but on the off-chance that I might have missed something great, what do you guys suggest? What are the top vote getters on your romance movie list? Bonus points for comedy – I’m trying to keep the light, fun tone as well – but any solid romance will do. What do you have for me, Betties?

If that doesn’t make your Monday, I got nothing. Well, obviously, I have nothing, that’s why I’m giving you Hugh Grant in a Wham! parody. But still. Happy Monday, Betties!