(Dis)illusion of control

In the late 1970s, Abramson and Alloy (1980) demonstrated that depressed individuals hold a more accurate view of their control of the social environment than do non-depressed individuals. This finding holds true even when the depression is manipulated experimentally.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Illusion_of_control


How very interesting. Are we realistic because we are depressed, or are we depressed because we are realistic?

Flickr

I have digital pictures everywhere. In the past I used Yahoo Photos the most. I had lots of pictures of Paula's early years there. When I joined BabyCenter and subsequently the private boards I belong to, I started using Photobucket so I could show my pictures on the boards. I also have some pictures on Snapfish and on the Kodak Gallery (from back when it was called Ofoto), even on the Walgreens site. And who knows if there's more somewhere else I don't remember.

I love Flickr the most. It is the one I want to be my main album. Since Yahoo recently bought Flickr, they are phasing out Yahoo Photos and gave users the option to move their images to various services. I selected Flickr.

Here's sample of the pictures that I moved from Yahoo Photos.

Paula, Halloween 2002


Paula's Fourth Birthday


Paula and I on the night before Gabe and I got married.

Surprisingly uninspired Friday

It's Friday. It's payday. I should be ecstatic. I could not feel more blah.

I woke up early this morning, around 5:30 AM. I did not have to get up so early, I could have hit the snooze button a few more times. But I like the quiet house in the mornings. I made myself some coffee and sat down to read a few pages from the book I am currently reading.

Afterwards I woke up Gabe and gave him coffee, and woke up Isa and got her ready. She used the potty for the second time this week. As silly as it may sound, I was very excited about that and praised her greatly.

By now it was sometime after 7:00 AM and I had an 8:00 AM appointment with James, the Fitness Specialist at the gym on campus, so I needed to hurry. I quickly packed my clothes and toiletries so I could shower at the gym, kissed Gabe goodbye and took Isa to daycare. I forgot to pack a towel, as I would later discover.

I was really looking forward to my consultation this morning. We were going to take measurements and go over the first of three strength training workouts on my plan. I got to the gym at 7:55 AM. James was not there yet. I figured he was be on his way, so I hopped on a treadmill and started walking as a warm-up. Thirty-five minutes later, upset that James never showed up, I stopped the treadmill and took to the showers. That's when I discovered I neglected to pack a towel. Sweet! So I showered, used my t-shirt to dry my hair and used paper towels to dry myself. When I left the gym on my way to my office, James still had not shown up. At this point I am concerned that something may have happened to him, but also mad as hell. He stood me up once before, on my very first appointment. He left early that day because he wasn't feeling well, and forgot to e-mail me or call me to cancel, so I showed up and waited for him like an idiot.

So, I am in a pissy mood right now.

I don't know what the deal is

I use Google Reader to keep track of my friend's blogs and other blogs of interest. Well, I posted earlier today and my post still hasn't shown up on Google Reader. It is not the first time it's happened to me and I have noticed it's happened with other people's blogs. What is up with that, Google?

An exercise in futility

I have said before that sometimes we learn more about ourselves from our mistakes than from our triumphs. Nothing original, I know, but it is something I firmly believe. Setbacks have helped me grow as a person and move forward in my life.

Today's post is about one of those mistakes. Once upon a time, over six years ago, I was duped/pressured into getting into a timeshare.

I should have known better, but I was naive and back then I had a hard time saying no. Plus, these people are very effective in their hard sell techniques. Because I could not afford much, I ended up with a blue-period timeshare that I can only use on even years. The blue period is the worst ever, with a very short window to use, and in the middle of winter. Bum deal, right?

Every month for the last six years I have been paying about 91 dollars for the financing of said hellish timeshare, and about 30 dollars for their dues ("owners" need to pay dues and taxes). I can't wait to get out of it, but I don't know how to unload it. The timeshare company will do nothing to help me sell it. There are companies that are dedicated to sell timeshares, but usually they charge owners a fee in advance in order to list for one year, with no guarantee that they will sell it. So I have been biding my time and waiting for the moment when it's all paid for, so I can figure out my next move.

In the meantime, sucky Silverleaf Resorts calls me all the time. Every year they call me and invite me to come over for a free weekend stay, provided I sit down to an update meeting which is really an attempt to get me to upgrade to a more expensive timeshare. I have been to a few of these yearly meetings. One year my parents stayed with me and Paula at a cabin and one morning we saw a body lying underneath the stairs of our building. Needless to say that scared the crap out of me. Was it someone passed out drunk or was it someone dead? I called security and never knew what became of that. No one had the decency to tell us. I skipped several yearly meetings after that.

Last year when they called I decided to take the free weekend. I had Gabriel this time around for support, and I also wanted him, my in-laws and the girls to enjoy the property. It's in a wooded area by Lake Conroe, so it can charming. Overall it was a good weekend, except for two things. One, we took a horse-drawn wagon ride on the property and it was obvious to us that the wagon was too large and heavy for one of the horses to pull. This horse looked tired and skinny, and had an abcess in its leg. At one point there was a steep incline and the horses struggled. I honestly thought the skinny one was going to collapse. Gabe got out of the wagon to lighten the load. I had Isa and did not dare jump out, but I would have if I had been alone. No one else cared, and there was like 8 more people on the wagon. I was furious and when the time for my meeting came, I spent the first ten minutes complaining to the Piney Shores person about the treatment to their horse. I also told them in a very clear way, that there was no way in hell I was upgrading to a more expensive timeshare, that in fact I could not wait to unload it. They were not pleased by that. In fact, the stupid and cynical sales manager told me "good luck selling that". What an asshole. And he expected me to upgrade after such comments? Animal-abusing scumbags is what they are.

After we got home I reported them to the SPCA. It was the least I could do.

Months later, someone from Silverleaf called asking me to refer friends and family so they could contact them. I told them I cared about my family and friends and would definitely not send them over to be screwed by them. That did not go down well.

Last week they called offering me a free weekend so I could go to the yearly update meeting. After talking to Gabe, I accepted. I already know I will not upgrade, and there is nothing they can say to convince me otherwise. Once the meeting is out of the way, I will have time to enjoy the facilities and the cabin. I also want to go check up on the horse, if it's still there.

Hack job, a trite dialogue

Below is my first attempt at writing a story where the dialogue comes from song lyrics:



SHE: So much for your promises. They died the day you let me go.

HE: Will you listen to my story? It'll just be a minute. How can I explain?

SHE: Mmm, what you say? Mm, that you only meant well? Well, of course you did.

HE: You caught me in a lie, I have no alibi

SHE: How stupid could I be? A simpleton could see that you’re no good for me.

HE: I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

SHE: You said you’d die for me

HE: Let's start over.

SHE: There's no excuse. No explanation.

HE: I wish you'd unclench your fists and unpack your suitcase

SHE: Caught up in a web of lies.

HE: I never really wanted you to see the screwed up side of me that I keep locked inside of me so deep

SHE: Excuse me, too busy you're writing a tragedy

HE: (I was doing so well) Can we just be friends?

SHE: Give me something to believe in, cause I don't believe in you anymore, anymore…

HE: Lately there's been too much of this, but don't think it's too late

SHE: I wonder if it even makes a difference to try.

HE: Is this the way it's really going down? Is this how we say goodbye?

SHE: I can’t make you love me if you don’t.

HE: Believe me, if I could undo what I did wrong I'd give away all that I own

SHE: You don't care a bit. You don't care a bit. You don't care a bit. You don't care a bit. You don't care a bit.

HE: All the words that I come up with, they're like gasoline on flames

SHE: The words you say don't have a meaning

HE: I’ll try to do it right this time around.

SHE: Forgive sounds good. Forget, I’m not sure I could.

HE: It's not the time to break up this love. Keep it together now. It's not the time to break.

SHE: How the hell did we wind up like this?

HE: Someday, somehow I'm gonna make it all right but not right now.

SHE: So this is goodbye.

HE: Oh, no!







Songs quoted:

1- Hide and seek, Imogen Heap
2- Shattered dreams, Johnny Hates Jazz
3- It’s not over, Daughtry
4- Makes me wonder, Maroon 5
5- Stupid, Sarah McLachlan
6- Southern Central Rain (I'm Sorry), R.E.M.
7- Someday, Nickelback
8- Cold, Crossfade
9- The Walk, Imogen Heap
10- I can’t make you love me, Bonnie Raitt
11- I’m not ready to make nice, The Dixie Chicks
12- Breakdown, Daughtry

Three things I want my kids to...

Through Corey's blog I found out about Mamablogga's group writing project for June. I have never participated before. But hey, the prize is an Amazon.com gift certificate. How could I not compete?

Here's the rules, quoting from Mamablogga's website:

The theme for the June Group Writing Project is “Three things I want my kids to . . .” You can finish that infinitive with whatever verb you like (do, say, be, wear, have, get away with), and add any qualifiers you like (today, this summer, before they drive me crazy).

Here's my entry:

I want my kids to:

1- Be compassionate and forgiving. May their hearts never be poisoned by hate.

2- Never lose the sense of wonder. To be alive, to walk this earth is such a wonderful blessing, no matter how hard it may be sometimes. I hope they keep the ability to be amazed by the simplest things.

3- Live with no regrets. Life is a journey of self-discovery, and sometimes we learn more about ourselves from our mistakes and bad moments than we do from our triumphs.

Komen Fundraiser update

I am $15 away from my modest goal of $100 in my Komen Houston Race for the Cure fundraising efforts.

Gabe forwarded my web page link to a few friends and business contacts, and one of them pledged $50, the other $5.00. Thank you!

Persistence of vision

Last summer we took a road trip from Houston to Las Vegas. While we were in Vegas, we had the opportunity to see The Blue Man Group live at the Venetian Hotel. It was truly an amazing experience. The videos posted below can not compare to the live show, but at least give a glimpse into their act.

I would love for Paula to see their show. They came to Houston sometime in late 2006, but I wasn't able to take her then. I think it was during one of our financially lean periods.

Now that Paula is going to Orlando, I am campaigning with my parents to get them to take her to see the Blue Man Group show at the Universal Orlando Resort. For a kid Paula's age, that is the type of experience that leaves a mark all her life. But my mom is so fickle, and if she is not interested she is incapable of going for the benefit of someone else. So I very much hope she would get interested, but I fear she might not.

Blue Man Group in concert:

Oh to be a work of art

I spent a couple of hours tonight looking for song lyrics online, and listening to songs on my iTunes so I could pick which ones to use in my story project. And then a song starts playing, a song I got as an iTunes free download of the week, one that was maybe played once and totally forgotten.

And suddenly I was sitting at my computer, writing with tears in my eyes. Isabel came to me and started wiping them with her hand, giving me hugs and telling me to stop crying. My sweet angel. I obliged, and took her to bed.

Satisfied that she is sound asleep, I return to my blank screen. I play the song again. I put the song on my blog as well.

What exactly makes me cry? It's so hard to explain all the emotions this song and its lyrics evoke in me. The short version would be to say it took me back to the worst years of my life, and gave word, like no other song before, to a story of unfulfilled promise, inner turmoil and loss.

Perhaps I should stop the music, right? But I can't.

My father died in January of 1990. A major anchor of my life disappeared. I was on my last semester of college, and had been dreading the next stage, not really sure what I wanted to do with my life after graduation, not quite ready to grow up yet. All I wanted to do was write short stories and hang out with my friends from the Honors Program, attending their poetry readings and acting in scenes for a friend's theater direction class. I had applied to law school because I did not know what else to do, and it seemed like the logical thing to do at the time. One of the last things my dad said to me was how proud he was I had been accepted to the UPR Law School. That comment came back to haunt me many times when I dropped from law school after only one semester.

After my dad's death, my mother fell apart and I had to step in and take care of her. She did not even know how to drive, so I had to take her everywhere. She tried to get me to take charge of her finances, to balance her checkbook. She was just as lost as I was.

It feels so far away now, yet there's a part of me that will forever be frozen in that time.

I got my first boyfriend the summer after my dad's death. The timing is suspect, and I have never understood why I had not allowed anyone to get really close to me until then. We wrote each other letters all the time. He was a writer like me. Still is.

I remember vividly the moment I told my mom I had a boyfriend. She sat down on a rocking chair and started crying. Now that I had a boyfriend, she said, I was going to abandon her and she had no more reason for living.

I started law school that fall. I had a really hard time focusing on my courses. I was just there, drifting with no definite plan. My boyfriend, two years younger than me, was still in college. I was always hanging out at my old faculty, instead of at the law school library.

I lost myself in that relationship. Or rather, I clung to that relationship like it was a lifeline. But there was trouble in paradise. I got pregnant by accident in October of 1990. I had an abortion. I was so ashamed I kept it hidden from my mother and siblings, from most of my friends too.

One of my best friends died a few months later, of an embolism just like my dad.

I dropped out of law school and decided to pursue a Masters in Comp. Lit. I had taken only a couple of elective courses on literature, so I needed to do some prerequisites. I was so green, so naive. My first class was on Caribbean Literature. My professor was a rabid postmodernist, who took pleasure on demolishing people's assumptions of what constituted literary analysis. I remember the first time I tried to discuss a novel. She asked me what did I think I was doing talking about the characters as if they were my neighbors. She had no interest in historical context or what the author meant. Who cares? The figure of the author is dead, no one cares what he meant! Text is to be analyzed in accordance to an analytical framework of our choosing. That was the first time ever I was exposed to the concepts of postmodernism and deconstruction. Nothing was real, everything was a construct, a fiction. To be emotionally engaged when reading a text was not something that was accepted. Everything had to have the life drained out of it and stretched to absurd shapes. We really were not studying literary works, we were studying literary theory.

It was a bit more than I could handle. My personal life was in utter chaos, and unlike other people, I did not have a faith to fall back upon. The only things I could rely on had been taken away from me. Now I could not even enjoy a book without feeling like a simpleton. Everything I had been taught all my life up to then was considered crap. Nothing could be assumed. I lost my sense of security, my sense of the absolute. And what should have an intellectual eye opener was instead a push into the ocean with nothing to hold on to.

There's honestly big chunks of my twenties that are missing from my memory banks. I know I went through the motions. I stopped writing and I dropped out of grad school. I had disappointed everybody. I was so unimportant, so inconsequential. I moved in with my boyfriend. I got a job, we got married, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. All those years there was a constant in my life, a very dark and pervasive depression. It wasn't until the year 2000, after I moved to Texas for work and started over as a single mother, that I began to wake up from the slumber.

All that is what this song brought back to me tonight.


Philosophia, by the Guggenheim Grotto

When we’re young we set our hearts upon some beautiful idea
Maybe something from a holy book or French philosophia
Upon the thoughts of better men than us we swear by and decree a
Perfect way to end the war of ways the only way to be a…

Work of art, oh to be a work of art

But in time a thought comes tugging on the sleeve edge of our minds
Perhaps no perfect way exists at all, just many different kinds
Oh but if it’s just a thing of taste then everything unwinds
For without an absolute how can the absolute define…

A work of art, oh to be a work of art.