#TWM

So...I recently started re-watching all seasons of Grey's available on Netfix. It will forever be my favorite show. Not because of the stories, (which have quickly gained an absolutely ridiculous standing), but because of the narratives that bring it all home and together and always, always, always strike a fabulous chord with me. And somehow, the episodes I watch at the times they happen to be seen, fall into whatever place I am stuck in my head and make me feel at peace with being me. So, despite the abhorrence some of you may have for my favorite show, I give you, in no particular order, some of my most favorite Meredith quotes (and others). Enjoy. I hope they bring you some of the solace they so often give me. 

"At the end of the day when it comes down to it, all we really want is to be close to somebody. So this thing where we all keep our distance and pretend not to care about it each other?...its usually a load of bull. So we pick and choose who we want to remain close to. And once we've chosen those people, we tend to stick close by, no matter how much we hurt them. The people that are still with you at the end of the day, those are the ones worth keeping. And sure sometimes close can be too close, but sometimes that invasion of personal space? It can be exactly what you need." -Meredith

"It can be scary to find out you've been wrong about something. But we can't be afraid to change our minds, to accept that things are different...that they'll never be the same-for better or for worse. We have to be willing to give up what we use to believe. The more we're willing to accept what is and not what we thought...we'll find ourselves exactly where we belong." -Meredith

"It might be hard for a surgeon to admit, but there's no shame in simply being human. It can be a relief to stop hiding, to accept who you really are and let the world see you that way, too. A little self awareness never hurt anybody. Because when you know who you are its easier to know what you're about and ultimately, what you really need." -Meredith

When we follow our hearts, when we choose not to settle, it's funny isn't it?...a weight lifts, the sun shines a little brighter...and for a brief moment at least, we find a little peace. -Meredith

It's one of those things that people say, you can't move on until you let go of the past. Letting go is the easy part, it's the moving on that's painful. So sometimes we fight it, try and keep things the same. Things can't stay the same though. At some point, you just have to let go. Move on. Because no matter how painful it is, it's the only way we grow." -Meredith

"Actually finding out that you've been looking at things wrong all along can be sort of liberating and suddenly you see new potential...new possibilities, where you'd never seen them before and that's all fine when a hopeless situation suddenly looks good. Unfortunately, sometimes it goes the other way. -Meredith"

Cristina: There's a club, the dead dad's club and you can't be in it until you're in it. You can try to understand, you can sympathize, you can try to feel that loss...my dad died when I was nine. George, I'm really sorry you had to join the club.

George: I...I, I don't know how to exist in a world where my dad doesn't.

Cristina: Yeah, that never really changes. 


"At some point maybe we accept that the dream has become a nightmare. We tell ourselves that the reality is better. We convince ourselves its better that we never dream at all, but the strongest of us, the most determined of us, we hold on to the dream or we find ourselves faced with a fresh dream we never considered. We awake to find ourselves, against all odds, feeling hopeful. And if we're lucky we realize, in the face of everything, in the face of life, our true dream is being able to dream at all. -Meredith"

Advice Is Like Snow...

"Advice is like snow-the softer it falls, the longer it dwells upon and the deeper it sinks into the mind." -Unknown

It snowed tonight. It was the first of the season. The wet, sticky kind that would stick if the earth were cold enough to let it. Instead it melted as it hit the pavement. I was at work talking with my GM and a few other employees when I noticed the flakes falling outside. For the very briefest and fleeting of moments I thought about the silence that seems to befall the world when it snows. It's as if all the night's noises are muffled by the pillow of snow. And then I thought about how the most audible of sounds at that time is the splash of cars' tires as they push their way down the road through the slush. That led me to thinking about endless months of cold and wet and blah. All these thoughts passed through my head in seconds...then I reached for my phone to call you. My hand didn't even make it half way to it before I stopped and remembered you wouldn't answer.

On my way home from work an hour later, I called you anyway, like I do every year. Even though I knew you wouldn't answer, I just wanted to hear your voice on your message. And then it hit me. I haven't cried in a while when remembering you. I think of you every day and I miss you all the time. And it often makes me sad. But I haven't cried. Tonight I did and it was overwhelming.

I miss you, Dad. Sitting here typing this, I am thinking about all the memories I have of you that involve snow. Sledding at the Prior Lake house down that big ass hill, then later at VA when we were older. I can remember you teaching me to make snowballs. I can still see your hands packing the snow together, showing me just how it's done to create the ultimate sting. I remember all the times you'd arrive home from work and my brother and sister and I would be too consumed in building snowmen to notice you'd pulled in the driveway. It wasn't until we were being ambushed and bombarded with snowballs that we even realized you were there.

I have always felt like I have this empty place in my heart, Dad. When you died it quadrupled in size. I have no idea how to begin to close that hole. I know I'll never fill it, but I think repair is possible, to some extent. The thing I find myself missing most often are our talks. Never very long, but always so full of thought, love and honest advice. I miss talking to you everyday, multiple times a day, more than anything I've ever missed. Sometimes I miss our talks as much as I imagine I would miss my right arm if I suddenly lost it in some tragic turn of events. This last 2 days alone I have wanted YOUR advice and thoughts on things at work, at home with the kids, men in my life, my car, future education I may one day seek more enthusiastically...the list continues.

My life will probably never be the same. I can't honestly say it would be more bearable had you died as an old man instead of the young one you were. I think I would still feel the same things as deeply as I do and with as many years between your death and now. I can't stop missing our talks. I love you, dad. And I miss you. All the time.

TWM...When It All Falls To Crap...

It's a little bit horrifying just how quickly everything can fall to crap. Sometimes it takes a huge loss to remind you of what you care about the most. Sometimes you find yourself becoming stronger as a result. Wiser. Better equipped to deal with the next big disaster that comes along. Sometimes. But not always. -Meredith

Meanwhile I Keep Searching For A Heart...

"They tell me love requires a little standing in line and I've been waiting for you, lover, for a long, long time. I've been pacing the floor, I've been watching the door. Meanwhile I keep searching for a heart."

Well. Zevon, obviously, was a freaking Genius. Lyrically and possibly definitively. I have heard the lyrics to the above mentioned song on many occasions. I only recently understood (as in, was able to verbally understand, the lyric 'a little standing in line') parts of it and Holy freaking shitsnacks did it happen at a inopportune time. I am at a point in my life where I am divorcing the man I have been with for 10yrs. Ten. Mother. Fucking. YEARS. Time enough to decide what qualities are important in a spouse, or mate. Qualities that...when you are 17 fucking years old you can NOT decide are things you HAVE to have in the future. I have been making a list, mentally, for...years probably, about the qualities I MUST have in a future partner. I have been planning a blog post...pros vs. cons...on this topic for a while as well.

So. Here I am tonight and there is A LOT on my mind. And about 4 sentences prior to this, I received a text from a man I enjoy ALL-too-much. And it just...ugh!!! It is all too freaking annoying, cruel, imperfect and horribly...just...fucking...BULLSHIT. Really. It is. If you knew me, my life, my wants, my desires, my hopes, dreams, lustful thoughts....whatever! You would know. You would be as completely frustrated with life that you want to smack the hell out of anyone that tells you love is real. Tells you happiness exists. Tells you it takes a long time to find the things you want. My friend, that I ADORE, called my life, and only the little he knows about it "twistedly poetic". My response was "Twistedly poetic??? It's a sick fucking joke." This friend has called me "intriguing". He, I think, is insane.

Fuck. I *may* not be thinking entirely clearly. My point is this (I think I have a point but please don't hold me to it): there is apparently a slew of fucking men that seem to think I am exceptional. More than enjoy my company. Love my sense of humor. My love of sports. That I can drink any fucking Irish man under the freaking table. I am not sure how they fail to notice that, as of late, I am cynical, angry and pissed the fuck off at the God damn world. Men that know those things....somehow...none of them...work for me. Because now? Now I have a mother fucking LIST. BITCHES. (I'll do that in another post one day).

I always wanted to be the well educated, gorgeous-in-sweats-with-an-au-natural-glow, looks like a pro while running, cute when angry, special woman men like Hiatt, Joel, Zevon and the others write songs like Feels Like Rain, All About Soul and Mutineer about. I ended up cynical but wonderfully optomistic. I love the rain, I know my soul, I pray for those I love, speak my mind, even when it mean disrespecting the people I love because, God damnit, sometimes it just comes to that. I love the people I hate because that is what Jesus would fucking do. I cry myself to sleep at the end of most days because I cannot believe that I settled for less than any of the surface bullshit qualities I listed above, let alone someone that doesn't set my soul on fire.

I am sick of men wanting the things about myself I hate. Or worse! Seeing things in me that simply aren't there. I'm honestly just annoyed at this point. I am not even divorced yet and the prospect of dating, looking or actively pursueing anyone scare the good and dirty fuck out of me. I have kids already. I have ZERO desire to ever remarry. I want self dependence. My own space. My own bed. A bed that can house my kids and I on a Saturday morning. A bed with pillows soaked in my tears. One that smells of my shampoo and bar soap.

I am sick of men telling me what an interesting, awesome, just-what-I-want-in-a-woman, woman I am. How my personality is exactly what they want. I am sick of being the hypothetical "girl next door". I want to just be me. I want to be me in every way, shape and form and I want for THAT to be enough. I want for that to be "tragically poetic" but in a beautiful way. I want to be all the things I'm not. But I still want the things I am to be enough for the people that need me.

If I weren't so fucking hell bent and giddy on making everyone that enters my life happy, I think it would make ME more happy. I really fucking hate it to shit when the people I think could love the shit out of me, don't have the fucking time of day, or evening, or night-because...of whatever.

Remembering who you are is tough. Being who you are is tougher. Remembering who you are, where you came from and being strong, proud and tough as shit to actually behave in accordance with that is the toughest. Fuck anyone that can't keep up with you and God bless the poor bastards that try like hell. Make Saints of the ones that manage to fill your void without making you hate them, get it and stay with you when you try like the she-devil to try and make them do so.

She Balls Make Me Awesome...

So recently I received a phone call from a man I have known since I was probably about 7 or 8 years old. My dad met him when we first moved to IL and had started a new job here. His wife, JMK (whom I always treated me like a 'grown-up' and I love her so very dearly for that) and their 2 kids quickly became family to mine.  As a kid I spent A LOT of time at their house with my family. I don't recall what year it was, but they moved about 3 hours away at some point and we saw them less and less until eventually, as often happens, we lost track of each other.

When my dad was diagnosed with cancer, I thought it only right to track his friend, John, down and let him know of dad's diagnosis. We spoke occasionally after that about the truth of dad's condition, as when John would talk to my dad on the phone, there was no doubt in his mind my dad wasn't letting on the full truth of the severity and aggressiveness of his disease. I think John knew I wouldn't bullshit him. When dad's cancer eventually took his life, I think it was me that called to tell John and Joanie, but in all honesty, I don't recall too many details about what happened the week following his death. In any event, John came up for dad's service and gave a speech that moved everyone to tears.

So, what does this sad, sappy, love-filled story have to do with big, brass, balls, you ask? Well, if you knew my dad, and in particular if you watched him suffer through the cancer and not ONCE complain, you would know he had manly cajones. No doubt. Maybe stainless-steel ones at that. If you didn't know my dad, but you know a member of the Patterson clan, you are familiar with the kind of strength and courage I am referring to. We're a tough, badass bunch of m-effers because we have to be. Life hasn't always been kind to us, but like John told me last week, " Life is about taking shit . And learning how to put up with it and know you're better than that." And he's right. Life is definitely about taking shit and learning from it.


Going through the divorce process, trying to be true to myself and trying like hell to be as fair and kind as I can to my husband in the process (because I am first to admit, the last 2 months haven't been at all fair or kind to him and I think he's doing the best he can to deal, though he is currently behaving like a real ass like a man that's hurt and lashing out) is causing me to question the size, weight and chemical make-up of my female cajones. I am hurting. I have been hurting for a long time. The decision to divorce my husband alleviated a lot of that hurt I had been feeling for so long. This hurt right now is a different kind of hurt and I think unless you have been in a position like mine you can't relate. You won't understand. I really don't expect anyone to understand and as my pastor and friend recently told me, what you or anyone else thinks about me isn't my business. That said...my big brass balls have shrunk a bit. 


Knowing I have been a bit of a whiny, sissy, baby as of late, I was delightfully surprised and appreciative when my phone rang last week and I heard John's voice on the other end. Our conversation went something like this, and forgive the language, but us badass m-effers curse like truckers...ya know, cause that's what badass m-effers do and stuff.


Me: Hello?
John: What the hell is going on? Are you going soft on me? Don't go soft on me. 
Me: Well, ya know, I'm a little stressed out right now, dude! I know I'm being a whiny bitch!
John: You are hardcore. Don't lose that edge! Stay tough. 
Me: I'm trying, I'm trying. This stuff is tough, though and I feel like I am losing it!
John: I'd tell ya to grow a pair, but you've got the biggest ones on any girl I know.
Me >>>laughing boisterously<<<: OK. I'll get my shit together.


We talked for a few more minutes and then hung up. His phone call was exactly what I needed to remember where I get my strength and courage from.  And even if I don't like running in the cold, wet, wind and rain, I still have the biggest, heaviest, brassiest she-balls around, damnit.

Irish Pride...

Pride is a funny thing. I will spare you Webster's definition, mostly because I think if you have a strong sense of it, then you already know what I'm talking about. I have a hard time swallowing my pride and when I feel my sense of pride is being threatened, I tend to get very defensive...and I cry.

Today I had to go into the Department of Health Services and apply for medical assistance and...>>>swallow<<<...food stamps. I could have had my husband go do it. I could have lugged all three of my kids in there with me as a ploy to attract a sympathetic case worker. I chose to go alone. My thought was it would make the trip quicker and the less time I had to sit in an office where everyone around me knows why I am there then the better for my pride.

I had to wait for about 20 minutes before I could be seen, even though there wasn't anyone else waiting when I got there. By the time the case worker called my name there were maybe 7 or 8 people waiting. As I expected, the case worker was all business. No friendly smile, no sympathy for the situation my family is in, not even a  "How 'bout them Bears?!". She went through the application, took my information-all without ever making eye contact with me. She then asked, what I assume is a standard question asked to all applicants, "Do you need family planning assistance, ie-birth control?" I responded that no, I did not. She then, for the first time during the interview, looked up from her computer, looked me in the eye and said, "Ya sure?"

After I decked her in the nose...I mean, after I cleared my throat, I said, "No, my husband and I both took measures to ensure we wouldn't be having more children after our third child was born with a heart condition." And you will not believe the response I received after that.Without missing a beat and without breaking eye contact she says, "Who's paying for that?"

I was so angry, I was speechless. The latter of those two doesn't happen too often. I took a breath, smiled and said, "He's currently healthy". We finished the interview and she continued her rudeness- though from then on it was really just her demeanor, meaning she stuck to the questions on the application and kept her eyes on the computer. She informed me I had 24 hours to turn in the required documentation to the office and that she "simply wouldn't be able to get to" my case until Thursday at the earliest. I thanked her, smiled and left.

I got as far as the parking lot before the tears poured from my eyes.

Like I said, pride is a funny thing. If it weren't for the 3 precious babies that give me a reason to smile each and everyday, I never would have been able to walk in that office and would have rather gone hungry. Fave Cousin wanted to call the office and raise hell. I probably should have let her, though I doubt it would make any difference. My mom tells me I deserve the benefits of a system she, my dad and my husband and I have spent years paying into. That it was a system started to help people in my situation-out of work and just trying to scrape by. That the reason it is so corrupted is the outrageous number of people that have abused and manipulated it. She told me to hold my head high. Of course that is easier said than done sometimes.

I don't want anything more than to provide basic needs for my family. I'm not sure why God has given me some of the struggles He has. All I know is it is up to me how I react to them. If that means swallowing my pride, holding my head high and walking into the public aid office so my kids can have food and medical coverage, then that's what I'll do. Even if I have to cry in the parking lot later.