Nothing.

Time alone for me is infrequent.  A mother of a toddler, vibrant, vital and excited to share every ounce of thought and feeling, I am rarely without companion.  Employee of my mother; daughter of my boss, I am often summoned and rewarded with tasks, a life wagered with welcomed busy-ness.

I realize on this day that I don’t like being alone very much.  Often plagued with the question of why, I start to ask and think.  The best way to get to know one’s self is to examine your motivation – why am I upset? Why am I pleased when colloquially I should not be? Why does this sadden/frighten/anger… Why do I seek constant companionship?  I have made many friendships with many different people – mostly with people who proclaim their love of idle, unoccupied free time accompanied by none.  I envy these folks.  Their self-assured lifestyle to take up company with their own favorite people: themselves.

After much self-examination and after a great amount of time and effort put into trying to find some way to spend this day (I cleaned the entire house yesterday, after all) …

Today…

Today is the day I concluded that I don’t like myself very much.  An epiphany occurred.  I’m not upset; I’m not torn; I am sincere. 

I’m confident, I exude happiness, outgoing to a fault – I don’t think that I appear to be the type of person that does not have a strong relationship with the self.  On this day, this day spent alone, no sounds but the wind and the birds sweeping through open windows; a party accompanied by Ranchera and Mariachi music in the neighboring yard with laughs and dancing of the patrons…I almost want to invite myself over.

I spent my childhood as someone else – like most kids, I had a vivid and active imagination.  I was a famous performer or a shipwrecked princess.  I was an architect, constructing mud into villages or I was a profound artist putting color to canvass without any actual talent or plan or justification.  I would be someone else, I’d start a project, and I’d never finish it because I was already excited about being the next someone else.  As I aged, I took to the stage and literally acted like someone else for years.  Into college, I shapeshifted into an almost dogmatic revolutionary.  Motherhood hit, another role I could play – that of mother and wife.  I removed wife from the resume and got to play single mother.  I don’t think I have spent many days living genuinely, authentically as myself.  I realize my life has been a string of playing parts.  Even while cleaning my home and mopping my floor or vacuuming my couch, I tuned out the monologue inside my mind with loud music that I performed to an audience of myself, imagining I was someone else, somewhere else.

I don’t like alone time because I’m confronted with the sounds of my own thoughts; the ache of my own feelings.  I am antagonized by my own anxieties.  I beat myself up.  I tear myself down.  I remind myself of my unworthiness; of my selfishness; of my lack of parenting skill; of my lack of anger management; of the ease which tears leave my face and I am broken.  I don’t like alone time because I don’t like myself.  For hours I have repeated this to myself.  I’m so forgiving, not because I truly forgive and move on but because other people’s opinions of me rank so much higher than my own opinion of myself.  I am so trusting not because someone earns or deserves my trust but because I’m that desperate to surround myself with human companionship – regardless of whether or not they are worth my time and companionship.  Finally, I give love so freely but not because I should but because I starve myself of it, give it away with the hopes it will return to me through someone else.

I don’t like me.  I hope to try and get to know me, but right now, I don’t like me.  I hope that’s okay; it probably is.  I’m not the first person in the world who realizes they don’t have a very good relationship with themselves.  I hope, more than anything, I can do something to strengthen that relationship because without it, I really am nothing.

With...nothing,
C

"Right" to Bear Arms

“A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.”

This is undoubtedly among the most misinterpreted pieces of political wisdom which exists.  But there it is; in plain text. 

Please note the “well regulated militia” portion and know that no law prohibiting the buying or selling of guns for civilians could be considered unconstitutional.  The United States already funds the best well-regulated militia in the world, and clearly no one would attempt to threaten the removal of the military’s weaponry (we can’t even bear to consider redistributing some of the military’s funding).  If some form of revolution were to occur, and we could not depend on the military to be on the side of the citizenry, I’m fairly certain that the Constitution would be far out the window anyway, and guns would be sold in supermarkets, on street corners, and in liquor stores for the protection and the removal of the U.S. government.   Shooting someone clearly cannot be construed as some warped form of expression, and as for the second amendment: even if it did protect the right for anyone to own a gun – a child, the elderly, the trigger happy, the cop, the mentally insane – the guns they were referring to were nowhere near as sophisticated [nor as easy to use] as the guns manufactured today.  I do not think muskets can be compared to an AK-47, which in some places is legal for purchase by just about anyone.

I would be completely irresponsible if I didn't cite some firearm statistics whilst writing about gun control.  67% of homicides in 2008 were committed using firearms; you are far more likely to be killed with a gun (your own gun) if you own one than if you don’t; the United States is ranked fourth (after South Africa, Columbia, and Thailand) for the highest amount of murders with firearms…and the list goes on.  Right now, if you lack a criminal record and you have not been adjudicated as mentally incompetent, you can buy guns – in 2010, only .48% of gun purchasing applicants were denied.  “Violent crime rates have been falling in recent years, but the number of people killed by firearms in the United States remains high.  According to the FBI Uniform Crime Report, between 2006 and 2010 47,856 people were murdered in the U.S. by firearms, more than twice as many as were killed by all other means combined.”

Everyone, I’m certain, has heard the assertion that “guns don’t kill people; people kill people.”  As accurate as that statement seems without further examination, it should be qualified by saying that people with guns kill people a lot easier than people with their bare hands, with knives, with poison, with blunt objects or anything else short of the good ol’ explosive device.  Guns create the ability for a person to commit mass murder; a swift genocide of anyone directly near you, or hundreds of feet away.  Not just anyone deserves the kind of power to hurt on such a grand, or such a precise scale.

If you want to defend the ‘right to bear arms,’ then I ask you this: what about the right for a congressperson to hold an event without the fear of her head being blown to bits?

What about the right of a black teenager to walk on the streets with his hood over his head, concealing nothing but skittles and a soda without the fear of being gunned down?

What about the right of a moviegoer to sit in on the midnight premier of a movie with their friends and family without the fear of a random act of violence?

What about the right of a 17-year-old black male to blast his music in his car without the fear of being quieted by use of firearm?

What about the right of holiday shoppers to enter a mall without the fear that they may never see their families at Christmas again?

What about the right of dozens of children, their teachers, and administrators to go to school without the fear of a demented person, strolling onto campus and opening fire?

And finally: consider the rights of the families of those listed above.  Consider that these people have lost the most precious aspects of their lives – their children, parents, sisters, brothers, friends, acquaintances.  We have all lost the right to live without fear.  We have lost the ability to go into an open space without the fear that a deranged person may commit a small genocide in their public mall, school, church, grocery store, or on the street corner.

We too have rights; I tend to think the rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness far outweighs that of gun owners’ right to bear arms.

10 LESSONS LEARNED FOLLOWING THE ELECTIONS OF 2012

After this close, mesmerizing, exasperating election season, I have to admit that I am going to miss it.  I am going to miss the constant conversation – even the arguing and the bickering.  I am going to miss that collective feeling; the inspiring speeches; the gaffes; the debates…as a lover of politics, this is what I live for.  Granted, I constantly follow politics.  I cannot help but feel more excited when I notice others are as well.  I am going to keep this short, and speak further on the subject later (I work quite early in the morning) but my father wrote something today that made me chuckle.  I have much I would like to add, but I am finding my eyes are growing more heavy.  Enjoy!

10 LESSONS LEARNED FOLLOWING THE ELECTIONS OF 2012

1. Angry, disgruntled, old white dudes do not control federal elections anymore. (Young women and Latinos do.)  And they cannot stand it.
2. Barack Obama resembles former 49er great Jerry Rice in at least one respect: he only runs as fast as he has to.  Compare the first debate to the following two!
3. Every male senatorial or congressional candidate that felt compelled to concern himself with women's reproductive rights got his ass handed to him – as they should have.  Why should a man have any say in what a woman does with her body?  How many men are raped?  Very few are, and even fewer report it.  How many men get pregnant?  Absolutely zero.  (You were right Mr. Akin; 'women do have a way of shutting that whole thing down', they vote you out of office!)
4. White evangelicals (81% of which supported Romney) don't have a problem with "Mormonism as a cult" as long as the candidate has an "R" behind his name.  Even Billy Graham's endorsement couldn't help.  I have no problem with any sect of any religion, but Mormonism seemed to be a massive issue in campaigns and primaries passed…anything to beat the black [Protestant] guy.
5. The "pundits" on Fox are wrong 100% of the time. Now, I realize Hannity, Krauthammer, Ducey, et al (Beck and Limbaugh too) couldn't possibly believe all that horseshit they feed their "pigeons" but still....Romney in a landslide?  Really?  Nice Call!  It follows their logic of lying so much it becomes the truth.  Conversely, Nate Silver on 538 is the best prognosticator/pollster in the Western World. He was right about damn near every race – poor guy was demonized throughout the campaign season…for being right!
6. The millions upon millions of dollars right wing PACs spent on Republican candidates ($400 million spent by Karl Rove alone) couldn't buy them love. (Mr. Edelstein, wouldn't you like to have your $100 million back?). Maybe we WERE overly concerned with the Supreme Court Decision on Citizens United.  The people have spoken.  Thankfully the money cannot and will not.
7. When State officials try and suppress your vote (hello Florida, Ohio and Pennsylvania), you get determined and stand in line for up to 9 hours in 38 degree weather (in one case) just to let 'em know you can! Hey Governor Scott, how do like them apples?
8. That we are lucky to live in a state (California) that has enough progressive voters on the Coast to pass Proposition 30 and defeat Proposition 32. Now the schools will be able to continue with music and sports programming, class size will decrease and fee hikes at Fresno State won't come about - even thought the denizens of the Central Valley voted overwhelmingly to defeat it!
9. That advertising dollars or presidential campaign visits will never again come to California (or any solid blue or red state) as long as we don't have a "Battle Ground" designation.
10. That Ohio should never be that important.  Further proof that the electoral college system is warped and outdated.

Letter to our dear Candidate

Dear Mr. Romney,

As a young, college educated, lower-middle class, and female parent, it is amazing for me to think that only 47% would automatically side against you.

Why would a young person vote for you?  You are blatantly out of touch with what is important to people who are under 30.

Why would someone who is college educated vote for you?  You are not concerned with carving the road towards a more lucrative education system that does not drown its students in debt, and starve its academics.   Teachers, principles, and child care professionals are the least appreciated folk in our country.   For the hours of preparation, the personal resources unaccounted for that are used for the classroom, the extra time taken out of one’s day – it is not an 9-5 job.   There are so many unpaid hours.   So much work, often unaccounted for.   All for a teacher to be graded by how their students can memorize standardized bubble tests.

Why would anyone in their right mind vote for you if they make less than twenty thousand…hell, hundred thousand per year?!  You define middle class as over two hundred thousand: why, so you can justifiably give rich people greater tax breaks?  Your personal wealth is and always has been so enormous that it is a joke to surmise that you can relate to anyone attempting to make a life off of minimum wage – more correctly referred to as dirt-poor-cannot-sustain-yourself-nor-your-family-off-this wage.

There is not much more that upsets me more than to see females who claim to support you.   Based off of your policy and what you say on the campaign (not what you used to say in campaigns past), you fundamentally see women as helpless, second-class citizens who cannot make our own decisions.   That’s it.   You cannot be a self-loving, independent person and agree with your policies on choice.

From what I can tell, your policy on family is fine; have a gaggle of kids, easily support all of them with the money your money makes on interest, and live easily.   Not quite so simple when you have to apportion your paychecks week to week, rarely coming up with a surplus to put into savings.

And by the way, I am a responsible adult.  I care for my child.  I accept some welfare for the duration of my maternity/paid family leave.   I have two jobs - one which I'm working while I'm supposed to bond with my child because between my two jobs, and my husband's job working midnight to 8am at a Casino, it is still very difficult to make ends meet.  I have earned my Bachelor's degree, thankfully without any help and without debt - but so few people can say that.  Unlike you, I could not merely ask for help from my parents to pay for college.  Tadd has earned his A.S.  but with help - and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that because part of what made my country great is that we ARE entitled to an education -- but somewhere along the way that has been lost.   Education was never supposed to be the gift of the privileged.   It has always been the nexus of the American Dream.   Now, we teachers whose jobs and pensions are a joke; we have kids who cannot pass the high school exit exam nor even graduate; and we have college tuitions skyrocketing, quality of education plummeting, frazzled professors…need I say more?

Not one person is entirely self made.  Even you are not entirely as self made as you proclaim.  You know what's more?  I may receive money back from the government, but nobody keeps as much as you do!  It is hard for me to believe that you pay anything in taxes with your blatant censorship of your earnings.   If you would like me to pay more in taxes, you ought to consider paying a living wage; I would appreciate being able to support my little family.

Do you know what I do with my tax refund, Mr. Romney?  I save it with the hopes of possibly being able to purchase a home.  He has enough at the end of each year to purchase a few thousand homes the size and price range I would struggle to afford.   And even if my dream were not so noble, you have no right to tell me that I do not deserve the money I receive post-filing.   For me and many, it is the difference of standard of living, quality of life.   Issues you have never battled.

I do not have any entitlement issues because I believe that I deserve to purchase a home for my family to live permanently, to own; I am currently preparing to move for the third time in 10 months, thus the issue especially hits home.  I do not have entitlement issues because I believe that my two month old son deserves the same quality and accessibility to health care as the likes of you.  I certainly do not have entitlement issues when I think that millionaires can pay steeper taxes so the poorer of society can have food...with a table for one's family to gather around inside a safe home to eat within.

I DO have issues with those that believe that they are what makes this country great because "they made that," or whatever your campaign has heralded.   No.  WE made this.  WE ALL made this.  All successful businesses and companies thrive because of roads, because of communities, because of TAXES, and because of consumers who were willing to trust the product.  I essentially have issues with those who tell me I have issues.  Try living on this end of the spectrum, sir.  I am fortunate compared to the truly poor.  Try forging a living at Starbucks or at a Casino or at McDonalds or as a teacher and tell me that I have entitlement issues.

Basically Mr. Romney: Fuck you and that very expensive [tax exempt] horse you rode in on.

Sincerely a woman who would never vote for you,
Caitlin Sawatsky

Fat (With Pictures!)

Regardless of your sex, age, race, gender identity, marital or socioeconomic status…even education level, fat is something that plays a role in how one views the self.  I don’t care if you say that you are completely content with your outward appearance (which I’m sure few people would say), attention to anatomy is one thing we as Americans all have in common, unfortunately -- don’t you wish you could focus on something that mattered. 

As much as I’d like to say it does not, our feelings of self worth are so tied to the way we look - and I am not avant-garde in presuming this.  Thus, it does matter.  You can't stand in line at a grocery store without being bombarded with the message (aimed mostly at women, but increasingly more at men) that you can lose weight fast; you can look perfect if you take this; you can be who you want to be if spend money on this product or take this article’s advice.  How many different commercials peddling the magical cure of your fatness interrupt your favorite soaps?   Certain spam is aimed at the email addresses of certain demographics - obviously missing the mark on the many occasions I receive penis enlargement promos.  Those obnoxious banner ads on your most frequented websites even tout the benefits of taking whatever ridiculously named product.  I’ll even serenade you with the most recent weight loss product commercial on memory – shake your sensa much? 

As a young lass conquering my middle school awkwardness, and growing into my high school rebelliousness, my jelly roll was my main concern: it was the little pooch that hung between my belly button and the button of my jeans.   No amount of pushups destroyed this thing and let me tell you, I would do hundreds every night fueled by relentless jelly roll hatred.  Mind you, I was a skinny little twerp.

Proof  that body issues affect everyone.  I have probably pissed off many by complaining.

Jumping forward a few years, after high school and into college I grew into myself.   A loud, confident personality with no room for image issues – granted, they lingered as they likely do for even the most self-loving individual.  Once I realized that no matter how skinny I am, I will have muffin top in certain clothes; that no one notices my butt dimples as much as I do; that everyone jiggles a little when they walk; that no, I will never lose the jelly roll.  And by the way Caitlin, all women have a little jelly roll - that airbrushing and Photoshop is partly to blame for the images constantly thrust in my face.  I came to a point in my life where I was comfortable with myself. 

Then pregnancy happened.   As I got bigger, people constantly told me how beautiful I was.  I swear, this is the only time in a woman’s life where the fatter she is, the more compliments she receives; moreover, everyone told me how tiny I was!  

  

Never tell a woman late in the stages of pregnancy that she is 'tiny.'  She likely does not agree.

And it was perfect!   I ate a ton, I mocked my shifting body, I danced for everyone because it looked funny and I literally had the perfect excuse for everything: 

Hungry?  Tired?  Feeling fat?  Walking around naked?  Don’t want to pick that up?  Picking your nose?  Have horrendous gas?  Leaving the house in a moo-moo?  Sleeping in the middle of the day? 

That’s okay, you’re pregnant. 

What I found most amusing was how when I called myself fat – in a proud, jesting manner – whomever was around would quickly jump to my aid with the same line every time: “you aren’t fat.  You’re PREGNANT” -- as if I didn’t know.   Hey, thanks for telling me!   I find it depressing that even the word ‘fat’ carries such a negative connotation.  That a fat person – oh, that’s they’re fault.  But if you’re pregnant, you at least have a good excuse to be…dare I say, fat. 

Where am I going with this?  I don’t know either.  I saw an image of Jessica Simpson via the internet, and she was pregnant – what many might deem a brick house; the un-pretty kind of pregnant.  The formerly petite bombshell has received much flack for her new body – to which I respond with a [pardon my French] ‘shut the hell up’ – or more accurately, a ‘who cares.’ I have lately spent much time looking at my own post-partum body and developed some mild post-partum depression (only kidding – that is a serious condition not to be taken lightly…the way I just did).  After seven weeks, I still cannot fit comfortably into old clothes, my stretch marks are raging pink flames...now my jelly roll jiggles and sneaks above my pants to dangle alla ‘muffin top’ – in whatever I wear.  Every day I weigh myself much to Mr.  Patrick's chagrin…yup, [insert number] more pounds to go until pre-pregnancy weight; yup, the roll still jiggles when I move like that; nope my pants still don’t button comfortably. 

Why do I care so much?  I’ll tell you why: 

Throughout my entire life, I have been told who and what I have to be in order to be conventionally pretty.   I have been indoctrinated into American’s need-to-be-skinny culture (regardless of the vigorous obesity epidemic).  I am told from a very young age a very narrow definition of beauty, including narrow waistlines among other pieces of the image puzzle.  Not only am I told what beauty is, I am told that I am only worth something if I fit within that definition of beautiful. 

So here’s the question: who created the designation, and when was it created?  I have my ideas and my answer, but we should all evaluate it for ourselves.  At some point in every person’s life, we ought to look within ourselves and figure out when it was that we decided we were or were not beautiful and who/what led us to that decision.  Truth is, we are all beautiful.  I hate to wring out old, tired clichés but it is true.  There is something about every person (a lot of somethings, maybe only one something) that is worthwhile – physically or otherwise.  And of course, that other ‘beholder’ cliché: we all see beauty in our own way, defining every person based on our own preferences. 

So when will I let go of the jelly roll?  Likely never.  But hey, realizing I have a problem is the first step, right?   So here are some images which are admittedly really difficult to post, but here goes.   Another step towards acceptance?   

(It better be.)

Meet Jelly Roll: side view; pants buttoned, attempting to ignore the urge to suck him in.

 Pants unbuttoned because that is most comfortable.

 Painful close-up of the jelly roll.

Like those stretch marks?  Special thanks to my son, Elijah.

On a completely different note, I have to admit that I liked most of my friends more when they were fat, before they lost weight.  What a cruel thing to say to someone who has finally achieved something they have likely obsessed over for any number of months or years.  But really, judgments and cruelty aside…I liked you more when you were fat.  Just adopt your fat personality and you’ll be likable again. 

Something to chew on: for whom do we aim to be beautiful?  For ourselves?  Our lovers?  Our potential lovers?  Our competition? 

And now I have to stick my boob into an angry nugget’s mouth.  One thing I do have to say is, I love my new boobs and hope they never go anywhere, being a woman who previously didn't fill out an A cup.

To another [beautifully fat] day!
Caitlin

Nostalgic?

“A wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a former time in one’s life, to one’s home or homeland, or to one’s family and friends; a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time.”

                I have been feeling fairly nostalgic lately.  I caught myself looking through old high school and college photos; fell into old music; thinking of certain friends.  I always assumed nostalgia implied that one yearns for another time in their lives; that it must have been happier or better somehow than today.

Is that not how it always works?  Do we not all look back to other times, sigh, and try to relive the good moments.  And does that have to mean that I must be unhappy with my current state?  Because I’m not; and because I did the same thing then – I looked to other parts of my existence, sighed, and relived the good moments...

                One of my closest friends died approaching two years ago.  I find myself thinking of the fun, the funny, the important things we did together.  I think of the people we were – specifically the person I was.

                What I am apparently very good at doing is ignoring everything but the good, fun, the funny, the important.  There was a lot of bad.  A lot of embarrassment.  A lot of uncomfortable.  I have changed for the better.  Life has changed for the better.  Then why is it that I (we – I think every does this) constantly look back with that bittersweet feeling, lusting for days of old?

Is that how nostalgia works?  You yearn for the good – due to selective memory?  I ignore everything that left invisible scars; that which likely provided the bread and butter for who I am now.  I have no regrets.  I love my life.  I still cannot let go.

Whatever the case may be, my nugget peed in my face today.  Not much is better than that.

Be good, 

Caitlin

Great Expectations

Over a year ago, I started this blog with great expectations as to what it could become.  Ideals and thoughts and opinions rattle through this spacious head of mine.  Eventually, I had this jarring urge to get it out: Facebook couldn't do it; arguing with coworkers was not solving my conundrum.  "I SHOULD START A BLOG!"  That barely happened - on account of my laziness or that I merely forgot.  Maybe I got busy?  Whatever the case may be, I will attempt now to revive it.

I am a 22-year-old female, living in California.  Other than that, I cannot think of anything else that is particularly interesting about the immediate details of my person thus I'll bore you with the banal components of me.  I usually have red hair.  I laugh a lot.  Much of what I say oozes sarcasm.  I can be somewhat obnoxious.  I love pictures.  I don't take myself very seriously.  Etc.

That's me, likely taking myself too seriously.

I graduated college with a B.A. in Political Science and Women's Studies over a year ago; obviously I'm an opinionated type.  I have goals.  I want to help people.  I just cannot figure out how just yet.

Accepting a rolled up piece of paper which is meant to resemble a diploma.

Since then, I have been living a life drafted by sadistic daydreamers: I work at Starbucks Coffee company (not a dreamy aspect of my life), met a wonderful man, with whom I had wonderful encounters which led to an unexpected [but wonderful] pregnancy, and got myself a sweet little Shotgun Wedding down at the court house.

Wonderful man [needs a shirt].

Unexpected pregnancy.

Shortgun wedding.

Nugget.  AKA Eli.  He loves baths.

How one's life can so quickly alter paths is beyond me.

Now this is me drinking decaffeinated coffee [while deluding myself to believe it could have the benefits of regular].

I have blatantly perfected the 'new mother' look.  Old nail polish, nasty hair, goofy glasses, and a cup of decaf crack.

I am still on maternity leave [thank goodness, because I make wise decisions like drinking two cans of caffeinated Creme Soda (it does exist, ask A&W) before nursing my infant leading to a bright eyed night owl grunting at me all night to entertain him] but as a side gig, I'm assisting a locally renowned and successful real estate agent - also known as my mother.  That is when I can get an hour or two of sleep at night.  But overdone lack-of-sleep jokes aside, my life is wrought with fortunes.  My web of support is vast reaching from a large family (including my integral family-in-law) to great coworkers, and a host of quirky and fabulous friends - who have been largely ignored by me throughout pregnancy and thereafter (for which I apologize).

I need to make a promise to myself that I am going to use this thing.  We all need outlets; we need to let our thoughts out somehow be it in a public forum, a sophisticated institution as in a classroom, internet arguments, whatever it is.  With outlets and expression comes growth, hence the title of this here blog: I want to inspire personal growth and change.  I will try to create my own outlet.  I used to write.  Might I possibly be able to arouse that part of myself so well rehearsed in college?  Hopefully with the help of a thesaurus this might be worthwhile.  We shall see.

For now, pardon my dust.

Caitlin