...if I don't post something to let you know I'm okay! I'm sorry, that was really rude. I am actually doing...well! Even, dare I say it, happy? Yes, at times I'm feeling happy! I've spent some time away from the Internet almost entirely, partly because work was actually busy so I couldn't surf all day and then when I did think about blogging, it just didn't happen for whatever reason. I actually haven't even opened my email for two weeks. It wasn't intentional, but I think the Internet vacation has been good for my psychically. But I'm not saying I'm not going to blog anymore. And I'm not even saying I'm not going to bitch and blog either. But right now I'm kinda thinking I might try to make this more of a positive experience rather than a forum for my prolonged temper tantrums. We'll see how it goes. We'll PBE it (play it by ear--LilCherie came up with this acronym-expression and I just think it's fabulous so I'm trying to spread it around).
So that's a little update, and I will see you when the juices start flowing again!
karmagirl, you are so sweet to worry about me and I love you and I hope I get to see you again soon!
Showing posts with label EverythingElse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label EverythingElse. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Friday, February 29, 2008
Question
Do you ever read someone's blog, see that they are entrenched in a major case of denial about a big life issue that will probably hurt them in the end, and you really want to challenge it by leaving a comment? Do you? Or do you just let them enjoy the denial while it lasts?
I have this question about a blog I just found not long ago (not anyone who has ever commented here, so don't get paranoid!)
Edited to Add: I meant to write this earlier and I forgot. If I am the blogger that you recognize this denial and/or other self-destructive thought patterns in, PLEASE feel free to leave me a real comment on it! Like Charmedgirl, I want to hear it all, no censorship please! Okay. Glad to get that out of the way!
I have this question about a blog I just found not long ago (not anyone who has ever commented here, so don't get paranoid!)
Edited to Add: I meant to write this earlier and I forgot. If I am the blogger that you recognize this denial and/or other self-destructive thought patterns in, PLEASE feel free to leave me a real comment on it! Like Charmedgirl, I want to hear it all, no censorship please! Okay. Glad to get that out of the way!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
So that I remember
I just got back from a great therapy appointment. We "went into my heart" and did kind of a meditation thing (it's called The Remembrance in Sufism) and I felt like things really balanced out for me. I feel expansive and hopeful again. I want to get some of this down so that it won't fade into oblivion. It felt like important stuff.
The amazing thing about all this is that my therapist guided me into my heart, but I came up with all this shit on my own! Is that mind-blowing or what?
On the Topic of Anger
Bubba and I are learning about anger together (some background--Bubba has had some outbursts lately like scratching a kid at school, hitting J., and generally just acting out his anger in inappropriate ways).
It is amazing and wonderful and more than a coincidence that Bubba's process of learning about anger is happening simultaneously with mine.
He is a guide to me in this process, leading me toward the lessons I need to learn. For instance...
...In trying to teach Bubba how to deal with anger in a healthy way, I realize that I don't know how to do it....
....Because I was never taught how to do it....
....Because my parents were never taught how to do it...
....And on and on.
And what I'm doing by recognizing it and at least trying to change it is something that probably hasn't been done in generations of my family.
And that is important and good.
And it will not be a flawless process.
And Bubba will learn something from watching that process.
Rather than be "scarred for life," maybe he will learn the importance of trying, the importance of being merciful with oneself when he makes mistakes, how much his mother loved him for working so hard to fix something so that he wouldn't have to carry all of it's brokenness with him forever.
And maybe he'll pass that down to his children, and the process can start to go in the opposite direction.
Bubba's comment last Friday was not just about my anger toward him when he frustrates me. It was about the anger I have toward J. but more about the anger I have toward myself, toward my "troll," toward my skewed vision that life is terrible. And that anger shows on my face, even when it's not directed at Bubba. And he notices it. That's a big lesson, and I am really, truly grateful for it right now.
On the Topic of Mercy and Compassion for Myself
What makes me feel best in this life is doing kind things for other people...
...and that is connected, in some way I have yet to explore, with my difficulty in doing anything kind for myself.
We brainstormed on some ways that I might be able to strengthen my "real" self, or what I simply call "the good voice." (It probably needs a better name since the "bad" voice is called the troll. Although my therapist helped me see that the troll isn't really bad, because it is bringing up the stuff I need to "clear." Anyway, if you have a good idea for a name for the good voice, let me know!) Here is what I came up with for some first steps in being more kind to myself.
1. When I do something nice for someone else, take a moment and let it reflect back on me, like a mirror. Let myself feel proud and good that I have eased someone else's life, no matter how small of an act it was. Let that good feeling seep into my heart for a little bit.
2. Write down some things that I love about myself on some notecards. Some ideas that come to mind are good things I've done for others, traits I admire about myself, creative ideas I've had, accomplishments, etc. I'll take other suggestions if you have them. Then, when the troll starts yelling in my ear, just take one out and read it. It can't hurt, and maybe it can help.
3. On the same note, write myself a love letter. (Perfect for Valentine's Day!)
4. When I do something kind for someone else, "match it" by doing something kind for myself. As I told my therapist, it doesn't necessarily have to be some huge involved thing like getting a massage because I opened the door for someone. It could be something like just allowing myself to feel good about it. Open for feedback here, too, on simple ways to be kind for myself (a list here would be a good tool for me). And I'll just put it out there that I don't like baths. But there must be other ways I can be kind to myself. I just normally don't spend a lot of time thinking about it so it seems a little foreign.
As I read this, the troll tells me that it sounds like I think I'm a real Mother Teresa here, a real Good Samaritan. The good voice is telling the troll that I don't think that, but that I do have a lot of compassion for (most of) my fellow women, men, children and other living beings, so why not build on that strength?
The amazing thing about all this is that my therapist guided me into my heart, but I came up with all this shit on my own! Is that mind-blowing or what?
On the Topic of Anger
Bubba and I are learning about anger together (some background--Bubba has had some outbursts lately like scratching a kid at school, hitting J., and generally just acting out his anger in inappropriate ways).
It is amazing and wonderful and more than a coincidence that Bubba's process of learning about anger is happening simultaneously with mine.
He is a guide to me in this process, leading me toward the lessons I need to learn. For instance...
...In trying to teach Bubba how to deal with anger in a healthy way, I realize that I don't know how to do it....
....Because I was never taught how to do it....
....Because my parents were never taught how to do it...
....And on and on.
And what I'm doing by recognizing it and at least trying to change it is something that probably hasn't been done in generations of my family.
And that is important and good.
And it will not be a flawless process.
And Bubba will learn something from watching that process.
Rather than be "scarred for life," maybe he will learn the importance of trying, the importance of being merciful with oneself when he makes mistakes, how much his mother loved him for working so hard to fix something so that he wouldn't have to carry all of it's brokenness with him forever.
And maybe he'll pass that down to his children, and the process can start to go in the opposite direction.
Bubba's comment last Friday was not just about my anger toward him when he frustrates me. It was about the anger I have toward J. but more about the anger I have toward myself, toward my "troll," toward my skewed vision that life is terrible. And that anger shows on my face, even when it's not directed at Bubba. And he notices it. That's a big lesson, and I am really, truly grateful for it right now.
On the Topic of Mercy and Compassion for Myself
What makes me feel best in this life is doing kind things for other people...
...and that is connected, in some way I have yet to explore, with my difficulty in doing anything kind for myself.
We brainstormed on some ways that I might be able to strengthen my "real" self, or what I simply call "the good voice." (It probably needs a better name since the "bad" voice is called the troll. Although my therapist helped me see that the troll isn't really bad, because it is bringing up the stuff I need to "clear." Anyway, if you have a good idea for a name for the good voice, let me know!) Here is what I came up with for some first steps in being more kind to myself.
1. When I do something nice for someone else, take a moment and let it reflect back on me, like a mirror. Let myself feel proud and good that I have eased someone else's life, no matter how small of an act it was. Let that good feeling seep into my heart for a little bit.
2. Write down some things that I love about myself on some notecards. Some ideas that come to mind are good things I've done for others, traits I admire about myself, creative ideas I've had, accomplishments, etc. I'll take other suggestions if you have them. Then, when the troll starts yelling in my ear, just take one out and read it. It can't hurt, and maybe it can help.
3. On the same note, write myself a love letter. (Perfect for Valentine's Day!)
4. When I do something kind for someone else, "match it" by doing something kind for myself. As I told my therapist, it doesn't necessarily have to be some huge involved thing like getting a massage because I opened the door for someone. It could be something like just allowing myself to feel good about it. Open for feedback here, too, on simple ways to be kind for myself (a list here would be a good tool for me). And I'll just put it out there that I don't like baths. But there must be other ways I can be kind to myself. I just normally don't spend a lot of time thinking about it so it seems a little foreign.
As I read this, the troll tells me that it sounds like I think I'm a real Mother Teresa here, a real Good Samaritan. The good voice is telling the troll that I don't think that, but that I do have a lot of compassion for (most of) my fellow women, men, children and other living beings, so why not build on that strength?
Monday, February 04, 2008
Today's Musings
Today I learned that...
Two pieces of cheesy garlic bread are not enough.
I'm done fuckin' around with those generic, cheaper brands of frozen garlic bread. If it's not Pepperidge Farm Garlic Texas Toast® then it's not worth it.
It's not a good idea to broil your second set of cheesy garlic bread Texas Toasts on "hi" without watching them or setting a timer.
While you're fucked up.
And your husband is just about there in terms of getting the 3-year-old asleep.
When the smoke alarm goes off.
Things I Feel Compelled to Share With You Tonight
The thought of LilCherie, in the Grumpy Pants I made her for her birthday, standing in the snowy parking lot of the hospital this morning after finding out that her surgeon was snowed in in another city and would not be able to perform her tonsillectomy, kicking her car in anger, really makes me laugh. Now that she's accepted it, I mean. I really felt bad for her at the time. But I still wish her husband could have secretly videotaped it for me.
I read the Lunchables® post over at A Little Pregnant and it really pissed me off. But I was too much of a chickenshit to post a dissenting view, because Julie is blog royalty and I didn't figure it was really worth it. Of course now that I'm putting this on my own blog it's "out there." Oh, jeez, what are we supposed to do? It's already out there! Call the cops! It's already out there! (Random movie quote -- do you know which one it's from?) But I was excited to see that Patty from Monday Changed Everything stuck up for herself. If you read her blog you'll see that she has a good excuse. I just feed my child crap because I'm lazy and depressed.
I'm half-afraid that I'm dying of cancer because I haven't felt like eating much lately, I'm really tired, and I have several unaccounted for bruises on my upper thighs (and one on my forearm). Of course, the appetite and fatigue could be attributed to the depression, even though I'm usually a "fat depressive" (I just made that term up. Impressive, huh?). And I guess the bruises could be from beating my fists against my legs in hopeless frustration, right?
I found out tonight that when trying to disinfect a light green throw rug after a dollop of your child's almost-diarrheal poo drops on it, a bleach-based cleanser should not be your first choice. There is now a five-inch circle of my throw rug that's the same shade as Greg Brady's hair in the episode where he buys the hair tonic from Oliver. Or, baby-ate-carrots-shit orange. I couldn't have just thrown it in the washer because you know, I was just too lazy and depressed.
I'm reading a great book right now called "Mommies Who Drink," by Brett Paesel. When reading books like this, I momentarily think to myself, "I could write this well! I could be this funny! Why am I not a published, successful author?" Then I remember, oh yeah. I'm too lazy and depressed.
I'm thinking of changing the name of my blog to "Lazy and Depressed." Do you think that would pull in the readers or what? Sadly, I would be all about a blog named that. I should do a blog search...maybe it's already out there?
Today's Aha! Moment
I think I've come to a realization about how men--or at least J.--think, and why it causes a problem in relationships. I think he is mentally incapable of moving past the first most-likely outcome of an action or comment. Here are a couple examples, including the correct "Mom thought" as well:
J.'s first thought: Bubba is thirsty.
Most likely outcome: I'll give him some milk, then he won't be thirsty anymore.
Mom thought: But Bubba has to drink four ounces of juice laced with laxative so that he won't have a hard poop because is his holding his poops in and we are trying to get him to go without the hysterical drama and causing Mommy to have to take one of her anxiety pills. So, I'll give him the laxa-juice now and then milk later.
J.'s first thought: I want to make Bubba laugh, so I'll put some Toobers and Zots® (I'm lovin' that symbol tonight, by the way) up my nose and pretend they are boogers.
Most likely outcome: Bubba will laugh. Job done!
Mom thought: Bubba will think it's great, then put them up his nose, and then put other things up his nose, and then we'll be in the emergency room at 3 a.m. while some poor staff physician fishes pus-covered gravel from our child's infected nose. So maybe we'd better not model putting stuff up our noses as appropriate behavior for our 3-year-old.
J.'s first thought: It's time for Bubba to go to bed, so I'm putting him to bed.
Most likely outcome: Bubba will go to bed.
Mom thought: It's time for Bubba to go to bed, so we better get him his allergy medicine because if he doesn't get it he will be stuffy and he already has a cough; fill and turn on the humidifier because of the aforementioned cough; see if he has to go potty one more time so that he doesn't wet the bed; and bring in a glass of water and the toothpaste so we can brush his teeth.
I think you get what I mean here.
And now I guess it's also perfectly clear why, when I was having a spiral last week and told J. I felt like I was turning into my mother--the ultimate killjoy-- J.'s. answer was a sobering, "Yep."
Two pieces of cheesy garlic bread are not enough.
I'm done fuckin' around with those generic, cheaper brands of frozen garlic bread. If it's not Pepperidge Farm Garlic Texas Toast® then it's not worth it.
It's not a good idea to broil your second set of cheesy garlic bread Texas Toasts on "hi" without watching them or setting a timer.
While you're fucked up.
And your husband is just about there in terms of getting the 3-year-old asleep.
When the smoke alarm goes off.
Things I Feel Compelled to Share With You Tonight
The thought of LilCherie, in the Grumpy Pants I made her for her birthday, standing in the snowy parking lot of the hospital this morning after finding out that her surgeon was snowed in in another city and would not be able to perform her tonsillectomy, kicking her car in anger, really makes me laugh. Now that she's accepted it, I mean. I really felt bad for her at the time. But I still wish her husband could have secretly videotaped it for me.
I read the Lunchables® post over at A Little Pregnant and it really pissed me off. But I was too much of a chickenshit to post a dissenting view, because Julie is blog royalty and I didn't figure it was really worth it. Of course now that I'm putting this on my own blog it's "out there." Oh, jeez, what are we supposed to do? It's already out there! Call the cops! It's already out there! (Random movie quote -- do you know which one it's from?) But I was excited to see that Patty from Monday Changed Everything stuck up for herself. If you read her blog you'll see that she has a good excuse. I just feed my child crap because I'm lazy and depressed.
I'm half-afraid that I'm dying of cancer because I haven't felt like eating much lately, I'm really tired, and I have several unaccounted for bruises on my upper thighs (and one on my forearm). Of course, the appetite and fatigue could be attributed to the depression, even though I'm usually a "fat depressive" (I just made that term up. Impressive, huh?). And I guess the bruises could be from beating my fists against my legs in hopeless frustration, right?
I found out tonight that when trying to disinfect a light green throw rug after a dollop of your child's almost-diarrheal poo drops on it, a bleach-based cleanser should not be your first choice. There is now a five-inch circle of my throw rug that's the same shade as Greg Brady's hair in the episode where he buys the hair tonic from Oliver. Or, baby-ate-carrots-shit orange. I couldn't have just thrown it in the washer because you know, I was just too lazy and depressed.
I'm reading a great book right now called "Mommies Who Drink," by Brett Paesel. When reading books like this, I momentarily think to myself, "I could write this well! I could be this funny! Why am I not a published, successful author?" Then I remember, oh yeah. I'm too lazy and depressed.
I'm thinking of changing the name of my blog to "Lazy and Depressed." Do you think that would pull in the readers or what? Sadly, I would be all about a blog named that. I should do a blog search...maybe it's already out there?
Today's Aha! Moment
I think I've come to a realization about how men--or at least J.--think, and why it causes a problem in relationships. I think he is mentally incapable of moving past the first most-likely outcome of an action or comment. Here are a couple examples, including the correct "Mom thought" as well:
J.'s first thought: Bubba is thirsty.
Most likely outcome: I'll give him some milk, then he won't be thirsty anymore.
Mom thought: But Bubba has to drink four ounces of juice laced with laxative so that he won't have a hard poop because is his holding his poops in and we are trying to get him to go without the hysterical drama and causing Mommy to have to take one of her anxiety pills. So, I'll give him the laxa-juice now and then milk later.
J.'s first thought: I want to make Bubba laugh, so I'll put some Toobers and Zots® (I'm lovin' that symbol tonight, by the way) up my nose and pretend they are boogers.
Most likely outcome: Bubba will laugh. Job done!
Mom thought: Bubba will think it's great, then put them up his nose, and then put other things up his nose, and then we'll be in the emergency room at 3 a.m. while some poor staff physician fishes pus-covered gravel from our child's infected nose. So maybe we'd better not model putting stuff up our noses as appropriate behavior for our 3-year-old.
J.'s first thought: It's time for Bubba to go to bed, so I'm putting him to bed.
Most likely outcome: Bubba will go to bed.
Mom thought: It's time for Bubba to go to bed, so we better get him his allergy medicine because if he doesn't get it he will be stuffy and he already has a cough; fill and turn on the humidifier because of the aforementioned cough; see if he has to go potty one more time so that he doesn't wet the bed; and bring in a glass of water and the toothpaste so we can brush his teeth.
I think you get what I mean here.
And now I guess it's also perfectly clear why, when I was having a spiral last week and told J. I felt like I was turning into my mother--the ultimate killjoy-- J.'s. answer was a sobering, "Yep."
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Welcome to my hypomanic phase!
Well, wasn't that nice of me? To dump a load of shit into the internet and then just disappear?
Why is pain so damn motivating?
Updates:
Bunghole: No pinworms. THANK THE FUCKING GODS. Just an itchy butt. Who knew it could be that simple?
Sinuses: No infection. Just "dry crusting" requiring more rinses and Vaseline. I'll take it.
Root canal: Part I completed, no big deal and tooth actually feels better than it did before.
Depression: Relief. Finally. I got my period yesterday and, like every month for the last year or so, I noticed a real lifting of the cloud a couple of days before that happened. Also, I'm finally up to my full dosage on Effexor, so maybe it's kicking in. I'm in a GOOD MOOD today. It's a miracle!
Marriage: Once again happily ensconced in the "let's work on making it better" phase. Three days and counting. I'm enjoying it while it lasts and doing my best to keep it going.
Things I need to do:
•Figure out if the days in which I hate my marriage/my job/my life/want to kill myself coincide pretty much exactly with my post-ovulation phase. Wouldn't it be a pisser to find out that I got divorced/quit my job/killed myself just because my PMS was out of control?
•Talk to psychiatrist about whether or not there's a limit on how many different kinds of depression and mood disorders I may be diagnosed with. Right now I'm confident about depression, trichotillomania, fairly confident about PMDD, and wondering about bipolar II.
•Write some fun posts about things like vulva awareness, weird crap LilCherie and I talk about at Girls' Night, guilty pleasures like TMZ.com (and the TMZ tv show that comes on at like 1:30 a.m.), maybe even ramp up Sex and the Silos again.
•Change my voicemail greeting on my cellphone. I like to do something unexpected and funny. Suggestions are welcome!
•Check into endometrial ablation. My GOD, the shit that's been coming out of my body for the last two days is simply disgusting. This morning after changing my tampon (the one I have to wear overnight for christ's sake so that I don't leak through the OVERNIGHT PAD) the bathroom looked like a scene from Carrie. Jesus. I mean, this morning I had to cover the obvious bloodstains with my hands while having my three-year-old fetch more toilet paper from the hall closet and while my husband fetched new underwear from the bedroom. Keeping my bodily fluids under control really shouldn't be a family project. Ya know what I'm sayin'?
Peace out, homies.
Why is pain so damn motivating?
Updates:
Bunghole: No pinworms. THANK THE FUCKING GODS. Just an itchy butt. Who knew it could be that simple?
Sinuses: No infection. Just "dry crusting" requiring more rinses and Vaseline. I'll take it.
Root canal: Part I completed, no big deal and tooth actually feels better than it did before.
Depression: Relief. Finally. I got my period yesterday and, like every month for the last year or so, I noticed a real lifting of the cloud a couple of days before that happened. Also, I'm finally up to my full dosage on Effexor, so maybe it's kicking in. I'm in a GOOD MOOD today. It's a miracle!
Marriage: Once again happily ensconced in the "let's work on making it better" phase. Three days and counting. I'm enjoying it while it lasts and doing my best to keep it going.
Things I need to do:
•Figure out if the days in which I hate my marriage/my job/my life/want to kill myself coincide pretty much exactly with my post-ovulation phase. Wouldn't it be a pisser to find out that I got divorced/quit my job/killed myself just because my PMS was out of control?
•Talk to psychiatrist about whether or not there's a limit on how many different kinds of depression and mood disorders I may be diagnosed with. Right now I'm confident about depression, trichotillomania, fairly confident about PMDD, and wondering about bipolar II.
•Write some fun posts about things like vulva awareness, weird crap LilCherie and I talk about at Girls' Night, guilty pleasures like TMZ.com (and the TMZ tv show that comes on at like 1:30 a.m.), maybe even ramp up Sex and the Silos again.
•Change my voicemail greeting on my cellphone. I like to do something unexpected and funny. Suggestions are welcome!
•Check into endometrial ablation. My GOD, the shit that's been coming out of my body for the last two days is simply disgusting. This morning after changing my tampon (the one I have to wear overnight for christ's sake so that I don't leak through the OVERNIGHT PAD) the bathroom looked like a scene from Carrie. Jesus. I mean, this morning I had to cover the obvious bloodstains with my hands while having my three-year-old fetch more toilet paper from the hall closet and while my husband fetched new underwear from the bedroom. Keeping my bodily fluids under control really shouldn't be a family project. Ya know what I'm sayin'?Peace out, homies.
Friday, January 04, 2008
Sore throats and itchy bungholes
I woke up today with a one-sided sore throat with white all over it and a sore ear on the same side. Mustered up the energy to go to the doctor; not strep, possibly virus, possibly draining sinuses (fucking sinuses!) She also checked my lungs which are still fucked up from whatever respiratory ailment I was fighting off before Christmas, so it's back on the inhaler for another MONTH, and back to the sinus rinses until I see my oto later this month.
The doc talked with me about possibly going to the University of We Know We Killed Your Kid But You Still Owe Us Money to have some sophisticated blood tests done for rare immune deficiencies because she is stumped by why I a) catch so many viruses, illnesses, etc., b) end up with so many secondary infections and c) have such a hard time getting over them even with treatment. (The obvious reason would be diabetes but I've been checked multiple times and don't have it...yet.) I'm considering it because I figure that just running some blood tests, especially since we're not investigating something that's immediately life-threatening, is possibly within the UofWKWKYKBYSTOUM's realm of competency. In the wake of my sore throat/sore ear/debilitating depression, I rescheduled my root canal, which was supposed to be this afternoon, to next week.
Why am I SO FUCKED UP?
In more health-related news, we are going to call Bubba's doctor today to find out what to do about his itchy bunghole. Dr. Google suggests pinworms, which gross me out so completely that the thought of "waiting and seeing" for the weekend makes me want to puke. I've had a longstanding phobia about any kind of parasitic bugs like lice and pinworms and the like, and thank Allah I have never had any of those...but I imagine that dealing with them will be just one more of the joys of motherhood that are to come my way. It isn't even the social stigma attached to these things, because I realize it's just a contagious bug like a virus or a bacterium--it's more the thought of a living, visible insect feeding off of our flesh...and the word "infestation" that goes along with it....eww, chills, yuck, eek! Thankfully, J. is handling this chore given my general malaise and depression. To give credit where it's due, I have to say J. has been very good the last couple of days, other than the housekeeping disaster yesterday morning. He came and gave me the car for my doctor's appointment then ran me back home so that I wouldn't have to deal with picking Bubba up from daycare, and is being pretty sympathetic during the 10 minutes or so every day that we have to talk to one another.
Finally, on the depression front--can't really tell what's depression and what's just general illness today. I feel like it may be lifting a little bit because I found myself interested in a couple of different things today: I was pleased that Obama won the democratic caucus here in Iowa even without J. and me; and I was intrigued by the latest Britney Spears spectacle. I can't help it, I feel sorry for her.
I'm also feeling a little more in the mood to write, which is nice. So, I will attempt to do the Mayfly meme that Melissa tagged me for. The goal is to sum up your year 2007 in 24 words to see what was constant, what really mattered, what the big stuff was. So here's my attempt:
Confusion. Considered divorce, still married; realized age three is better and worse than two; felt trapped, Girls' Nights (and my girls) kept me sane.
I think I'm supposed to tag someone else now, so how about Complicated Mama--don't know if she ever even comes here but I recently discovered her and I LOVE her writing; Nicole, who is a devoted commenter here and I really appreciate it; and Yodasmistress, who just visited here for the first time and whose blog I am interested in delving into more.
The doc talked with me about possibly going to the University of We Know We Killed Your Kid But You Still Owe Us Money to have some sophisticated blood tests done for rare immune deficiencies because she is stumped by why I a) catch so many viruses, illnesses, etc., b) end up with so many secondary infections and c) have such a hard time getting over them even with treatment. (The obvious reason would be diabetes but I've been checked multiple times and don't have it...yet.) I'm considering it because I figure that just running some blood tests, especially since we're not investigating something that's immediately life-threatening, is possibly within the UofWKWKYKBYSTOUM's realm of competency. In the wake of my sore throat/sore ear/debilitating depression, I rescheduled my root canal, which was supposed to be this afternoon, to next week.
Why am I SO FUCKED UP?
In more health-related news, we are going to call Bubba's doctor today to find out what to do about his itchy bunghole. Dr. Google suggests pinworms, which gross me out so completely that the thought of "waiting and seeing" for the weekend makes me want to puke. I've had a longstanding phobia about any kind of parasitic bugs like lice and pinworms and the like, and thank Allah I have never had any of those...but I imagine that dealing with them will be just one more of the joys of motherhood that are to come my way. It isn't even the social stigma attached to these things, because I realize it's just a contagious bug like a virus or a bacterium--it's more the thought of a living, visible insect feeding off of our flesh...and the word "infestation" that goes along with it....eww, chills, yuck, eek! Thankfully, J. is handling this chore given my general malaise and depression. To give credit where it's due, I have to say J. has been very good the last couple of days, other than the housekeeping disaster yesterday morning. He came and gave me the car for my doctor's appointment then ran me back home so that I wouldn't have to deal with picking Bubba up from daycare, and is being pretty sympathetic during the 10 minutes or so every day that we have to talk to one another.
Finally, on the depression front--can't really tell what's depression and what's just general illness today. I feel like it may be lifting a little bit because I found myself interested in a couple of different things today: I was pleased that Obama won the democratic caucus here in Iowa even without J. and me; and I was intrigued by the latest Britney Spears spectacle. I can't help it, I feel sorry for her.
I'm also feeling a little more in the mood to write, which is nice. So, I will attempt to do the Mayfly meme that Melissa tagged me for. The goal is to sum up your year 2007 in 24 words to see what was constant, what really mattered, what the big stuff was. So here's my attempt:
Confusion. Considered divorce, still married; realized age three is better and worse than two; felt trapped, Girls' Nights (and my girls) kept me sane.
I think I'm supposed to tag someone else now, so how about Complicated Mama--don't know if she ever even comes here but I recently discovered her and I LOVE her writing; Nicole, who is a devoted commenter here and I really appreciate it; and Yodasmistress, who just visited here for the first time and whose blog I am interested in delving into more.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
I'm Wearing My Grumpy Pants
I am seriously grumpy today. I called in to work because I just couldn't face it. I'm counting on the assumption that if my absences become termination-worthy, someone will warn me and then I will have to start hauling my ass in even when I'm emotionally in the shitter.
I'm not sure exactly what it is. I think it's partly Christmas fallout. I woke up yesterday morning in good spirits, actually, and we had a fine present-opening with Bubba. with only a little bit of disappointment about the fact that my husband hadn't gotten me anything at all. I kind of expected it because he never has any money, but I figured maybe he could have found a little token something just so I'd have a present to open. It was a little bit sad when I gave J. the books I'd bought him, and the calendar with Bubba's picture and handprints that we'd made for him, and then Bubba said "Where's your present, Mommy?" and I had to say "I don't think I have one, honey." Sigh. J. said, "Mommy's going to get her present later. That's how it works sometimes." Yeah right. I don't even want the THING, whatever it is, I really just wanted to have something to open. Next year I'll buy myself a present to have under the tree, I guess.
Anyway, the plan was to do our little family Christmas and then head back to my parents' house (about an hour's drive) for the big family Christmas. There weren't any deadlines we had to meet, or so I thought--I just figured as long as we were back before noon things would be good. We all got cleaned up and loaded the car and dragged Bubba away from his V-Smile and were just about to get in the car at 10 a.m. when my sister called.
"Where are you?" was the first thing out of her mouth.
"Well, we're still at home," I said.
"Are you frickin' kidding me?" she says, and I didn't detect any kind of joking tone.
"Well, we had to do our Christmas here first," I said.
"Yeah, but Bubba gets up at 6 a.m. so you should have had plenty of time by now!" she says.
"Bubba didn't get up until 8:30," I reply. "We're just about ready to get in the car."
"Okay...well, Mom says the turkey will be done by noon. But don't speed to get here."
I got off the phone, and I felt like my Christmas mood had just been deflated like a popped balloon. I took my anxiety meds and we got in the car. About 15 minutes into the drive we realized we'd forgotten blankie and puppy, two critical items for both the drive there and back and for any hope of a nap for Bubba, so we had to go back, thus making us even later. We still got home by 11:15 because yes, we did speed--although J. does that regardless.
By the time we'd gotten there I was pretty mellowed out from my pill, and things went fairly well for most of the day, other than Bubba not taking a nap and his incessant neediness, which I feel bad complaining about but jesus, it's tiring. I was also a little disgruntled about how our family Christmas has devolved over the past several years to opening presents, eating, and then my husband and both my nieces playing video games all afternoon. I sat there yesterday wishing we could do something where we could actually connect as a family rather than just be stuck watching them play a game. Oh well!
At about 5 p.m. Bubba falls asleep so I have to wake him up so there will be a chance of him sleeping at night. I was cuddling with him on the couch and we were talking about "the sunshine song" that he likes me to sing to him. It's the "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine" song. I started singing it to him when he was a baby, only I could never make the "please don't take my sunshine away" part come out of my mouth because it always reminded me of Hope and how she had been taken away from me, so I changed the words to "and I know you'll never go away."
I said in passing to my mom and sister that I had changed the words and I sang my version to them. My sister, in one of her typically intense outbursts, says "Oh my God! When I said I would love for my children to live with me forever you were the one who told me I had to let them go and now this is what you're singing to your son!" Like I was some kind of hypocrite or something. I actually sat in silence for a moment wondering if I really wanted to drop the dead baby bomb and then decided fuck it, I'm telling her and I hope she feels bad about it. So I said, "I sing it that way because after Bubba was born it always reminded me of how one of my kids had already died and I didn't want another one to be taken from me." Then I got up and went to the other room, and was explaining the whole incident to J. when she came in and apologized and of course started crying. Her apology was genuine and I let it all go, but I really, really wish she would realize that she is very harsh sometimes and that the things she lets fly out of her mouth can really be hurtful. I don't suppose she will ever change, it's who she is...but in spite of all my therapy and drugs I just can't let it roll over me all the time.
So that incident got me sort of focused on Hope and remembering that first Christmas without her. I think of her every day, and especially on holidays, and in fact J. and I had gone to the cemetery earlier in the day to visit his parents' graves and we stopped by the baby section and I remembered Hope while looking at the stones of other little ones who were gone. So it wasn't like it was a shock or anything to be thinking of her, but usually I can remember her peacefully, and that incident with my sister got me thinking about the pain instead.
We headed back home about an hour later, and I sullenly sat in the car until I fell asleep, then grumpily hauled myself into the house and just went straight to bed, leaving J. to entertain Bubba who was oddly still awake. And I woke up today feeling pretty much the same way I did when I fell asleep. Now I am looking around my house at the post-Christmas disaster and dealing with mood where I just don't know what the hell I feel like doing because really, I just don't feel like doing anything, and yet I also don't feel like doing nothing.
God, it sucks being an emotional mess.
So that was Christmas. Thank god it's over! Hope you all had good ones, or if not, I hope you'll blog about the drama so that I can feel some cameraderie with you all!
I'm not sure exactly what it is. I think it's partly Christmas fallout. I woke up yesterday morning in good spirits, actually, and we had a fine present-opening with Bubba. with only a little bit of disappointment about the fact that my husband hadn't gotten me anything at all. I kind of expected it because he never has any money, but I figured maybe he could have found a little token something just so I'd have a present to open. It was a little bit sad when I gave J. the books I'd bought him, and the calendar with Bubba's picture and handprints that we'd made for him, and then Bubba said "Where's your present, Mommy?" and I had to say "I don't think I have one, honey." Sigh. J. said, "Mommy's going to get her present later. That's how it works sometimes." Yeah right. I don't even want the THING, whatever it is, I really just wanted to have something to open. Next year I'll buy myself a present to have under the tree, I guess.
Anyway, the plan was to do our little family Christmas and then head back to my parents' house (about an hour's drive) for the big family Christmas. There weren't any deadlines we had to meet, or so I thought--I just figured as long as we were back before noon things would be good. We all got cleaned up and loaded the car and dragged Bubba away from his V-Smile and were just about to get in the car at 10 a.m. when my sister called.
"Where are you?" was the first thing out of her mouth.
"Well, we're still at home," I said.
"Are you frickin' kidding me?" she says, and I didn't detect any kind of joking tone.
"Well, we had to do our Christmas here first," I said.
"Yeah, but Bubba gets up at 6 a.m. so you should have had plenty of time by now!" she says.
"Bubba didn't get up until 8:30," I reply. "We're just about ready to get in the car."
"Okay...well, Mom says the turkey will be done by noon. But don't speed to get here."
I got off the phone, and I felt like my Christmas mood had just been deflated like a popped balloon. I took my anxiety meds and we got in the car. About 15 minutes into the drive we realized we'd forgotten blankie and puppy, two critical items for both the drive there and back and for any hope of a nap for Bubba, so we had to go back, thus making us even later. We still got home by 11:15 because yes, we did speed--although J. does that regardless.
By the time we'd gotten there I was pretty mellowed out from my pill, and things went fairly well for most of the day, other than Bubba not taking a nap and his incessant neediness, which I feel bad complaining about but jesus, it's tiring. I was also a little disgruntled about how our family Christmas has devolved over the past several years to opening presents, eating, and then my husband and both my nieces playing video games all afternoon. I sat there yesterday wishing we could do something where we could actually connect as a family rather than just be stuck watching them play a game. Oh well!
At about 5 p.m. Bubba falls asleep so I have to wake him up so there will be a chance of him sleeping at night. I was cuddling with him on the couch and we were talking about "the sunshine song" that he likes me to sing to him. It's the "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine" song. I started singing it to him when he was a baby, only I could never make the "please don't take my sunshine away" part come out of my mouth because it always reminded me of Hope and how she had been taken away from me, so I changed the words to "and I know you'll never go away."
I said in passing to my mom and sister that I had changed the words and I sang my version to them. My sister, in one of her typically intense outbursts, says "Oh my God! When I said I would love for my children to live with me forever you were the one who told me I had to let them go and now this is what you're singing to your son!" Like I was some kind of hypocrite or something. I actually sat in silence for a moment wondering if I really wanted to drop the dead baby bomb and then decided fuck it, I'm telling her and I hope she feels bad about it. So I said, "I sing it that way because after Bubba was born it always reminded me of how one of my kids had already died and I didn't want another one to be taken from me." Then I got up and went to the other room, and was explaining the whole incident to J. when she came in and apologized and of course started crying. Her apology was genuine and I let it all go, but I really, really wish she would realize that she is very harsh sometimes and that the things she lets fly out of her mouth can really be hurtful. I don't suppose she will ever change, it's who she is...but in spite of all my therapy and drugs I just can't let it roll over me all the time.
So that incident got me sort of focused on Hope and remembering that first Christmas without her. I think of her every day, and especially on holidays, and in fact J. and I had gone to the cemetery earlier in the day to visit his parents' graves and we stopped by the baby section and I remembered Hope while looking at the stones of other little ones who were gone. So it wasn't like it was a shock or anything to be thinking of her, but usually I can remember her peacefully, and that incident with my sister got me thinking about the pain instead.
We headed back home about an hour later, and I sullenly sat in the car until I fell asleep, then grumpily hauled myself into the house and just went straight to bed, leaving J. to entertain Bubba who was oddly still awake. And I woke up today feeling pretty much the same way I did when I fell asleep. Now I am looking around my house at the post-Christmas disaster and dealing with mood where I just don't know what the hell I feel like doing because really, I just don't feel like doing anything, and yet I also don't feel like doing nothing.
God, it sucks being an emotional mess.
So that was Christmas. Thank god it's over! Hope you all had good ones, or if not, I hope you'll blog about the drama so that I can feel some cameraderie with you all!
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
No butts about it, it's her birthday!
Hopefully she won't think I'm being cheeky, butt today is a special day--it is Best Friend Tingle's birthday!Unfortunately, when I talked to her last night, she was in the throes of a bad stomach virus, vomiting, diarrhea, chills, the whole nine. I hope she feels better today!
Even though she never reads my blog anymore, I still wanted to publicly acknowledge the day of her birth. How happy I am that she is in the world, and how lucky I am to receive her gift of friendship.
Happy birthday, Tingle. I hope you get everything you wish for this year!
This moment is unveiling the divine
I just got back from my therapy appointment. I came away with a few good things that I want to note for future reference.
I told her I've been in a rut lately where I feel like I slog through 8 hours of work and then gear up for another shift at home. I told her how I tend to dread doing some of the things that make up our evening routine, like playing with Gary, until they're actually underway and then I usually find myself having at least some fun.
She said, "So what you're telling me is that you get to go home after work, lie on your bed and listen to your son talk about love? Boy, that sounds terrible!" She helped me look at it as a way to unwind rather than something I have to do (even though I do have to do it, because if I didn't, the resulting tantrum would be so not worth it). Truthfully, though, it's my attitude more than anything else that makes it seem like a chore.
Another thing she said really made an impression on me. She said that when Bubba wants me to play with Gary, or "crash cars," or whatever, that he's inviting me into his world, and that as much as I can, I should accept those invitations so that when he's 30 and out on his own with his own family he will still be inviting me in (she's really good at saying things that I know I know as soon as she says them, but that I hadn't really brought up to the conscious level). This really made a lot of sense to me.
The final nugget, one that I think I'm going to post on the wall in my house, is something along the lines of "This moment is unveiling the divine." Translation for those who aren't all Sufi like my therapist: this moment, no matter how challenging--in fact, the more challenging, the more powerful it is--is an opportunity to stretch yourself to see how patient, how loving, how merciful you can be, either to yourself or to the person you are with.
My homework is to dance at least once before our next meeting in January, and to try to think of things that I think are fun, because I told her how I was trying to think of ways to make our time at home more fun and I came up with a big blank space that scared me so I stopped thinking about it.
I told her I've been in a rut lately where I feel like I slog through 8 hours of work and then gear up for another shift at home. I told her how I tend to dread doing some of the things that make up our evening routine, like playing with Gary, until they're actually underway and then I usually find myself having at least some fun.
She said, "So what you're telling me is that you get to go home after work, lie on your bed and listen to your son talk about love? Boy, that sounds terrible!" She helped me look at it as a way to unwind rather than something I have to do (even though I do have to do it, because if I didn't, the resulting tantrum would be so not worth it). Truthfully, though, it's my attitude more than anything else that makes it seem like a chore.
Another thing she said really made an impression on me. She said that when Bubba wants me to play with Gary, or "crash cars," or whatever, that he's inviting me into his world, and that as much as I can, I should accept those invitations so that when he's 30 and out on his own with his own family he will still be inviting me in (she's really good at saying things that I know I know as soon as she says them, but that I hadn't really brought up to the conscious level). This really made a lot of sense to me.
The final nugget, one that I think I'm going to post on the wall in my house, is something along the lines of "This moment is unveiling the divine." Translation for those who aren't all Sufi like my therapist: this moment, no matter how challenging--in fact, the more challenging, the more powerful it is--is an opportunity to stretch yourself to see how patient, how loving, how merciful you can be, either to yourself or to the person you are with.
My homework is to dance at least once before our next meeting in January, and to try to think of things that I think are fun, because I told her how I was trying to think of ways to make our time at home more fun and I came up with a big blank space that scared me so I stopped thinking about it.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
My Life as a Trichotillomaniac
So. I wanted to talk to you today about....trichotillomania, otherwise known as a "hair pulling disorder." I also want to give a shout out to Melissa, who bravely came out in the comments on my last post. Good for you!
I started pulling my hair in fifth grade. I remember the very first time I pulled out one of my own head hairs. I was in science class, and Mr. Hansen made everyone pull out a hair from their scalp and look at it under the microscope. I was fascinated by the root. It hurt, but not enough to prevent me from pulling out another one now and then to examine the root again. By the time I was in sixth grade, it had become a habit that I have lived with ever since. It didn't hurt anymore at all. I knew it was weird so I tried to hide it, but one day my mom found a huge pile of my long hair next to the chair where I used to sit and read. I told her what I was doing and she just told me to stop and seemed kind of disgusted, so after that I was more careful about cleaning up after myself.
I have always pulled from one primary location on my head, at the crown on my right side where I also have a cowlick. I also pull from the other side, but not as much. Throughout my school years, I don't remember it being so bad--I could do a comb-over and spray it with hairspray and it was pretty much undetectable. Now it's more noticeable, because along with adulthood has come more anxiety and thus, more pulling. I used to agonize over what I freak I was, try to stop, fail, and then feel even worse about myself. Now, I've kind of let myself go with it. Sometimes I still feel like a freak (like when I have to visit my stylist), but in general, I've kind of accepted it as part of who I am.
The only problem is that because I pull more, my bald spots are harder to hide. I now have long hair, so I'm able to pull it back into a barrette or put it up and hide the spot. I can never go out of the house with my hair down, because it would just be too apparent. Plus, because of the constant stress on those follicles, all the hair there is white.
So why do I do it? I tend to do it in two different situations: stressful ones, or times when I'm bored. I do it a lot at work. I do it a lot in the car when the drive is boring. There is a ritual to it: I feel for a hair that is particularly coarse, pull, examine it, and then usually chew on the root. I know, it's disgusting, but not that uncommon amongst those of us to have this disorder. It somehow relaxes me, even though there's still some residual shame that comes on after a big pulling binge.
I started pulling my hair in fifth grade. I remember the very first time I pulled out one of my own head hairs. I was in science class, and Mr. Hansen made everyone pull out a hair from their scalp and look at it under the microscope. I was fascinated by the root. It hurt, but not enough to prevent me from pulling out another one now and then to examine the root again. By the time I was in sixth grade, it had become a habit that I have lived with ever since. It didn't hurt anymore at all. I knew it was weird so I tried to hide it, but one day my mom found a huge pile of my long hair next to the chair where I used to sit and read. I told her what I was doing and she just told me to stop and seemed kind of disgusted, so after that I was more careful about cleaning up after myself.I have always pulled from one primary location on my head, at the crown on my right side where I also have a cowlick. I also pull from the other side, but not as much. Throughout my school years, I don't remember it being so bad--I could do a comb-over and spray it with hairspray and it was pretty much undetectable. Now it's more noticeable, because along with adulthood has come more anxiety and thus, more pulling. I used to agonize over what I freak I was, try to stop, fail, and then feel even worse about myself. Now, I've kind of let myself go with it. Sometimes I still feel like a freak (like when I have to visit my stylist), but in general, I've kind of accepted it as part of who I am.
The only problem is that because I pull more, my bald spots are harder to hide. I now have long hair, so I'm able to pull it back into a barrette or put it up and hide the spot. I can never go out of the house with my hair down, because it would just be too apparent. Plus, because of the constant stress on those follicles, all the hair there is white.
You can read a lot about trichotillomania on the web. Some of the more interested tidbits to me are that the disorder is possibly related to Tourette's syndrome; some hypothesize that it's kind of an overexpression of normal self-grooming behaviors that our primate relatives engage in. There are also a couple of disorders related to trichotillomania including compulsive skin picking, which I also engage in, and obsessive compulsive disorder, one that I somehow escaped. While some think trichotillomania is or could be classified as OCD, right now it is labeled an "impulse control disorder." There's also a hereditary component, which I know is true in my case. My dad is a skin picker, and at my grandma's funeral I happened to catch one of my cousins pulling her hair out during the service.
The whole thing has given me a lot of angst in the past. The first person I ever really told was J., who probably knew already but still, reacted very supportively. Then I told LilCherie, and later on, Tingle. A few months ago my mother saw my bald spot and seemed completely shocked, even though I'd told her before that I do this. "What's this from?" she said sort of gaspy. "Mom, I told you--I pull my hair out," I said. I guess maybe she finally believes me!
By far the worst part of this disorder is--or I should say was--going to the hairdresser. They'd come across the bald spot and look troubled, then really examine it and say something like, "What's going on here?" or "What happened here?" I'd usually feign ignorance, like "I don't know, I just noticed it and I don't know how it happened." It was mortifying every time. I started seeing my current guy, Shawn, about 8 years ago. We were acquaintances already before he did my hair, so I felt a little more comfortable with him, but I gave him the same line or variations for several years. He is so cool, though, that I finally decided to just tell him. He didn't act like I was a freak at all. He asked me a few questions about it, like why I do it, but not maliciously. Then he just said "We all have our thing, you know?" Last week when I got my hair cut I came clean right away and told him I'd been pulling a lot, and he was totally cool. No big deal.
And this is going to sound minor but it does cause me a little bit of grief--I hate, hate, hate the saying "I was about ready to pull my hair out!" It's amazing how much people use this expression, which I'm sure I wouldn't notice if I didn't actually pull my hair out!
I have to say I feel much less stress about this part of my life since I've decided to be open about it with those who are close to me and my hair guy. It's easier to be myself when I don't have to worry about my bald spot showing. Nobody has acted like I'm a freak, which surprised me because I always felt like one. But really, is it that much different from chewing your lip or biting your fingernails, which people do all the time, openly?
I wish more people--hair stylists especially!--knew about this disorder and I wish it could be discussed more openly, because I think it's really sad that something that is such a minor quirk in the big scheme of things causes people so much angst and anxiety for years. It's so not worth it.
So, to all you closet pullers out there, my advice is: come out, accept yourself, and realize that it's just not that big of a deal. If you want to pull, pull, and don't beat yourself up about it. You're not a freak, you're not alone, and you're not crazy. It's okay. Like Shawn said, we all have our thing.
I'm happy to answer any questions you may have about my disorder. Thank you. Goodnight!
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Notes From My Life
Monday: During half-hour battle with 3-year-old son to get him to take Tylenol, he states with all the petulant, serious anger he has in his little body that the whole idea was "Tartar sauce!" (Toddler-friendly expletive courtesy of SpongeBob SquarePants).
Tuesday: Third ice storm of the month hits Iowa on the same day that Aunt Flo's Second Day Hemmorrhage floods my underpants. Bubba's still sick, so it's me and him, along with Manny, Sid and Diego (from Ice Age); Peter Pan, Wendy and "the Injuns" (have you watched this movie recently? Wow.); and SpongeBob, Patrick, Squidward and Gary for approximately 9 hours. Tree branch in backyard cracks just moments before my own sanity does same.
Wednesday: Morning with Bubba (still sick) and then on to the endodontist. LilCherie and I share the same endodontist who has a stunningly bad bedside manner but has the magic hands with the root canals. I am in his office for literally five minutes. He looks at the x-ray sent over by my dentist, puts an ice cube on my tooth, I say "Ow," and he says, "Yep, needs a root canal." For that, I am charged $60. If you break it down, he earned $12 for each minute I sat in his chair. I guess that's cheap compared to the approximately $40 per minute he gets for the actual root canal. Luckily the procedure can wait until after the first of the year, since I've already maxed out my dental coverage on this year's root canal/crown/pulp cap follies.
On my way back from that appointment, I stop at a convenience store for smokes. I am musing at the hillbilly who's ringing me up -- he's a hefty guy, with a lot of erratic facial hair and eyes that go in two different directions -- when suddenly one of his eyes seems to focus at something behind me and he says, "Hey. Ah laak that hat." I turn my head and there's an older guy behind me wearing a baseball cap emblazoned with a Confederate flag. "Yeah, me too," says the hat-wearer. "Ah'm a proud and true Tennessean!" Hillbilly cashier says, "Yep. Ah'm frum Kentucky." Luckily I get away before I overhear them talkin' 'bout the ole fashion lynchin' goin' on down at Redneck Corner at sundown! Christ!
Stay tuned for more excitement, as tonight I am going to my stylist for the first haircut I've had in about a year and a half or something like that. I've been putting it off because I have trichotillomania, and have been pulling a lot lately, leaving a couple of nasty bald spots on the top of my head. I've come clean with my guy, and he's really cool about it, but still...it's like having someone examining your freakitude.
What a trip.
Tuesday: Third ice storm of the month hits Iowa on the same day that Aunt Flo's Second Day Hemmorrhage floods my underpants. Bubba's still sick, so it's me and him, along with Manny, Sid and Diego (from Ice Age); Peter Pan, Wendy and "the Injuns" (have you watched this movie recently? Wow.); and SpongeBob, Patrick, Squidward and Gary for approximately 9 hours. Tree branch in backyard cracks just moments before my own sanity does same.
Wednesday: Morning with Bubba (still sick) and then on to the endodontist. LilCherie and I share the same endodontist who has a stunningly bad bedside manner but has the magic hands with the root canals. I am in his office for literally five minutes. He looks at the x-ray sent over by my dentist, puts an ice cube on my tooth, I say "Ow," and he says, "Yep, needs a root canal." For that, I am charged $60. If you break it down, he earned $12 for each minute I sat in his chair. I guess that's cheap compared to the approximately $40 per minute he gets for the actual root canal. Luckily the procedure can wait until after the first of the year, since I've already maxed out my dental coverage on this year's root canal/crown/pulp cap follies.
On my way back from that appointment, I stop at a convenience store for smokes. I am musing at the hillbilly who's ringing me up -- he's a hefty guy, with a lot of erratic facial hair and eyes that go in two different directions -- when suddenly one of his eyes seems to focus at something behind me and he says, "Hey. Ah laak that hat." I turn my head and there's an older guy behind me wearing a baseball cap emblazoned with a Confederate flag. "Yeah, me too," says the hat-wearer. "Ah'm a proud and true Tennessean!" Hillbilly cashier says, "Yep. Ah'm frum Kentucky." Luckily I get away before I overhear them talkin' 'bout the ole fashion lynchin' goin' on down at Redneck Corner at sundown! Christ!
Stay tuned for more excitement, as tonight I am going to my stylist for the first haircut I've had in about a year and a half or something like that. I've been putting it off because I have trichotillomania, and have been pulling a lot lately, leaving a couple of nasty bald spots on the top of my head. I've come clean with my guy, and he's really cool about it, but still...it's like having someone examining your freakitude.
What a trip.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Just a bunch of stuff
Health Update
Monday I went to the doc for my weekly sinus check. A cyst in my left sinus had reformed, so he had to go in and anesthetize the area and pull off a "chunk" of the cyst so that hopefully, it won't close up again. I also have to be on Bactrim for another two weeks (for a total of four weeks) because I'm still showing signs of infection, although it is getting better. In general, I'm feeling a lot better but not 100 percent.
A Very Special Christmas
Last weekend I hosted our Third Annual Girls' Night Christmas Party. It was a blast. Tingle made it in from Cleveland, and LilCherie and Pioneer Girl braved a major ice storm to get to my house. It was awesome. It started out a bit rocky as I was feeling crappy with what might have been a cold or could have just been sinus stuff, but as the evening wore on I felt better and it was amazing. To give my husband credit where credit is due, he kindly took Bubba and himself to his sister's house that afternoon so we could have the house to ourselves. We exchanged funny gifts and all wore our tree skirts (Pioneer Girl made all of them, and Tingle got one this year). My friends are the best!
Winter + Iowa = Pain in the Ass
The weather in Iowa has been challenging. The ice storm last weekend left a sheet of ice on our driveway and sidewalk that we haven't cleared yet. It's been very cold, snowed a bit on Tuesday, and now is snowing again with an expected 3 to 5 inches tonight. Then Saturday we are supposed to get more snow or possibly ice, which really pisses me off because I'm supposed to go see Oprah and Obama! I am really psyched up for this, so I can't miss it. I may have to leave for LilCherie's house at 10:30 in the morning like she did to come down to my house last weekend.
Ich bin sehr müde
I am so tired. I feel like Bancini in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest." Tired, tired, tired of everything. Tonight I have Bubba-duty and as much as I hate to admit it, I'm just not looking forward to it. Sometimes I can get myself kinda psyched up for my Bubba time and really enjoy myself, but other times, I feel like I'm leaving one job just to go to the next, and I know my day won't be over until I fall into a coma next to him as I put him to bed. The total lack of "me time" during a day puts me in a bad mood--I'm selfish that way. And it may happen again tomorrow night, as I've told J. to try to plan something fun for himself so that I won't have to feel too guilty about essentially spending the entire weekend at LilCherie's/seeing Oprah.
Lately Bubba has been very clingy and whiny, and his favorite activity is sitting on my bed and playing with the body pillow. It's "J" shaped and Bubba calls it Gary because he pretends it's Gary the Snail from SpongeBob. So we sit in there for half an hour or 45 minutes while Bubba pets Gary, makes me pet Gary, talks about how cute Gary is, hugs Gary, pretends to have Baby Garys in his hand, kisses Gary, etc. It's pretty cute--for the first five minutes, and after that it's honestly really boring. The only way I've found to spice it up is to have Gary ask Bubba about school, because Bubba will tell Gary more than he ever tells me or J. But even that only lasts for about three or four minutes before Bubba declares "That's enough talking."
Sometimes I feel like I am just Bubba's handmaiden. "Fetch me some milk, you lowly wench! Turn on the SpongeBob! Take off my socks! No, put them back on again, me feets has got the chill! I need to go to the potty throne! I want some more candy! I don't want to eat supper! I don't like to have lotion on! I don't want to go to bed! I want to read the only book in the house that you cannot find!" It's truly exhausting.
I really don't believe it when I hear stars say that they don't have nannies or cooks or anything like that. There's no way. If I were rich, I would totally employ a nanny, not to raise my kid or anything like that but to just do the scut work, like running back and forth to fill milk cups, changing the DVD at Bubba's whim, changing his clothes and doing The Lotioning and maybe giving a bath now and then. Hmmm. That pretty much covers most parenting duties, huh? (Aha Moment: Parenting IS scutwork!) I like to imagine that while the nanny is bustling about, Bubba and I are engaged in enriching play, because if I had a nanny I wouldn't be so damn tired. Maybe I'd just hire a maid and a cook so that I could redirect that energy to Bubba-related stuff. Or, maybe I'd be just as lazy but not have as good of an excuse!
Monday I went to the doc for my weekly sinus check. A cyst in my left sinus had reformed, so he had to go in and anesthetize the area and pull off a "chunk" of the cyst so that hopefully, it won't close up again. I also have to be on Bactrim for another two weeks (for a total of four weeks) because I'm still showing signs of infection, although it is getting better. In general, I'm feeling a lot better but not 100 percent.
A Very Special Christmas
Last weekend I hosted our Third Annual Girls' Night Christmas Party. It was a blast. Tingle made it in from Cleveland, and LilCherie and Pioneer Girl braved a major ice storm to get to my house. It was awesome. It started out a bit rocky as I was feeling crappy with what might have been a cold or could have just been sinus stuff, but as the evening wore on I felt better and it was amazing. To give my husband credit where credit is due, he kindly took Bubba and himself to his sister's house that afternoon so we could have the house to ourselves. We exchanged funny gifts and all wore our tree skirts (Pioneer Girl made all of them, and Tingle got one this year). My friends are the best!
Winter + Iowa = Pain in the Ass
The weather in Iowa has been challenging. The ice storm last weekend left a sheet of ice on our driveway and sidewalk that we haven't cleared yet. It's been very cold, snowed a bit on Tuesday, and now is snowing again with an expected 3 to 5 inches tonight. Then Saturday we are supposed to get more snow or possibly ice, which really pisses me off because I'm supposed to go see Oprah and Obama! I am really psyched up for this, so I can't miss it. I may have to leave for LilCherie's house at 10:30 in the morning like she did to come down to my house last weekend.
Ich bin sehr müde
I am so tired. I feel like Bancini in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest." Tired, tired, tired of everything. Tonight I have Bubba-duty and as much as I hate to admit it, I'm just not looking forward to it. Sometimes I can get myself kinda psyched up for my Bubba time and really enjoy myself, but other times, I feel like I'm leaving one job just to go to the next, and I know my day won't be over until I fall into a coma next to him as I put him to bed. The total lack of "me time" during a day puts me in a bad mood--I'm selfish that way. And it may happen again tomorrow night, as I've told J. to try to plan something fun for himself so that I won't have to feel too guilty about essentially spending the entire weekend at LilCherie's/seeing Oprah.Lately Bubba has been very clingy and whiny, and his favorite activity is sitting on my bed and playing with the body pillow. It's "J" shaped and Bubba calls it Gary because he pretends it's Gary the Snail from SpongeBob. So we sit in there for half an hour or 45 minutes while Bubba pets Gary, makes me pet Gary, talks about how cute Gary is, hugs Gary, pretends to have Baby Garys in his hand, kisses Gary, etc. It's pretty cute--for the first five minutes, and after that it's honestly really boring. The only way I've found to spice it up is to have Gary ask Bubba about school, because Bubba will tell Gary more than he ever tells me or J. But even that only lasts for about three or four minutes before Bubba declares "That's enough talking."
Sometimes I feel like I am just Bubba's handmaiden. "Fetch me some milk, you lowly wench! Turn on the SpongeBob! Take off my socks! No, put them back on again, me feets has got the chill! I need to go to the potty throne! I want some more candy! I don't want to eat supper! I don't like to have lotion on! I don't want to go to bed! I want to read the only book in the house that you cannot find!" It's truly exhausting.
I really don't believe it when I hear stars say that they don't have nannies or cooks or anything like that. There's no way. If I were rich, I would totally employ a nanny, not to raise my kid or anything like that but to just do the scut work, like running back and forth to fill milk cups, changing the DVD at Bubba's whim, changing his clothes and doing The Lotioning and maybe giving a bath now and then. Hmmm. That pretty much covers most parenting duties, huh? (Aha Moment: Parenting IS scutwork!) I like to imagine that while the nanny is bustling about, Bubba and I are engaged in enriching play, because if I had a nanny I wouldn't be so damn tired. Maybe I'd just hire a maid and a cook so that I could redirect that energy to Bubba-related stuff. Or, maybe I'd be just as lazy but not have as good of an excuse!
Monday, November 19, 2007
I heard her complain, often and loudly
Today I dragged myself into work by 9:20 a.m. At approximately 9:35 a.m. I blew my nose. A big chunk came out; nothing new there, at least not since surgery almost a month ago now. Then watery fluid came pouring out of my right nostril, down onto my desk and onto the floor. With visions of a ruptured sinus and cerebrospinal fluid leak, I called J. for a ride, called my otolaryngologist’s office and started crying when she told me they didn’t have any doctors in the office at that time (what the fuck?) In a semi-hysterical state on the way to the car, I said “Well, do I go to the emergency room or what, because I’m sick and I’m scared and I need someone to look at me so you tell me where to go.” She sent me to the ER since my oto was there anyway in surgery, and he could see me in between cases.
Alas, no cerebrospinal fluid leak—but a CT showed that the fucking infection I’ve been fighting since the week after surgery is still there. It is now apparently invisible to the naked eye, since my oto thought everything looked good on Friday and again today when he looked before the CT. So is it in my bones now or what? I have to ask on Wednesday when I go back for my next follow-up. I got an IV infusion of antibiotics and a prescription for yet another one to take over the next week.
In the last two months, I’ve been on Amoxicillin for an unrelated respiratory infection; Levaquin for the sinus infection that broke the camel’s back and sent me to surgery; Ancef during surgery; Cephalexin prophylactically for the week after surgery; Augmentin for a week for the post-surgical infection, which I finished last Thursday; Rocephin today in the IV, and now Bactrim. As well as methylprednisolone prescribed last Friday for inflammation. And hydrocodone for pain, which I’m trying to limit but did take again today. Strangely, I still haven’t really lost faith in my doctor. I feel like his actions and recommendations have been rational and appropriate given the symptoms I’ve been exhibiting—they just aren’t helping so far. So I’m sticking with him, for now anyway.
I spent most of the six hours we were at the ER in tears. I am so, so very tired. We had to reschedule our marriage counseling appointment this afternoon, and we needed it. J. did come through pretty well at the hospital today, a real sacrifice for him I know since missing work is about his number one pet peeve. I feel like I’m trying to save my sanity, my health and my marriage all at once, and failing at all to various degrees.
I’ve been ordered off work for the rest of the week, which is only three days because of Thanksgiving. I have to give credit where it’s due and report that my Mom and Dad happily and cheerfully took Bubba on Sunday to Monday to give us a break, and then today volunteered to keep him over another night, which they are. So all I have to do tonight is rest…and for once, I just can’t. I’m lonely, but J. had to go back to work for the remaining two hours of the day, and then volunteer for a reception his workplace was hosting for a local athletic team. He is picking me up dinner on the way home so I guess I shouldn’t complain, but I sort of wish he would have just stayed home. Even though we don’t talk anyway. So scratch that. I don’t know what I wanted. Just to feel better, I guess.
I struggle with blaming myself for my bad health, but you know, I'm so tired of it all that I'm not even going to do the blame game. It's pointless. As Best Friend Tingle would say, it is what it is. I'm sick a lot. I've always been like this. What sucks is that I don't really have the mental stamina to deal with it. I've specifically instructed my loved ones that if I died from some kind of painful disease they are to make it known that I complained every chance I got. I hate it when i read about how "She had XYZ Most Horrible Painful Disease in the World but she never once complained." I mean, let's be real, people. Being sick sucks. And I complain about it, a lot, in real life and--so lucky for you--here.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
There are some good things in my life, too
I’ve been struggling with the fear that I’m alienating my few readers by posting things that are so damn depressing. Then, I remembered what I wrote when I started blogging again about how I really just had to blog for myself, not for anyone else, so I’m getting over it. It’s hard to remember, sometimes, that it’s not really about whether or not people are reading it—it’s more important that I’m getting it out. That said, I do appreciate those of you who still stop by, and I want you to know I’m reading your blogs even if I’m not commenting. I’m working up to it, I promise.
I stayed home sick again today. Called the doctor, talked to his nurse, who told me to “try to get up and around a little bit more to get your strength back” and to take Excedrin Migraine for my headaches. They just don’t get it. I’ve had enough bad infections in my life to know that there’s something going on. The exhaustion I am feeling is beyond just normal recovery. It is time for what my boss calls a “come to Jesus” meeting with my doc on Friday when I have my appointment.
I do want to write something a little more upbeat tonight, if for no other reason than to make myself feel better. First, the highlight of my day was talking to LilCherie, who called me on her way home from therapy. Lately I have been struck by what a lifeline LilCherie is for me. She is like a part of my body and my soul. I can’t imagine life without her. We met each other in second grade, so that was like what, 30 years ago? We became “best friends” in sixth grade, 24 years ago or something like that, and except for a brief two-year stint in college when we were stupid, we’ve been sharing laughter, secrets and tears ever since.
How lucky I am, not only to have her friendship, but to be able to see her at least once a week on our Girls’ Nights. I bitch about J. a lot here, but I have to say that a lot of husbands wouldn’t be so accommodating of that, and I am grateful. He knows my time with LilCherie is sacred and life-giving to me.
If LilCherie was my only friend, I’d still feel rich and blessed. But I have another soulmate: Tingle. Remember that cruel bitch Fate I was talking about yesterday? Well, she also brought me Tingle, right when I needed her the most. Tingle understands me in ways that nobody else can. She and I are so alike it is frightening at times, difficult at times, but mostly, reassuring and comforting.
I hate it that she is all the way in Cleveland, but one of the joys of our friendship is that even if our almost-nightly phone conversations consist mostly of “I’m tired” and “Me too,” there is never that awkward space between us that can happen in long-distance relationships. She is coming to see us later this month, to participate in our annual Pre-Holiday Girls’ Night celebration, and I am so excited to see her. I appreciate so much her efforts to visit and I hope she feels the same way about me. After this visit, I hope that the entire Depressionista clan can head out there, maybe in January if we have decent weather.
J. and I had our second marriage counseling session yesterday. Most of the hour was spent with me crying about my postpartum depression after having Bubba, but it was good to get it out. I think J. and I have isolated that time as when things really started falling apart for us. Yes, we had problems before, but it seems like that is when the anger really came down on us: he was angry and confused about my inability to be the mother he thought I would be, and I was angry and confused by his seemingly uncaring attitude toward it all. It was like that was just the final straw that made us give up, in a way, and we haven’t really had time to do any repair work on it, so here we are.
I think we both feel a little more hopeful just having started counseling. It’s not like the therapist is really doing anything spectacular…it’s more that we are just finally devoting an hour each week to talking about “the issues.” I told J. that I’m not sure we really even need counseling, per se, but rather just the time to talk about the big stuff. He wisely said that while I may be right, unless we are paying for it and actually going somewhere where we have to focus on that stuff, we just won’t do it, so it is good we are going. I agree. I think there is hope.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
NaBloPoMo
Okay, I did it. I signed up for the NaBloPoMo thing where you have to blog every day for the month of November or they cut your head off. No, really, it's one of those trendy blog-world things, but hell, I felt like doing it so there. I thought it might be good motivation to do it. We'll see if life allows it to happen!
Friday, October 26, 2007
Blogalicious
And just like that, I'm blogging again. Hi! I decided that it really wasn't fair to my minions to deprive them of my witty observations. I decided that I really do have a duty to make sure my revelations and my daily trials, tribulations and triumphs are available to help others deal with their own life challenges. I mean, how can I, in good conscience, not share this wisdom with the world? We all have a responsibility to do our part, and if this is my calling, well, I just need to put my own wants and needs aside and make this sacrifice for the greater good. Thanks to Oprah for setting such a good example!
I've actually done a fair amount of thinking about blogging. I've decided that I like putting my "stuff" out there, but that I really need to just be myself and be true to my own voice, as cheesy as that sounds. I guess I realize that if I can blog without worrying about offending people or whether or not I have any readers, then it will be a more honest experience for me, and that's what I'm looking for. I may never have more than three readers (Tingle, LilCherie and Pioneer Girl, I'm counting on you). I may never go to BlogHer and therefore never have the requisite "I'm so nervous about going to BlogHer!" and "BlogHer was awesome!" posts (although against my better judgment, I might jump on the NaBloPoMo bandwagon because I always thought tht would be kinda cool). But I hope to have some fun and maybe work some shit out along the way. I have no idea if this even makes any sense. It's 1:30 a.m. and I'm recovering from sinus surgery and totally drugged out on hydrocodone.
So...sinus surgery. Don't ever, ever, do this unless you really have some major, horribly painful sinus issues that need to be dealt with. I thought I did, but, three days after surgery, I'm wondering if they were really that bad. Honestly. I've had surgeries that required me to pack a gaping, oozing wound right next to my clitoris for Christ's sake and still, not as bad as this. I'm just sayin'.
I have lots of things I want to blog about. Here, for future reference, and so I can remember them later when I'm not fogged out on pain meds, are a few:
*Blogs I Like and Blogs I Don't and Why. What I Want This Blog to Be and What I Don't Want It to Be.
*Celebrating the Vulva, or, Why It's Kind-Of Embarrassing to Say the Word "Vulva," Why It's Kind-Of Embarrassing to Discuss Medical Issues Pertaining to the Vulva, and Ways to Bring the Vulva Out of the Closet.
*Why Breast Cancer Awareness Month and Everything Related to It Kind-Of Pisses Me Off.
*My Consternation Over the Fact that My Neighbor is Building the World's Most Awesome "Play Structure" for Their Son While We Will Never Be Able to Afford Anything Close to That for Our Son and Whether or Not This Will Scar Him for Life and Why, WHY Am I Even Spending Time Thinking About This?
*Oprah. Yes, I've blogged about The Big O before but I don't feel I'm done with this issue. Especially not after catching it today, on a day when I felt especially shitty about my physical health/life/the world, and it was fucking Seal and Heidi Klum and their awesome fucking life together. PUKE!
*How Much the Viagra/Cialis Ads Gross Me Out and Why.
*My Life as a Trichotillomaniac.
*Notes From Daycare: How They Automatically Make You Feel Like a Failure as a Parent.
*The Places I'm Afraid to Go in Therapy.
*The Grossest Thing Your Body Has Ever Done/Produced. This will require reader participation, so I might have to save this one for later, when my readership has grown exponentially despite my complete disregard for whether or not anyone is reading me.
So. Here I go again. I'm already having fun!
I've actually done a fair amount of thinking about blogging. I've decided that I like putting my "stuff" out there, but that I really need to just be myself and be true to my own voice, as cheesy as that sounds. I guess I realize that if I can blog without worrying about offending people or whether or not I have any readers, then it will be a more honest experience for me, and that's what I'm looking for. I may never have more than three readers (Tingle, LilCherie and Pioneer Girl, I'm counting on you). I may never go to BlogHer and therefore never have the requisite "I'm so nervous about going to BlogHer!" and "BlogHer was awesome!" posts (although against my better judgment, I might jump on the NaBloPoMo bandwagon because I always thought tht would be kinda cool). But I hope to have some fun and maybe work some shit out along the way. I have no idea if this even makes any sense. It's 1:30 a.m. and I'm recovering from sinus surgery and totally drugged out on hydrocodone.
So...sinus surgery. Don't ever, ever, do this unless you really have some major, horribly painful sinus issues that need to be dealt with. I thought I did, but, three days after surgery, I'm wondering if they were really that bad. Honestly. I've had surgeries that required me to pack a gaping, oozing wound right next to my clitoris for Christ's sake and still, not as bad as this. I'm just sayin'.
I have lots of things I want to blog about. Here, for future reference, and so I can remember them later when I'm not fogged out on pain meds, are a few:
*Blogs I Like and Blogs I Don't and Why. What I Want This Blog to Be and What I Don't Want It to Be.
*Celebrating the Vulva, or, Why It's Kind-Of Embarrassing to Say the Word "Vulva," Why It's Kind-Of Embarrassing to Discuss Medical Issues Pertaining to the Vulva, and Ways to Bring the Vulva Out of the Closet.
*Why Breast Cancer Awareness Month and Everything Related to It Kind-Of Pisses Me Off.
*My Consternation Over the Fact that My Neighbor is Building the World's Most Awesome "Play Structure" for Their Son While We Will Never Be Able to Afford Anything Close to That for Our Son and Whether or Not This Will Scar Him for Life and Why, WHY Am I Even Spending Time Thinking About This?
*Oprah. Yes, I've blogged about The Big O before but I don't feel I'm done with this issue. Especially not after catching it today, on a day when I felt especially shitty about my physical health/life/the world, and it was fucking Seal and Heidi Klum and their awesome fucking life together. PUKE!
*How Much the Viagra/Cialis Ads Gross Me Out and Why.
*My Life as a Trichotillomaniac.
*Notes From Daycare: How They Automatically Make You Feel Like a Failure as a Parent.
*The Places I'm Afraid to Go in Therapy.
*The Grossest Thing Your Body Has Ever Done/Produced. This will require reader participation, so I might have to save this one for later, when my readership has grown exponentially despite my complete disregard for whether or not anyone is reading me.
So. Here I go again. I'm already having fun!
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Taking a break, and here's why.
So I've been thinking a lot about blogging lately: why I do it, why I haven't felt like it lately, what I get out of it, etc. An experience on another blog today illuminated it for me. My comments on Tertia's blog, So Close, apparently really pissed some people off.
Of course, at first I just wanted to bite back and try to defend myself and there was even a desire to really succumb to my base instincts and just hurl back my own insults. I'm glad that I didn't. Instead I just reiterated that I intendend no malice, and then I emailed Tertia privately to apologize for the firestorm.
It made me realize how absurd the whole "blogosphere" really is. There are several things that have been bothering me about it, which I will put in bullet points here for easy reading:
•People get personally, deeply offended by comments that are made about situations not involving them and by people they don't know.
•Blogs tend to have a couple different kinds of commenters: those who dissent and then get crucified for it, and those who support the blogger no matter what. "So you killed your mother? Well, I'm sure she deserved it because you are so great!!!!"-- that kind of post. Both of which equally bother me.
•I think at the beginning I got sucked into the blog world because I was reading other people's blogs and I really wanted to be in "the club." I wanted to belong. I wanted other people to link to me and leave comments. There's a whole high school mentality to it that was obscured to me by the technology and the coolness of anonymously posting my thoughts and ramblings.
•The high school mentality extends to situations like that in which I found myself today. The blog world is the perfect setting for backbiting, insults, in-fighting and exclusion, all done anonymously, behind a computer screen and a pseudonym.
•There's a selfishness to it that has been troubling me lately. Why should the world care about the minutae of my life?
I feel I MUST state that this is no comment on any of the wonderful blogs I often read or the (mostly) women who write them. I enjoy reading about other people's experiences and it is a way to connect as human beings. Sometimes, though, it seems like it's too easy, if that makes sense. There is no obligation to one another because most of us are anonymous and even if we aren't, chances are that without some major effort and planning, we'll never meet in real life. It almost gives people too much freedom, somehow.
I have "met" some great bloggers out there, and I've enjoyed this experience quite a bit most of the time. I've gotten a lot of support from those who have commented here, and I appreciate it. I love reading other people's blogs, and I can't say I will never leave a comment again. I also can't say I'll never blog again. My mind changes; I'm fickle. But for right now, I need to examine what I get out of blogging, and what that says about what I need in real life. Is it because I want to feel popular and accepted, and if so, what kind of insecurity does that reveal? Is it because I want someone to tell me how great/okay/normal I am, and if so, wouldn't it be better to work on feeling confident within myself? Is it because I just need to vent (and if that's the case, I'll probably be back!)
So....I'm taking a break. I don't know how long it will last. I'll still be lurking around on other people's sites, but probably quietly. Thanks to everyone who has reached out to me and read my words. Take care everyone, I wish you the best!
Of course, at first I just wanted to bite back and try to defend myself and there was even a desire to really succumb to my base instincts and just hurl back my own insults. I'm glad that I didn't. Instead I just reiterated that I intendend no malice, and then I emailed Tertia privately to apologize for the firestorm.
It made me realize how absurd the whole "blogosphere" really is. There are several things that have been bothering me about it, which I will put in bullet points here for easy reading:
•People get personally, deeply offended by comments that are made about situations not involving them and by people they don't know.
•Blogs tend to have a couple different kinds of commenters: those who dissent and then get crucified for it, and those who support the blogger no matter what. "So you killed your mother? Well, I'm sure she deserved it because you are so great!!!!"-- that kind of post. Both of which equally bother me.
•I think at the beginning I got sucked into the blog world because I was reading other people's blogs and I really wanted to be in "the club." I wanted to belong. I wanted other people to link to me and leave comments. There's a whole high school mentality to it that was obscured to me by the technology and the coolness of anonymously posting my thoughts and ramblings.
•The high school mentality extends to situations like that in which I found myself today. The blog world is the perfect setting for backbiting, insults, in-fighting and exclusion, all done anonymously, behind a computer screen and a pseudonym.
•There's a selfishness to it that has been troubling me lately. Why should the world care about the minutae of my life?
I feel I MUST state that this is no comment on any of the wonderful blogs I often read or the (mostly) women who write them. I enjoy reading about other people's experiences and it is a way to connect as human beings. Sometimes, though, it seems like it's too easy, if that makes sense. There is no obligation to one another because most of us are anonymous and even if we aren't, chances are that without some major effort and planning, we'll never meet in real life. It almost gives people too much freedom, somehow.
I have "met" some great bloggers out there, and I've enjoyed this experience quite a bit most of the time. I've gotten a lot of support from those who have commented here, and I appreciate it. I love reading other people's blogs, and I can't say I will never leave a comment again. I also can't say I'll never blog again. My mind changes; I'm fickle. But for right now, I need to examine what I get out of blogging, and what that says about what I need in real life. Is it because I want to feel popular and accepted, and if so, what kind of insecurity does that reveal? Is it because I want someone to tell me how great/okay/normal I am, and if so, wouldn't it be better to work on feeling confident within myself? Is it because I just need to vent (and if that's the case, I'll probably be back!)
So....I'm taking a break. I don't know how long it will last. I'll still be lurking around on other people's sites, but probably quietly. Thanks to everyone who has reached out to me and read my words. Take care everyone, I wish you the best!
Monday, April 02, 2007
Neko Case Concert: A Dream Come True
Warning: This post is going to sound like I am 15 years old again because, well, I was and am so PSYCHED about the concert last night that I can't contain myself. Last night we went to the Beachland Ballroom to see Jon Rauhouse and Neko Case in concert. The ballroom is located in a completely charismatic, old-time working class neighborhood of downtown Cleveland. There were union buildings, mom-and-pop type storefronts, taverns...all with that heavy red brick, rundown feeling that is charming and wistful and sad all at once.
The ballroom was built in 1950 as the Croatian Liberty Hall. It has a tavern attached, and a music store in the basement, as well as some vintage stores elsewhere in the building, I think. The actual ballroom is a standing-room-only venue, and looks like a combination of an old-fashioned movie theatre, with amazing crown molding on the ceiling and interesting mural panels dotting the perimeter, and a school gymnasium, with its high ceiling and wood floor. Along each side is a little shelf for setting down your drinks. It smelled like old smoke, old shoes, and old sweat, and I loved it. It was like stepping back in time. I could imagine couples, dressed up for their night on the town, dancing away to big band music all night long, smoking their cigarettes before the government took it away (Cleveland has a law now that you can't smoke in any public place. In a place like the Beachland, it really is a shame, because it's kind of part of the ambiance. There were posters up all around the Beachland which expressed the management's view of this law. They said: "Big Brother Says No Smoking. Any Questions? Call the Cleveland Anti-Sex League at 1-800-XXX-XXXX." Like I said, this is my kind of place!)
When we got there a little past 7, there weren't many people there--maybe 30 or so. We got some drinks, went back outside for some smokes, then settled in at the right of the stage. We were able to rest for awhile before having to stake our claim to our spots about 10 to 15 feet from the artists themselves. AWESOME! The show got started a little late but opened with Jon Rauhouse's amazing Hawaiian steel guitar performance. I am going to his website today to buy it. It's old-fashioned, forties-style, non-cheesy Hawaiian music. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.
After he and his band, including the amazing Kelly Hogan on vocals, played for awhile, Neko came out and began tuning her guitars. Jon, members of his band, and Kelly remained on stage to back up Neko. When Neko opened her mouth to sing, it came out of her so effortlessly and flawlessly. It was amazing to be in the presence of such talent, really. I mean, I can't imagine having a gift like that. She was really humble, modest and funny during the show. She sang all my favorites, including "Deep Red Bells," "Maybe Sparrow," "John the Baptist," and "Lions Jaws." I was awestruck, honestly. The main performance lasted for about an hour, then she came back for a three-song encore, then came back for one more song.
Not ready to relinquish the magic of the evening, Tingle, J. and I stood around the stage for awhile after most of the crowd had filed out. A few brave souls jumped on stage to grab some set lists. Then a stage crew person came out and someone asked him if there were any more. He found some, and Tingle spoke up and asked if we could have a couple, and he very kindly just handed them out. The one Tingle has is different from mine, and we were exactly sure which one was the one followed last night because they are very similar, but who cares? They were on stage!
As if this wasn't good enough, Jon Rauhouse then came back out and sat down at his steel guitar. "We have to go all the way to Columbia, Mo., tonight, so I have to replace this string right now." We told him how much we loved his performance, how we were going to be buying his CD, etc. Then we asked if he could sign our set lists, and he seemed flattered by the request. J. kindly ran and got a pen from the bar. We were so excited!
Then we headed out to the lobby area, where there were all kinds of cool things on sale, including awesome coloring books from girlsnotchicks.com. We wandered into the bar, just hoping maybe Neko would be in there milling about. No dice. We wandered back into the lobby area, and J. and Tingle were going to go downstairs to look in the music store. Tingle decided at the last moment that she would stay upstairs with me, since there was a rumor that Neko would be coming out to visit with the minions. J. went downstairs.
Then, she appeared behind the table, talking to the girls selling the merchandise. We were right up by the table...Some guy called out, "Neko, will you sign anything?" She replied, "Sure!" and sat down. Tingle and I moved up front and shoved our set lists in front of her. We were fucking shaking, we were so excited.
When she looked our way, I engaged with the ultra-original, "I love your music!" "Oh, thanks!" she said, very friendly. "Have you been singing as long as you can remember?" I asked her. "Well...at home," she said and smiled. "Well thank you so much for sharing your gifts with us," I said. Cheesy, I know, but shit, I was dumbfounded, okay? Then I told her that we had driven all the way from Iowa to see her. "Oh," she said and put her hand to her heart. "Bless your heart," I think she said, or it might have been, "Oh, that is so nice!" or something like that. "Make sure you drive carefully on the way home!" We said we would, then J. appeared and told her again that we were from Iowa City. I then said, "You should come to Iowa City!" And she said, "Yeah, the Englert! We'll be going back." I couldn't believe she just knew right off the top of her head about the Englert. I remembered then that she'd played there several years ago, before I knew about her. I told her that I'd missed her the last time she played and that I hoped she'd come back. Then we left, shaking with excitement.
I thought that was the pinnacle...but then, upon getting home and downloading our photos, I found that Tingle had shrewdly taken photos of Neko at the table AND signing my set list! FUCKING AWESOME!
Bottom line: Neko case rocks. Tingle rocks for getting J. and me the tickets for our birthdays. Beachland Ballroom rocks. The whole evening FUCKING ROCKED!!!!
Whew. I think I have to go have a cigarette now.
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Smells like Cleveland again!
The title of this post is inspired by my first real whiff of Cleveland, received yesterday on the way back from our museum run. Wow. For some reason, I've never really smelled it on our other visits; this time, with the heavy, wet spring air, it was at full strength and really, really awful. I had to adopt the patented Tingle Air Filter maneuver in which you pull the front of your shirt up over your nose, and even that didn't block it all. I told Tingle she should keep a bar of soap in the car to sniff on her commute. Or a gas mask/respirator combo. Jesus.
Hi folks!
I didn't intend to stay away from my blog for so long, but for some reason I just wasn't "feelin' it." The last couple weeks haven't been very remarkable. It's been one of those spans of time in which you feel you are just kind of surviving. Nothing major, just the daily grind. The sinus infection that won't go away (I'm now under the care of an otolaryngologist and taking $25 co-pay antibiotics, nose spray, prednisone, and chanting over chicken bones every night before I go to bed); Bubba's allergies/asthma (he and I are going to the allergist/asthma clinic in April); an unusually busy period at work, etc.
Today, I come to you from the fair city of Cleveland. J. and I are visiting Tingle and her husband for a few days. Bubba is staying with my sister and brother-in-law for the weekend and then with my mom and dad for Monday and Tuesday. The inspiration for this trip is the Neko Case concert we are going to tonight. She is playing at the Beachland Ballroom tonight in Cleveland, along with Jon Rauhouse. If you've never listened to Neko Case before, I highly recommend her. She is very difficult to describe, but here are some words that come to mind when I try: haunting, old-fashioned country flavor, soaring, intimate, deep, beautiful. Just go listen for yourself! We are SO excited to see her, especially in such small and intimate venue.
So far we have had a fun-filled, jam packed day and a half in Cleveland. We got here Friday night and had dinner at one of my favorite restaurants here, a little corner Italian place that has incredible eggplant parmesan. That night Tingle and I stayed up talking and playing show-and-tell with photos, drawings, and of course the gifts that Tingle showers on me every time I see her. This time she got me a sweet LED light panel that fades to different vibrant colors...it's very cool; a cool journal; a fun book about disgusting things; some hair combs; a sushi magnet; some fun stuff for Bubba; a lovely red sweater; a fiber-optic lamp; and probably some other stuff I'm forgetting. Tingle just can't help herself from buying stuff for other people. Her house is always dotted with little piles here and there of gifts for this person, that person, and oftentimes, me. I've given up on trying to match her gift for gift and have relaxed into the knowledge that this is how she is, so now I just get her something if it strikes me but otherwise accept her gifts with gratitude and peace.
Yesterday we went to the Monet exhibit at the art museum here. I have to say something about Monet. Yes, the paintings are beautiful, and yes, the man was extremely talented...but when I look at his paintings, for the most part, I think, "yeah, that's a pretty picture." And that's about as far as the reaction goes. Some of the paintings evoked a little more emotion in me, to be sure, but for the most part, he just doesn't do it for me. I think it's a combination of not really getting into landscapes all that much, and the fact that it isn't all that disturbing. Pain and darkness speak to my soul much more strongly than serenity and beauty. That's just the way I am. But J. and Tingle really wanted to go, so Tingle's hubby and I went along for the ride. I felt I learned something, so that's worth it.
We ate lunch at trattoria in Little Italy. Very good. We topped that off with pastries from an Italian bakery there, where I had an orgasmic napolean. That sounds like a band name, doesn't it?
Then the boys went off on their own to go to music stores and play videogames, while Tingle and I continued on to the Princess Diana exhibit at the Historical Society here. I'm fascinated by Princess Diana. She seems like a truly good person; human, of course, but basically good. The exhibit was great. Organized by her brother, it included some of her childhood belongings, home movies and snapshots her father took, a whole section on the charity work she did, the original, scribbled-on lyrics to the Candle in the Wind song Elton John and Bernie Taupin adapted for her funeral; and of course, the dresses, including her wedding dress. I felt like crying many times during the exhibit...then felt kind of stupid for wanting to cry about someone I never even knew. It was touching. I was especially moved by the entire wall, filled top to bottom, with condolence books from all over the world.
Then Tingle and I, almost crippled from our day standing at exhibits in museums, hobbled out to the car and came home for a hot bath (me) and a nap (Tingle), before heading out once again for a get-together with Tingle's boss and her husband at their beautiful home. They had intended for it to be a larger gathering of creative people they knew who would get together and discuss spirituality and stuff like that. We did do that, but unfortunately everyone else begged off for some reason, so it was just the four of us. They are a great couple and we had a great time, great snacks, and great wine. To top off our classy evening, Tingle and I stopped by Taco Bell on the way home.
We will be here two more days before heading back Tuesday morning. I have to say I miss Bubba much more than I expected to. More than I have on previous trips without him. It's reassuring to me that I feel this way, even though it is somewhat painful and I'm struggling against the natural urge to feel guilty for leaving him. I truly believe that it's good for Bubba to grow up knowing that Mom and Dad have other parts of their lives that don't revolve around him. I know from experience that it's a lot of pressure when YOU are your parents' whole life. I also know that it's good to nurture his relationships with the rest of our family. Yet, he's at an awkward stage where he knows that Mama and Daddy are gone, but can't really understand why, so I do feel a pang of pain at that. I checked in yesterday and he was doing great, playing with my sister's family dog, running around, doing Bubba things. I love him so much. Soon (hopefully) I will be posting a "funny things Bubba does" entry, because he's endlessly amusing right now and I want to get it down for posterity's sake.
So...that's my update. I haven't been checking blogs or commenting or anything, but I promise to try and catch up soon. Until then, take care!
Hi folks!
I didn't intend to stay away from my blog for so long, but for some reason I just wasn't "feelin' it." The last couple weeks haven't been very remarkable. It's been one of those spans of time in which you feel you are just kind of surviving. Nothing major, just the daily grind. The sinus infection that won't go away (I'm now under the care of an otolaryngologist and taking $25 co-pay antibiotics, nose spray, prednisone, and chanting over chicken bones every night before I go to bed); Bubba's allergies/asthma (he and I are going to the allergist/asthma clinic in April); an unusually busy period at work, etc.
Today, I come to you from the fair city of Cleveland. J. and I are visiting Tingle and her husband for a few days. Bubba is staying with my sister and brother-in-law for the weekend and then with my mom and dad for Monday and Tuesday. The inspiration for this trip is the Neko Case concert we are going to tonight. She is playing at the Beachland Ballroom tonight in Cleveland, along with Jon Rauhouse. If you've never listened to Neko Case before, I highly recommend her. She is very difficult to describe, but here are some words that come to mind when I try: haunting, old-fashioned country flavor, soaring, intimate, deep, beautiful. Just go listen for yourself! We are SO excited to see her, especially in such small and intimate venue.
So far we have had a fun-filled, jam packed day and a half in Cleveland. We got here Friday night and had dinner at one of my favorite restaurants here, a little corner Italian place that has incredible eggplant parmesan. That night Tingle and I stayed up talking and playing show-and-tell with photos, drawings, and of course the gifts that Tingle showers on me every time I see her. This time she got me a sweet LED light panel that fades to different vibrant colors...it's very cool; a cool journal; a fun book about disgusting things; some hair combs; a sushi magnet; some fun stuff for Bubba; a lovely red sweater; a fiber-optic lamp; and probably some other stuff I'm forgetting. Tingle just can't help herself from buying stuff for other people. Her house is always dotted with little piles here and there of gifts for this person, that person, and oftentimes, me. I've given up on trying to match her gift for gift and have relaxed into the knowledge that this is how she is, so now I just get her something if it strikes me but otherwise accept her gifts with gratitude and peace.
Yesterday we went to the Monet exhibit at the art museum here. I have to say something about Monet. Yes, the paintings are beautiful, and yes, the man was extremely talented...but when I look at his paintings, for the most part, I think, "yeah, that's a pretty picture." And that's about as far as the reaction goes. Some of the paintings evoked a little more emotion in me, to be sure, but for the most part, he just doesn't do it for me. I think it's a combination of not really getting into landscapes all that much, and the fact that it isn't all that disturbing. Pain and darkness speak to my soul much more strongly than serenity and beauty. That's just the way I am. But J. and Tingle really wanted to go, so Tingle's hubby and I went along for the ride. I felt I learned something, so that's worth it.
We ate lunch at trattoria in Little Italy. Very good. We topped that off with pastries from an Italian bakery there, where I had an orgasmic napolean. That sounds like a band name, doesn't it?
Then the boys went off on their own to go to music stores and play videogames, while Tingle and I continued on to the Princess Diana exhibit at the Historical Society here. I'm fascinated by Princess Diana. She seems like a truly good person; human, of course, but basically good. The exhibit was great. Organized by her brother, it included some of her childhood belongings, home movies and snapshots her father took, a whole section on the charity work she did, the original, scribbled-on lyrics to the Candle in the Wind song Elton John and Bernie Taupin adapted for her funeral; and of course, the dresses, including her wedding dress. I felt like crying many times during the exhibit...then felt kind of stupid for wanting to cry about someone I never even knew. It was touching. I was especially moved by the entire wall, filled top to bottom, with condolence books from all over the world.
Then Tingle and I, almost crippled from our day standing at exhibits in museums, hobbled out to the car and came home for a hot bath (me) and a nap (Tingle), before heading out once again for a get-together with Tingle's boss and her husband at their beautiful home. They had intended for it to be a larger gathering of creative people they knew who would get together and discuss spirituality and stuff like that. We did do that, but unfortunately everyone else begged off for some reason, so it was just the four of us. They are a great couple and we had a great time, great snacks, and great wine. To top off our classy evening, Tingle and I stopped by Taco Bell on the way home.
We will be here two more days before heading back Tuesday morning. I have to say I miss Bubba much more than I expected to. More than I have on previous trips without him. It's reassuring to me that I feel this way, even though it is somewhat painful and I'm struggling against the natural urge to feel guilty for leaving him. I truly believe that it's good for Bubba to grow up knowing that Mom and Dad have other parts of their lives that don't revolve around him. I know from experience that it's a lot of pressure when YOU are your parents' whole life. I also know that it's good to nurture his relationships with the rest of our family. Yet, he's at an awkward stage where he knows that Mama and Daddy are gone, but can't really understand why, so I do feel a pang of pain at that. I checked in yesterday and he was doing great, playing with my sister's family dog, running around, doing Bubba things. I love him so much. Soon (hopefully) I will be posting a "funny things Bubba does" entry, because he's endlessly amusing right now and I want to get it down for posterity's sake.
So...that's my update. I haven't been checking blogs or commenting or anything, but I promise to try and catch up soon. Until then, take care!
Friday, March 23, 2007
Remembering
Three years ago today, a dear friend of mine lost a much-wanted pregnancy. I just wanted to let her know I was thinking of her. I remember shedding tears with her on the phone; I remember the sad emptiness of realizing that our little babes would not be growing up together; I remember feeling guilty that Bubba was still growing inside of me; I remember feeling astonished at her generosity of spirit when she said she felt guilty, somehow, because she felt that her loss would be frightening and depressing to me in light of my own pregnancy.
I haven't forgotten and never will.
I love you, sister.
I haven't forgotten and never will.
I love you, sister.
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