Monthly Archives: August 2006

Conversation

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Tonight, I cuddled with my two older kids [I’d cuddle with Michaela, but she’s still in a crib and that could be bad], during which time they had the chance to talk with me uninterrupted.

Shaya is fascinated by the stories of her birth and those of her siblings, so she usually asks me to tell her about that. Matthew doesn’t much care what we talk about, so we flit from topic to topic as fast as he can think of new questions.

Mostly, Matthew worries about getting equal time. Tonight, I was trying to say good night and go find some food and he informed me that Shaya had definitely gotten more time, so I needed to answer ‘just one more question.’

I answered that question and was getting ready to leave and he said, “Mom. Um, we only talked about babies. I want to talk about something different, I need to ask you just one more question, which is: Why do they put stones on the ground when people die and why do they bury them?” Which was actually two questions, but I swear he saves the most complicated question for last.

So, the conversation went a little like this [you’ll have to picture Matthew in the bottom bunk, me standing with my head down under the top bunk, leaning on my hands so my back doesn’t break and fall out of my body in protest… I’m trying to leave, but I can’t not answer, so I gave it my best shot…

Me: Well, it’s a marker put there to show where a person is buried, and it helps the people left behind to remember the person who died [actually, I stuttered and didn’t sound nearly that coherent, because in real life, I’m not coherent when I’m talking anymore].

Matthew: Why do they bury them?

Me: Well, they have to put them somewhere. A long time ago, when they put the bodies in the ground they decomposed and fertilized the ground [yes, I really did say that. Lame and gross, I know. More stuttering. Matt tuned me out about the time I said “rotted” instead of “decomposed” and asked another question].

Matthew: A lot of people have died, haven’t they?

Me: Yes, they have.

[At this point, I should tell you that my son is blond with big blue eyes, a short nose, and freckles. When he’s really serious, his eyes are the size of saucers, and when he gets emotional, his voice has a break in it that melts my heart every time he does it. It’s that breathy sounding crack you get when you’re holding back tears and trying to keep it together. Matt’s eyes were huge, and his voice cracked when he said the following.]

Matthew: And that is making me sad when I think about it. When you were driving the van earlier, I saw some stones and it made me sad. But then I saw some flowers, and that made me happier. I think people put flowers there so they won’t feel so sad.

But now I’m sad, and I think I’m starting to cry. I don’t want to, but I think I am. Yes. Good night.

And he rolls over and I am dismissed.

Matthew is five and will be starting Kindergarten next Friday. He delights me [as do all of my children]. This conversation is just one of many like it. I should really write these down more often.Matthew

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Rendezvous– Short Story–

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After much internal debate, I’ve decided to post a short story I wrote back in March. I don’t know if you remember the fiction contest I entered, but didn’t win? Well, this was my entry.  It’s exactly the same as it was when I sent it.
I’m putting it on the pages section of my blog, but I’ll leave comments open both here and on the page for now.

There’s something you should know before you click, though.

It is extremely explicit.

It’s my first ever erotica story, so if you’re easily offended, or under 18, stop here and don’t continue.

There’s nothing in it that I consider indecent in real life, but erotica isn’t for everyone, so please heed my warning, okay?

From a writer’s perspective, I would appreciate any feedback you might have. It’s not quite right, but I don’t know what I need to do to make it better, so if anyone has any advice on my writing technique, please feel free to comment.

Reader’s comments are welcome, too, of course.

Seriously, though, if explicit material bothers you or makes you uncomfortable, this thing will definitely be offensive to you, so resist, my friends.

Therapy

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I start actual therapy next Tuesday.  I’ve finally accepted the fact that I can’t fix whatever this is on my own, and I’m hoping that a therapist can help.

She does ‘behavioral cognitive’ therapy. I rather suspect that this will be difficult.  I don’t really know what caused my brain to be so jacked up, or which thing[s] from my past sealed my fate, but I need to get over this, and maybe if I have someone to guide me, I’ll be more successful.

I’ve tried self-help for years. I’ve tried to get God to fix me, but he seems to think I need to do it the hard way [dammit].  I suck at consistency, so I’m hoping that having someone give me homework and check up on me every so often will get me over the hump, and maybe teach me how to finish what I start.

I’ve learned some things about myself in the past few months that have been discouraging.  I’ve realized that some of my thought processes are way off when compared with reality.

I’ve learned that in my mind, if I’m not the best at something, I’m a complete, worthless failure.  That’s not true, especially since you can never really be ‘the best’ at anything.  There’s always someone smarter, stronger, or better than you.  What I need to believe is that it doesn’t matter, that there’s room for being just good at something without the added pressure of being perfect.

Perfectionism sucks, and while it motivates some to work extra hard and push themselves more, it seems to paralyze me and prevent me from doing anything.  Life has become unbearable trying to live up to my impossible standards, and I can’t continue like this.

It’s past time to get over it.  I need to get better and move on to what I was created to do.  I hope the time is right this time.  I hope I’m ready to learn how to live.  I’m tired of being defeated every time I try something and end up less than perfect.

I don’t want to give up on my dreams, but I know that I’ll never realize any of them if I can’t get past the perfectionism.

I’m depressed again.  What I want more than anything is to crawl in a hole and sleep for a few months.  Last week, I was closer than I’ve ever been to running away from my family and just disappearing for a while.  The only thing that stopped me was that I couldn’t bear the thought of doing that to my kids.

I wanted to abandon them.  I still can’t believe I got to that point, and honestly, I’m not much better tonight.

I’ve had two migraines in the past four days, and another one is threatening now.  They seem to be related to whatever issue I’m trying to deal with here.  My guess is that it’s not nearly as bad as my body seems to think, but the trick is to convince my brain that it’s gonna be easier to just deal with it than continue to avoid it, you know?

I don’t even know how it’s possible to have as good a life as I have and be depressed, miserable, and wish for escape.  I pretty much loathe myself for it.  I’m full of anger and self hatred right now.

I tried to talk about it with Steve last night, and he tries to understand where I’m coming from, but he’s never been severely depressed.  He’s never questioned things the way I do.  He’s content no matter how bad his circumstances, and I seem never to be content no matter how good things are.

So I dunno.  We’ll see how things go next Tuesday and I’ll try to check back in to keep this thing updated with all my adventures.

Checking In

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I have to wait until August 18 to register the kids for school, but I’ve decided to take the plunge and send them. Honestly?  I think they’re gonna be fine.

I’ve worked out a brilliant way [if I do say so myself! 😉 ] to get some help doing the housework [which I hate, have I mentioned that?]  I’ve worked out a deal with my friend Lindsay where I watch her little boy in exchange for her cleaning my house.

Lindsay actually likes cleaning other people’s houses, so this is a good exchange, yes?  And she’s as anal about doing a good job as I am [I never start because if I can’t do it perfectly, and finish the whole thing, I lose my mind… Lindsay’s the same way, but when we’re together, I’m able to take time out to take care of the kids and she can continue working, which means that it’s lots more efficient, less time-consuming, and more fun because I have a compatible house-cleaning partner].

Steve and I used to work really well together before we got married.  What the hell is that about?  We used to have a system where we’d work in a complimentary fashion until all the work was done, then something weird happened, and we stopped getting along so well, and we started getting on each other’s nerves.

Makes me wonder if I have a passive-aggressive streak, because as I’m sitting here thinking about it, I think part of my motivation for not wanting to help him anymore is because I’m frustrated with him in some area of our lives and it’s a sick form of revenge.

How fucked up is that?  Jeez, I’m just not a very nice person, am I?  I don’t think it’s been a completely conscious thing, more a thing where I’m annoyed or frustrated and I don’t want to be around him, or listening to his ‘ideas’ about how I should conduct whatever task we’re doing.

I also have this thing where when I’m trying to talk, I’ll accidentally speak in half thoughts or forget what things are called [an example, you know those spotlight things that go around in circles that businesses sometimes use to draw attention to themselves when it’s dark?  We saw one of those one night, and the only word I could think of to call it was spigot…  Everyone laughed, including me, but I honestly couldn’t think of the word ‘spotlight’ to save my life.  I think it’s interesting that spigot and spotlight have many similarities in what letters they contain and the sounds involved…]

So anyway, whatever that’s called, I have it bad.  [I’m thinking dysphagia, but I could be wrong… and if I’m right?  Why the hell can I come up with complicated medical terms but not simple ones like cookie sheet, or cabinet?]

Sometimes it’s worse than others, but Steve gets irritated with me when I can’t express myself in the proper terms, and I get frustrated with him because he absolutely refuses to try to think like I do so that he can understand me [I’m convinced he could if he wanted to… probably not true, but there you go].

Another thing that’s weird, is I generally write better than I can speak, so it’s just getting the words to my freaking mouth that’s usually the problem.  I dunno, it’s weird to be me sometimes.

It’s gotten worse as I’ve gotten older, so maybe it has to do with having kids and only being half involved in any conversation going on because the other half is involved in watching the kids.  Let’s hope so, that way maybe there’s hope that it will get better…

Anyway, I’ve got some stuff to do, so I better go now.  Peace out, y’all.

Great News, People!

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I think I’m losing my mind.

Okay, not really, at least not any more than usual, but suddenly I felt the need to write a blog entry, so here I am.

Didja miss me?

Actually, my friend Lindsay must have a broken e-mail program at work, and I have this intense need to write words and since she’s not responding, I decided I’d give this a shot and see if I can get the words out of my system.

I may even try for a record in run-on sentences, but I don’t think I could do it.  I like periods too much.  Speaking of periods, are those not the worst things ever?  Girls know what I’m talking about, and you poor people who have to experience PMS from the SO’s point of view may have a better perspective than I do.  When you’re in it, you seem perfectly reasonable, and only those on the outside can fully appreciate the lack of rationality [hindsight and all that, but still, during? not so much]

I’m not making any sense here, am I?  Ah well, shit happens.

So have I mentioned that I want to live in a commune?  Or Intentional Community as they’re called now.  Steve and I are looking into starting one with another couple.  It’s mostly a cost-sharing community, with a little ‘love others’ thrown in because we’re trying to follow Jesus [I’m boycotting the term ‘christian’ for now, since it’s become a derogatory term…just call me a ‘follower of Jesus’ please.  It seems that a good portion of Christians don’t exactly follow JC, anyway.  I’ll probably get over it in a week or two and go back to Christian ’cause it’s easier to say, but for now…]

That was an admittedly jacked-up paragraph, but I’m in that kind of mood.

Oh, and here’s a pisser.  I quit smoking ten years ago in March 2006, and recently, I smoked a cigarette.  Holy crap!  I love stimulants, but most of ’em screw my heart up so bad I think I’m dying [and a good portion of ’em are illegal, and I don’t exactly relish the thought of getting arrested] so anyway, I decided to mooch a cig off a friend, just to see.

I’d forgotten how nice it is.  My scattered brain organizes itself, my creativity flows, and even my conversations with God become more meaningful.  And I calm down.  That’s the freaking kicker because I’m usually pretty high-strung and I’ve been irritable as hell lately, so anything that will help with that is necessary.

I always go outside, because I’m not gonna expose my kids to the second hand smoke, but I gotta tell you, I really like it!
Dammit.

If it wasn’t so bad for me, I’d do it all the time, but as it is, I’m limiting myself to one or less a day [some days it’s four, but I usually resist the next day to make up for it, or to make sure I don’t get addicted].

So yeah, I’m a freaking idiot, but damn, I really like nicotine.  If I could find a healthy alternative, I’d be all over it, but for right now, there are days when nothing hits the spot like a smoke in the shade.