pics of my costume

As the GReen Fairy (La Fee Verte) , muse of Absinthe drinkers....







happy all hallows. Im beat.

Happy Samhain

I'm feeling better. When I got up this morning I thought it was going to be a shit day--I had a migraine, the costume thing was bugging me, I had a lot to do to get ready for tonight. BUT things have improved quite a bit. I took migraine drugs and they worked; I managed to bathe and shave my various bits and colour my hair in preparation for the night--I even painted my nails, which I don;t often do. Best of all, the key element of my costume actually arrived. So if the rest doesn't come I can improvise with other stuff in my wardrobe.

I always feel like I should celebrate Samhain with day of the dead type things. But to tell you the truth, except for two cats there's no dead people in my life I care to honour in that way. I suppose I should set up little alters for Luke and Tamlane but I always forget.

I;m bad that way about holidays. They just don't stick with me. Here I am, actually a priestes of a religion that has eight major holidays a year and I can;t be arsed to actually celebrate any of them. What's up with that? I guess my therapist would say, "Well, you need to decide what a holiday means to you and celebrate it that way..." which I guess is true. I mean, we had a good Lithe even though we didn;t dress up in robed and cast a circle and chant or anything.

So maybe Samhain to me means honouring the unseen world by dressing up in costume and handing out candy to the little ones.

BTW, I think this is a good time to remind everyone to go to my website and read "Moon turn the Tides" on the Excerpts page, which is a story I wrote (and actually published) about this time of year. I'd like to get more hits on my website anyway. So go there.

Waiting for M to get home to see if he found the rest of my costume in the post...

Where's my Stuff, you Morons???

So Sunday night, after months of thinking I was going to skip Hallowe'en altogether this year, I got the idea for a perfect costume. The problem? I don't actually own any of the elements of this costume but would have to buy them. And ship them overnight express. I debated about this for a long time--in fact, I even posted a poll on my favourite web community forum--should I or shouldn;t I. I really wanted to and the poll results came back with a resounding "GO FOR IT!" so I went ahead and ordered.

That was yesterday. Today, I did not receive my stuff.I have not even received confirmation e-mails that the stuff has been ordered, much less shipped EXCEPT from the one company who clearly stated that they did not do overnight orders!

I'm pissed, top say the least. I paid about $50 to have this stuff overnighted and now it look like I'll be without the costume at all. Unless by some miracle the stuff arrives tomorrow, which I'm not holding my breath hoping for. I mean, I'll have all the costume elements for next year but it was such a good idea and i wanted it NOW.

morons, they;re all morons.

I don;t know, can I get my money back? If the stuff doesn;t show up tomorrow I'm certainly going to try.

So now I;m in a bad mood about this Hallowe'en and I think again I might just skip it. After all, kids come to the door dressed in bedsheets and plastic bags. They can see me in my jammies with a scowl on my face.

It'll probably be scary enough.

Scare in the Night

I woke up, I thought I woke up, to pee sometime around 1 A.M. I disctinctly remember pullinhg the covers back and petting the cat and getting out of bed. But the next thing I knew...>CRACK! My brow ridge has forcibly connected with the door frame of our dining room. So I must have been sleepwalking.

This really freaked me out as well as freaking oout my husband who I made to sit up with me for an hour because I was afraid to go back to bed. Then he had to keep waking me up at intervals to make sure I was okay--you;re supposed to do this for a head injury.

I don;t think it's too bad really: the left side of my face is swollen and I have a cut on my eyebrow. Oh, and yes, my eyelid is now turning a lovely colour of puce. Should I be worried about this? Only if it clashes with my clothes, I think.

But it really did freak me out. I'm not a sleep walker in general and I keep thinking "What if it happpens again?"

So that was my big scare....

In other news: at the last possible minute--last night--I thought of the perfect Hallowe'en costume. The only problem is, I'd have to order a lot of stuff and have it shipped overnight express for it to get here on time! Is this worth it? I wonder. I think it would make me really happy to have this costume NOW instead of ordering the stuff and waiting until next year to use it as some people have suggested. On the other, would this happiness make up for the guilt I'd feel at spending thhe money when we;re in such dire finanacial straits?

Speaking of which, someone is coming to appraise our house tomorrow at the ungodly hour of 8 in the morning. I'm all freaked out because the house is a mess. Michael assures me that they don't care what it looks like, they just want to be sure the property actually exists. But still. What about the cat puke I haven;t cleaned up in a week? Well, it's pretty much hidden behind the dining room table (and what's YOUR excuse?)

Haven't even got dressed today because of the nighttime scare and I'm still feeling a little offish from that. Plus it's grey and gloomy outside; we're getting a lot of haze from the California fires out here. Some days it's just okay to hang out in your jammies....isn;t it?

Almost time for my meds so I'm out of here.

Kind of a Nothing Much Day

Got up too early for a Sunday morning. Had my usual internet coffee clatch with the gang at MCHY. Did laundry. Did dishes. Did Pilates. Played with the cats. Was so bored I spent some time composing diary entries for my cats on Catster--you can follow the links on the sidebar of this page to see my furrfamily. My cats had something to say even if I didn't. And still don't.

Went to dinner with M's folks and that was nice. Came home. Now I;m doing this. Smoking another cigarette.

Another friend with BPD assured me life will get better but I have my doubts about now. I;m not in the terrible mixed state I WAS in but now I;m feeling more depresive. Still can;t concentrate. Last night I felt so low I wa actually wondering what it would be like to swallow half my bottle of Klonopin. I would never do that, just wondering.

Need some motivation and excitement and I don;t know where to look for it. Is this what some people get out of doing drugs? I ask myself.

Now my back hurts 'cause I'm on my period and I already took painkillers so I can;t take any more. Bummer.

So kind of a nothing day all around. Not a BAD day, just a nothing day.

Maybe tomorrow will be better?

What Kids Know.

yesterday, on one off the forums I frequent, someone posted a link to a very disturbing article about a 7 year-old who hanged himself in his bedroom, presumably finding the rigours of school and family too much for himself. This article disturbed me not so much in the content as in the somment by one psychologist that "kids don;t really undertand death..." Apparently kids think it's only temporary and they;ll come back to a better time.

come off it. how many people on that forum posted that they hated their younger years and made their first serious suicide attempts at that age or not much older. I was one of them. What kids know is that death is a permanent solution; what they DON'T know is that things can get better and hanging on by the scraps of your fingernails can sometimes leqad you to a better life without so much of th pressure that's put on you by peers, adults, and others. ASchool seems forever, especially if you;re being abused there. Having to make top grades seems forever, especially if you have the kind of parents that look at a card full of A's and one B and ask "What happened here?" instead of praising you for the good work you did. It seems you;ll never get out of it.

I was one of those kids. I started thinking about suicide when I was twelve or thereabouts, soon after one of my brother's friends asphyxiated himself in his car after a failed love affair. I remember the phone call about this vividly. I was sitting on the living room floor doing something--drawing maybe--and the phone rang. I thought, "It's Mrs. Denman and James is dead." I knew exactly what that meant. I knew what it woould mean for me if I took that way out.

people think that suicide attempts in the young are a call for attention or help, and why shouldn;t they be? Is there something wrong with asking for atttention or help? In my family is seemed so. I can;t think how many times I heard, "You just want attention," as if seeking attention from one's parents were something shameful that should be avoided at all costs.

This is one of the reasons my suicide attempts were never really serious. I KNEW what it meant to be dead and I didn;t really want to be. I just wanted things to be better. I knew if I could just hold on they were bound to get better. But I also knew that if I really tried to kill myself I would succeed because no one knew or cared how I felt. No one would check on me. No one would some looking for me until it was too late. That's a bad feeling and it makes my stomach hurt to this day. Of course this let me in for a lot of grief when I finally DID get to go see a counselor, because I was labeled as attention seeking. There's that term again. What's wrong with wanting attention???? I don;t get it even now. I also was accused of wanting to get out of school, which I did, but not by dying, really.


But what are you supposed to do when you see no other way out? Kids don't know this and it's up to us to teach them, not sit in judgment.

Parents don;t like to be blamed for kids' suicides and I agree that they have enough grief, but I also think they SHOULD be blamed. For not listening. For not being available. For waiting until it's too late to see a problem. Teachers too. I know it's not a teacher's responsibility to bring up a kid, but I can;t help but think how much easier my life might have been--not happier, just easier--if there had been ONE sympathetic adult in my life.

Why are adults so afraid to face these things that kids know? Because they have some weird notion that childhood is this magical time when everything is shiny and new? Because they've forgotten how cruel kids can be to other kids or how cruel parents can be to their own? I don;t know.

But the kids know and we should listen to them.

What's Up With Women's Clothes?

I am currently wearing a pair of size 14 jeans. They fit perfectly. Last night, I was wearing a pair of size 18 jeans. They also fit perfectly. I have one pair of size 18s that literally fall off me (bummer, 'cause they were my favourite jeans...) and several pair of size 16s that are a little loose but not enough to cause me distress.

So what up with that???

Okay, I get vanity sizing. In case you don;t, that means that lots of companies have, um, rearranged the sizes of their lines so that you're actually buying a much bigger size than it says you are. For example, the last time I was the same weight as when I ordered those loose size 18s, I wore a size 22. So at the same actual size, I am now wearing a much smaller size number. Get that?

But what's with the 18/14 thing? That's two whole sizes difference and both pairs of jeans are from the same company. In fact, I bought these size 14s on a lark, not expecting to fit into them for some months yet! Yet here I am wearing them. They're my new favourites.

I don;t get women's clothes at all. Or how the size charts are actually supposed to help you. I mean, who has a size 44 boobs and a size 45 hips (I think that's the current measurements for a size 18 dress). I have a size 36 boobs now--all my expensive bras are way too big and that makes me angry because if this weight loss thing goes on much longer I'll have to replace them all! So I'm actually a size 12 on top, though I can make a 14 work since I like my clothes a bit loose. But what about those hips, huh? Mine are still a size 43, with a 32 inch waist which makes my lower half a size 16. I have three different sizes going on in one body here. Does anyone pick up on that? No. So if I buy a dress either the top is WAY too big or the hips are WAY too tight.

Who has this perfect figure we're talking about that all these sizes are based on? No One, that's who. Where do they find those perfect size 6 models? Dunno. Some women are just built like that, I guess, but not most of us.

And then there are the "Large Sizes" catalogs, which feature tents masquerading as dresses, most of them. Don;t get me started--oh look, I've already started. Some of these catalogs actually have fairly nice clothes at decent prices with okay quality. But it's like they don;t really expect large sized women to be active or want to do things like go camping or stuff like that so their jeans are usually flimsy and often their skirts and dresses are just the same. We're supposed to sit around at our desks typing blogs (ha ha) or doing secretarial work or, lord knows, even sit about the house watching soaps and eating bon bons so we can buy even more "plus-sized" clothing.

Oh well. I will never understand women's clothing. maybe the men do.

A Letter a Friend Wrote

I have this friend who recently found out that her 18-year old brother got his 16-year old girlfriend pregnant because her parents told her "that's the only way you;re going to get out of this house." So at 18 this boy has chosen to be a father and husband--they;re getting married in January.

Anyway, my friend wrote her brother a letter thatI think is right up there with the Kurt Vonnegut graduation speech and deserves to make the rounds of the internet until no onw knows where it originally came from. This is my part to make that happen.

My dearest little brother:

This is the closest thing you’ll ever get to a lecture from me. I’ve found long speeches tend to be wasted breath.

You’ve made the choice to become a father, and presumably a husband soon. The life you’re facing now is nothing like it is on TV. I know you want security that you didn’t have at Mom and Dad’s, but that doesn’t just happen because you’re away from them now. You have to make it happen.

Make education a priority. Learn from people who have lived their lives with some measure of success. Realize that just because you’re not following someone else’s bad example that you’re not going to find yourself in trouble.

Here are the things I can tell you about life. I admit these are all just my opinions.
1. Nothing is fair or just. Things that should fall into your lap don’t. But, every once in a while, you’re surprised by unexpected kindness. Just don’t make a habit of expecting someone to save your ass. If you live your life like you’re the only person who can save you, you make your life easier.
2. That said, don’t be afraid to ask for help. When you ask for help, though, be prepared to show how you’ve helped yourself. And when you can be of service to someone else, don’t let that chance pass you by. Being good to others not only is kind, but it also shows you you’re tougher and more valuable than you think.
3. A lot of times when you think you’ve got someone else fooled, you don’t. And even if you do, it’ll catch up to you sooner or later. So, it’s better to just be honest, even if you think it’ll make you look bad. Everyone makes mistakes. The trick is to not make them over and over again.
4. Don’t expect the person you’re in love with to always make you happy. Relationships work best with two happy, independent people who share their lives with each other rather than those who make the other person his or her life. That person won’t always be there – whether through choice, or sickness, or death.
5. Manage your money. I don’t do that very well myself, and it’s caused me more sickness and grief than anything I’ve ever experienced. You’ll find there are things you don’t want to spend money on – gas, car maintenance, house maintenance, your health – but investing in those things makes the rest of your life easier. Yes, it cuts into play money, but it’s better $30 here and $100 there than hundreds or thousands of dollars down the line.
6. Have friendships. You’ll find that friendship as an adult is much different than friendships you’ve had as a teenager. Eventually, your body starts telling you it’s time to stop partying. Do you want to hang around with people who don’t respect that and only want to be around you because you allow them to be high? Or, do you want to foster relationships with people who truly care about who you are and what you’re going through? Talk to Dad sometime about the people he thought were his friends. The minute he stopped drinking, those people who were at our house every weekend just stopped showing up. They didn’t want a friend, they wanted someone to tell them it was OK to be irresponsible.
7. Think about the person you want to be 10 years from now. Work toward being that person. If you can’t imagine that person, think about the person you want your son or daughter to see you as.
8. Remember, again, that you are your own person. That means taking time to do things you like to do, by yourself. Talk a walk in the woods. Go fishing.
9. Remember, too, that a successful relationship includes together time. That doesn’t mean watching a sappy chick flick or making her watch hunting shows and not talking to her. Go out. Watch the stars. Play some games together.
10. You can’t hear what someone else is saying if you’re yelling and screaming. The loudest just looks like the biggest asshole, not the winner of the argument.
11. What’s important to you? What interests you? What do you want to do as a vocation? Please don’t think you have to take a crappy job to just get by. That’s what mom and dad did, and they’re miserable. Be the kind of person you can respect. Find a job that makes you glad that you did the work.
12. Make taking care of yourself and your family a priority. That means not engaging in behavior that endangers yourself or your family. I know I personally have a “hands-off” attitude when it comes to recreational drugs, but the fact is: they’re illegal. If you get caught with an ounce of marijuana, you’re looking at a class A misdemeanor the first time. The next time is a felony. Felonies typically carry prison time and prohibit you from getting certain jobs or going into the military. Anything harder than marijuana, and you’re looking at an automatic felony.
13. Life is going to be full of unpleasant truths. You can’t conquer obstacles by ignoring them. You have to face them, plan for them and tackle them. Becoming a father and a husband sounds romantic, but there’s nothing easy about it – even if you’re rich. Parenthood is time-consuming and expensive. It’s also rewarding, but you have to appreciate what a hard job it is. Your child will get sick. So will your spouse. So will you. They might die sooner than you’d like. You might die sooner than they’d like.
14. Never take out your frustrations on your spouse or child.
15. Don’t take all the blame for something that isn’t all your fault.
16. Try to learn something new. Take up an instrument. Don’t let your mind become lazy.
17. Realize that Mom and Dad are just people. They’re not perfect, but they’re not your enemies either.
18. Don’t rely on Mom and Dad to rescue you or pay your bills.
19. Figure out where you stand on religion and politics. Realize that both these things are important in the scheme of the way the world works. Sure, they’re not as interesting as sports or who Britney Spears has slept with this week, but you better believe the people who run the world have a frightening grasp on those oh-so-boring topics. And while people are paying attention to cotton candy TV fluff that won’t mean anything in two years, those politicians and religious leaders are making decisions that affect you. They count on you not to pay attention.
20. Smart people know they don’t know everything. They also make it a point to try to learn what they don’t know. You’re a smart person, whether you want to believe it or not. It’s easy to be ignorant, but it’s also an unforgivable choice.

That’s it. You’re your own person now. Really, you always were.

Am I disappointed in some of the decisions you’ve made? Yes. Do I wish you would have waited to become a father? Yes. At 18, you should still be deciding who you are and who you want to be, and now you’re having to shape the life of a little baby.

I remember when you were born. I was hoping you’d turn into a ballet-loving, Nietzsche-reading intellectual. Instead, you turned out to be a boy.

I’m still your big sister. I’m here whenever you need advice. And while I can’t always promise I’ll tell you what you want to hear, I do promise to be respectful and listen to your opinions.

You know how to get in touch with me.

Love,


Sis
_________________

Giving a Cat a Bath

Is NOT something I would recommend under any circumstances. I used to have to bathe my cats regularly when we lived in flea country, but fortunately there are no fleas here so I thought I was out of it. Boy was I wrong. It turns out that Obsidian has Ringworm, which is actually a fungus, not a worm at all, and not only did I have to bathe him today, but I have had to redo al the laundry in the house and clean the entire house to eliminate the horrible infectious spores (this part is waiting until tomorrow).

Now you wouldn;t think it a big deal for a 200 lb man and a 180 lb woman to give a 4 lb kitten a bath. There you are mistaken. "Just put a screen over the sink," said the vet. They like to hold onto that. And some of them really get into it once you start scrubbing"o we dutifully found an old window screen, put it over the sink for him to cling to and went to work. He had to be lathered twice, once in shampoo and once in betadyne solution.

Well, Obi promptly destroyed the screen and started trying to climb up anything in the near vicinity to escape the water, in cluding me and my husband. He is obviously not one of those cats who "Gets into it" once you start scrubbing. I have the marks to prove it.

I don't actually know if we gave an effective enough bath to kill the ringworm spores on him, but after 15 minutes we had to give up. He was just so pitiful. But you know, during the whole process he didn;t make a sound.

And that's how it went to bathe our most mellow cat. Gods forbid any of the others come down with it! And I'm not looking forward to repeating the process with Obi, either.

PS--to Norman Traum wherever you are: Happy 40th birthday!

Coffee and Cigarettes

yeah, Yeah, Yeah....that's what I've got right now.

It;s weds. night which is the night michael gets home late from school and I'm writing this becaue I don;t have anything better to do. But smoke and drink coffee.

Looked again at the first four pages of SMTtF and thought it sucked but fixed some things so now maybe it doesn;t suck too much.

the kids were absolute demons today and I don;t mean the good kind that Socrates had. Elvira about chewed my hand off trying to get to my turkey sandwich. She got a mouthful of it and wouldn't let go; I finally had to rip off a chunk and let her have it. Plus they were total spazzes all day. Except now. Now they're asleep and they look like little angels. Yeah right.

Haven't seen Gwion Bach all day.

Spaghetti for dinner again....

We're trying to refinanace our HE loan and I'm both scared they;re going to give us the money and scared they're not going to. I paid bills today and there's...well, not much left for the rest of the month and about $20 in our savings.

I think I'll play a game now.

This blog stinks.

After Dinner

This is the time of night that I get depressed most often. Everything is done that needs doing: cooking, dishes, feeding the cats, cleaning (what little I do...), even writing is done for the day usually.

That's funny, I used to write at night quite a lot but now I don;t seem to have the get up and go for it after a certain time of night.

So there's nothing to occupy my time and mind. I used to read during these hours between dinner and bed, but I just haven;t wanted to read for the longest time. I'm halfway through Drums of Autumn by Diana Gabaldon at the moment and I just can't make myself go on with it eventhough I'd like to--I like the story, I love her writing and characters. But when it comes to picking up the book I mostly find myself saying, "Errrggghh," and shoving it away. Just not interested.

Not interested in much of anything else, either. When I was depressed once before, a "Friend" kept telling me I needed a hobby. Well, I don't want to be doing something just to be doing it. I want something that interests me. I guess this blog is one of those things as I'm sometimes writing two a day now. I could take a hot bath for my aching muscles but that doesn;t interest me either.

I'm glad I;m out of the mixed state, but the depressive side of it isn;t much fun.

So I sit and I smoke and I play stupid computer games and hate myself for not having a life that involves being involved.

I need to go somewhere. I thought we were going to go down to the Texas Renaissance Festival to celebrate my birthday, but it looks like that's a no go since we can;t find a reliable pet sitter in the area and we just got three new kittens. I KNEW I shouldn;t have got kittens until after the trip, but I couldn;t resist the little buggers and I';m glad we did it. Still I need to GO SOMEWHERE. I'm tired of being at home all the time, afraid even to take a walk and get out of the house.

Sometime there's gooing to be a cure for this. I just wish it would come soon.

Thinking about Writing

Actually, I've been thinking about thinking about writing. I don;t wuite feel ready to go back to it yet--but then, do you ever? Once the initial excitedment of a story idea passes, does it ever come back?

For me it used to, but then, I'm a bit mental.

When I wrote the stories for Dragons of the Mind, I wrote a story a day--okay, some of the longer ones took me a couple days--but I was in that state of heightened excitement all the time. Was that just because I KNEW I was writing something for publication? Or was there some other source of inspiration driving me on? The theme of fairy tales, perhaps? I don;t know.

I felt so positive about that book and I can;t seem to get it into anyone's hands. In three years I've sold about 35 copies--not so good if you;re trying to attract the attention of a big publisher. But then, POD is like that. Now I;m glad that someone buys it when they do, but I no longer have dreams of selling a million copies and winning the world fanstasy award--which to be truly honest I really think I deserve. I wrote some of those stories because of the 14th edition of The Best of Fantasy and Horror and I think my stories are much better than some of those--not to be too humble or anything.

But anyway, thinking about thinking about writing...

You see, I really think I should buckle down and get going on She Moved Through the Faire. But something is keeping me from it. I have this horrible fear of it for some reason. Probably that I don;t have a great synopsis planned out for it: just some of the vaguest ideas after the first chapter. But I have an equal fear of that phone call. The one I'm expecting from Tor Books saying, "We're going to publish The Unquiet Grave; now about that sequel..." I don;t know why I feel so confident about this and so not confident at the same time--you know, I'm afraid to check the mail every day in case the rejection slip is in there! But really, I know it;s a good book and deserves to be published.

That brings me to the sequel. I mentioned it in my introductory letter and what do I have? Four measly pages. So I really think I should get going on it. I mean, I know what happens next at least for a little while, and my experience is once you get going, get over that proverbial fear of the blank page, the stuff just flows out. Sometimes it flows like jelly and sometimes like water, but it does flow. Yet all I can do is think about it. And it makes my stomach hurt, it really does.

I've read all the books and I've been to the conferences where they tell you that writing is like climbing a mountain: at first it's really pretty and it goes easily. Then you begin to get tired and the wildflowers don't look as bright anymore. Then you just want to sit down and rest your feet. But soon enough if you keep going you get past the last ridge and the view is so wonderful...

I feel like I've started this book in the middle of the mountain, the place where you just want to sit down and rest your feet. I need some motivation. Like, banal as it sounds, money or guarantees or something. Someone out there must want to know about Tipper and Caitlin and their further adventures. But I don't even know if anyone wants to hear about their first adventure together and that is a real stumbling block for me.

Writing is lonely. Think of this if you're thinkiing of quitting your day job. It's lonely and it often sucks and writing groups are not much help, sorry to say.

Or maybe I'm just a bit mental.

Cold

It snowed in the night. When I got up it was still snowing, although it seems to be melting off now; I can hear big clumps of it falling off the roof.

I hate being cold. I don't like the snow much either. Both remind me of my childhood in Michigan and the High School where I went to be tortured every day. I can remember likeing the snow when I was very very small--playing in it for hours and coming in to hot chocolate while my wet snowsuit steamed over the old radiator in our old house. But later, snow and cold only meant grief.

The Science Wing in our school was the worst, I think. It was all glass leading down to a big ampitheatre and the science classrooms, and it was always freezing. There were study carrels there and I remember waiting for my few friends to arrive in the bitter cold, while other kids trouped in through the side doors, tracking whiteness in with them. Sometimes on particularly rowdy days boys would stage snowball fights in the Science Wing and it was best to stay out of the way.

The hallway leading down to the cafeteria was the second worst, because the caf faced a big glassed-in courtyard. There was a ramp leading down to the cafeteria and it was always wet with snow in the winter, like the nasty old ....what do you call 'ems from the floor of a car. Rubber mats. I hated riding in cars in the winter because of the dirty runnels of melt on those rubber mats. It made me feel unclean.

Our school was designed by some Japanese architects and you;d think they'd know better than to put so much glass in a place where the average winter temperature was under ten below with wind chill. But I guess they never got that.

Mostly snow reminds me of grief. Of walking around the school being jeered at by the other kids and called names for my size, my clothes, my friends...whatever. My brains. One time a girl rounded on me for no apparent reason and lit into me for thinking I was smarter than she was--which I was, MUCH SMARTER--and being a prig. I don;t think I ever did anything to deserve this treatment. I think she was just a mean person. But I don;t know.

We were weird, no doubt about that. I don;t think anyone else in our school had the impulse--or the guts, come to think of it--to stand in the middle of the science wing dancing to the Spamalot song from Monty python and the Holy Grail, for instance. Or to chant like medieval monks while bashing our heads with our schoolbooks. So we brought some of it on.

But did we bring it on because we were already warped and it didn't matter by then? I think so. By High School we had already been through so much torment that it seemed that nothing mattered anymore. Since grade school most of us had been social outcasts for no reason we could determine. Kids are cruel that way. They treat you like dirt and they never tell you why. I don't think they even know why, except that they can sense differerence and unless educated otherwise equate it with wrongness.

So I hate being cold. It always reminds me of those times. Even in April and May my school seemed cold enough to freeze the bones. But by that point, maybe the cold was only in my soul.

Hello Again

two blogs in one day--what am I coming to?

that's really the question. I've been sitting around a lot today just thinking about how I feel and all that. And the answer is, I don;t really know. I have a pain in my heart that won;t quit and another in my stomach that is not the result of the huge burrito I ate for dinner...

another friend of mine is keeping a blog on her family experience and I feel so lost when I look at what she's written. Like, I don't have any right to be as fucked as I am. No One physically or sexually abused me in my family. Mainly they ignored me. I mean, telling me I was a bad person and bound to disappoint was a burden, yeah. But It just doesn't compare in my eyes. Yet here I am with PTSD and Stockholm syndrome and Bipolar Disorder (okay, the last is chemical, I get that and nothing my family did or didn;t do could have affected it). And my therapist telling me my family tortured me.

Why can't I feel mad about these things? Why do I just feel sick at heart? Is it that I don't reallly believe them myself? Or that the memory has just faded into the mists of time and...I can;t get a grasp on it. Some of the incidents my therapist harps on don;t seem so bad, just normal. And some I can barely remember.

I think this is why writing Locked has stalled. I just can't get upset enough--not like I was when I started writing it. And all those times in the hospital just kind of blend into one another. Only a few stand out, at the beginning. And a few in the middle and towards the end. But the most part I can;t hardly even remember. It's like I wasn;t there for it. I went away.

When I was anorexic I went away a lot. Life was being obsessed with food and exercise and doing my homework: that's all there was. How do you write about that?

I donl;t hate my family. They disappoint me. When I write my mom and she never even responds it hurts me deep inside, but it's not unusual. why am I even hurt and disappointed? Probably she'd say it was my own doing anyway and she thought that distant was the way I wanted our relationship to be--which I can't deny. So who;s at fault? Her or me?

That's the question that confuses me a lot. Is it just me? Or was I really treated badly? I think I was treated badly but I can never know for sure. So this pain in my heart that is never resolved.

My shoulder hurts really badly now because I tend to hunch whenever I write here. That's a sign of something. I don't know what.

wasting some time

...before I have to go for my eyebrow wax....girly ting I know but I don;t feel ashamed like I did when I did girly things in High school and all my friends were like "Ewwww!" It's taken me so long time to appreciate girly things because of this.

so day four of the med change: about half an hour after I wrote my last blog I got slammed with a horrible weight of depression. It just fell from the sky. I think part of it was that I hadn;t eated in some time because food definitely helped, but also, what can I expect as I am now taking half the anti-depressants that I once was? I suppose a little depression is in order. Besides, it's so much better than the hypomania and restlessness and violent thoughts and all that goes with that lot.

Today I feel a littel depressed still but not so bad. The ache in my heart isn't as noticeable. And the ache in my atomach has about gone away. Hooray for that.

I'm still taking it easy on myself. I don't want to push too hard, you know: now you;re not restless and irritable so you must immediately start that novel you;ve been thinking of and practice your flute an hour a day etc. I want to just have time to feel these changed feelings.

Which reminds me that last night I dreamed I was back at Naropa trying to enroll for a dance class but they wouldn;t let me take it unless I took a meditation class first. Doesn't actually sound much like a dream to me! I can see them doing it.

Not that I have anything against meditation. It's a good practice and being able to let go of thoughts and just know they;re thoughts and not really happening has been a huge boon to my mental health. I jus have a problem with people who think it's so...the be all and end all of all enlightenment or something. Most people I've known with that attitude have been very lost in their lives and lookng for something to fill them up. It's sad, really. But everyone needs a weay to peace. Even me.

It;s a grey day today but not too cold. I'm actually dressed as I write this as my waxing appt. is not too far off.

Soemthing weird just happened: my browser shut down without any warning whatsoever. Fortunately this had been saved as a draft autonatically...thank you blogger. But I'm going to end now in case it happens again.

Happy Saturday, all.

Day 3

Good Day. And welcome to Day three...of the med change, that is.

I continue to feel better, though I was a litle nervy this morning, I think because I didn;t take my 3 a.m. klonopin...still, I didn;t accomplish much. Partly this was due to the kittens. (Like they're so big they can wrestle you to the floor, one friend said, but still having 3 kittens climbing all over you and insisting on sleeping on you in various awkward positions is a bit limiting).

But partly, I'm just enjoying the feeling of not having ants crawling all over my skin. Things will continue to improve and eventually I will do things again that I've been wanting to do.

I spent most of the day making catster pages for all my various felines, so go visit them if you;re interested. I'll post links on this page as soon as I can.

that's all.

A normal day at last

Day one of the med change: feeling much better and thinking that the large dose of Effexor I was on was definitely part of the problem. Much calmer and less restless. Of course, that could be the doubled dose of the anti-anxiety meds, but I don't really care at this point. I even managed to read a little, which is a big deal as I haven't been able even to pick up a book in weeks without wanting to throw it across the room in disgust because I can't cooncentrate on it.

Have kitten asleep in my lap..Asleep, thank the gods: this morning they were all crazed. Onyx steppped in my yoghurt spoon just as I was trying to put it in my mouth, got covered with yoghurt which he proceeded to track all over my bathrobe before figuring out he should lick his foot. Elvira stepped in my coffee and tracked that all over. My DH called to ask how I was and at the time I had one cat on my shoulder screaming in my eat, another trying to eat my feet and another chasing me around tryiing to get at the meds I was doling out for myself. I felt like the mother of six toddlers all under the age of four.

weather quite cold and stormy. We had a bit of snow and lots of rain so all the cats came in and went comatose for a long while. Now Luna is sitting in my office window looking out on the world. So I have to sit here and supervise and make sure none of the young ones get too interested, because they;re not alllowed out yet. if ever. I wish Luna would make up her mind whether she wants to be in or out so I can shut the window, But I think she just wants to sit there.

Did some laundry. Need to transfer it from the washer to the drier but can't with cat in my lap and another cat in the one window without a screen.

I feel winterish.

Well, here I am.

I was NOT carted off to a mental hospital, obviously, eventhough I had fears of that from some of the thought processes I've been going through--thinking about hurting myself or the family pets, you know, stuff like that. Fears of having a psychotic episode and not being able to control my actions. My husband says call him if ever this were to happen, but would I even remember to call? I don;t know.

Anyway, I'm here at home at my own computer and the only things changed are my meds. Going off one by stages, increasing another---ya-HOO--and checking the blood levels on yet another.

What I'm in is called a mixed state, which means you have both signs of depression and mania--or in my case, hypomania, which is not quite full blown mania but characterised by irritability and restlessness, sound familiar? My doctor kept saying he couldn;t get a sense of my mood--well doc I can;t help you there because neither can I! What am I paying you for, anyway?

My doctor is an odd fish, really. He's nice but I don;t know what to think of him. Maybe BECAUSE he's nice I don;t know what to think of him; i'm so used to pdocs being kinda nasty. But he also is very much like a reflective surface, which I'm sure is intentional. He doesn;t say much or even suggest much. So I just sat in the big chair talking very fast and rocking back and forth. I wonder what he says to his secretary after his clients have gone. "Whoo boy, there's a live one!"? Or nothing? I'm sure he's seen much worse than me but I haven';t felt this bad in a long time. But I don;t feel depressed just bad. Maybe that's what he was looking for.

But I was talking about my doctor. I called my therapist after I got home and she was all, "So what do you feel now that you;ve had the appointment?" because I had told her I was terrified. And I really didn;t know. But in a way, I feel disappointed. I want some kind of reaction and my doctor, whose name I am intentionally leaving out of this as much as I can remember to do, doesn;t react. Not in gesture or word or anything. He's so calm it gives me the shivers. I imagine even if he had said, "well you're in for a nice stay with the men in the white coats" he would deliver the news in that same flattish tone. Or not flat, but kind. I almost feel like he's frustrated with me for some reason, but that's probably just my paranoia.

Anyway, I'm home, the appointment was no big deal really and I hope the med change works for me. 'Cause if it doesn't I don;t know what's going to happen to me I really don't.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow I see my P-sychiatrist and I'm absolutely terrified. He's a nice man and hasn't done anything bad to me, but I'm terrified the same way I'm always terrified whenever I get a letter or card from my mother, eventhough she hasn't told me what a bad person I am in so many words in 20 or more years.

I have a mortal fear of psychiatrists, probably stemming back to the first one I can remember. Dr. Pitt is what I call him in Locked (see my web page) and my experience with him was one of the worst in memory. He accused me of cutting on myself to get out of doing my homework, for example. He didn;t listen to a word I said and was rude and patronising. I guess he thought a 16 year old girl couldn;t have any serious problems and he sent me away from him more suicidal than I've ever been in my life, before or since.

Dr. Newman was okay but ineffective. When I was anorexic I sat in his office an hour a week for a whole year without saying anything. My mother told me that he had told her that I had said terrible stuff about my family and he had it on tape. I know she was lying, or he was. Dr. Schoof was high and mighty and somewhat mean. he was one of the doctors in the hospital and was prone to taking away privileges on the least whim. I remember I had this stuffed animal I liked to carry around for comfort. he told me this was a sign of an instable mind and if I didn;t give up the stuffed toys he'd put me on suicide precautions. I still think that was something of an overreaction.

Then there was the psychiatrist I saw at student health at U of M. I can't remember his name, just the way he yelled at me that I would never get better without him on the day that I walked out of his office because I couldn;t take any more of what he called therapy.

So I have a mortal fear of psychiatrists. I reflexively hide what's really going on with me from them, for fear of what they'll do to me. I know I can;t do this tomorrow, because I can't go on living the life I've been living, really I can't. But what will my pdoc do? Accuse me of lying? institutionalise me? Or simply change my meds? I don;t know and I'm scared shitless.

My back hurts and I want to go to bed but that will bring on tomorrow much faster. I'll let you know what happens...if I can.

More blahs

like the young jaguar in the Kipling story, I just "don't feel comfy." It's another blah day and I ache all over, expecially in my legs. I think this has mostly to do with not getting a lot--or any--good exercise this week; I haven't even done my Pilates which I can usually do even when I can't do anything else. I'm bored and restless at the same time: not a good combination. I wish I could just sit down and read a book as I would usually do on a grey, gunky day like this, but I can't cencentrate.

These blogs are beginning to be really redundant: always saying the same thing over and over. I hate that. I wish I had something interesting to relate.

It's really fall here now. It seems like overnight the trees turned from green to gold and over another night the leaves have fallen so that many of them are almost naked. The garden is in its final death throes after hanging on valiantly against my neglect all summer. The birch tree outside my window is nearly bare. The chickadees have come back from wherever they summer and I hear their distinctive "chee-chee-chee" through the window I keep open for a little air in this stuffy office.

I'n drinking a lot more tea and a lot less water. I need to drink more water.

Everything seems sleepy and, well....asleep. Even the kittens are sacked out in various places and GB hadn't the energy to do more than meow at Onyx when he came to investigate this great big cat.

I wish I could sleep like that. I used to be able to just go to sleep when nothing else was going on, but lately I find I can't. It has to do with being restless like I am, I think. hard to stay still long enough to find my way into a nap.

I;m worried about my husband, who is playing Zuma instead of working on his paper for his Chaucer class. This semester in school is just really kicking his butt. And I know--believe me I know--how hard it is to feel so overwhelmed but I'm really afraid he;s going to let too much slide and end up having to repeat a semester or flunking out which we really can;t afford....

Speaking of which, we have NO money. That's just great too.

So I guess I have a lot of stresses in my life right now. You know what I hate is when you tell a therapist something like that and she says, "That's a lot of stress!" as if you didn't know and as if knowing you have stress in your life is all you need to feel better. Not that my therapist has ever really done that but my pdoc has. And I don;t like it at all.

Elvira has just come up to help me write this so I tink it's a good place to stop before she does something weird like deletes the whole post...

Kind of a blah day

and I don;t have anything to say about it really. But this has become a habit for me--something I can do and I appreciate that.


so...smoking too much, playng with the kittens, putting pressure on the older cats to get along. I think we're finally getting somewhere with that: Gwion and Luna and the three new ones all took a nap together on the bed and there was no bloodshed.

Shot with Canon PowerShot S2 IS at 2007-10-13

dark now but still alittle bit of light on the western horizon...

I dreamed last night that I got a call from Tor books saying they were going to publish the Unquiet Grave but the guy on the other end of the line sounded really stoned so I thought it was a hoax or something. I don't know whether this is a good sign or a bad one.

That's all for now.

the Cute Report -- II

Having three new kittens is like taking care of a passel of toddlers (or so I assume, having never had toddlers in any amount). One minute they're into everything. The nest they're totally asleep somewhere, often wheere you can't find them. So you run arund the house looking for themuntil you locate them under the afghan at the foot of the bed or something. Also, when they get quiet you can't relax because it MAY mean they're up to something.

Elvira is the chief mischief maker of the lot.The other night she decided to attempt to leap onto the kitchen counter, where she succeeded in pulling the dishdrainer and all its contents down onto her head. She escaped unscathed. Her favourite sleeping spot is the big potted jade plant in the bay window where she KNOWS she's not supposed to be. But she's so cute all curled up there, we just don;t have the heart to turn the sprayer on her. She'd going to be a spoiled diva.

Onyx is one of the most vocal kittens I've ever come across. He has a tiny little mew and a great big purr and he follows me everywhere. He also has a fascination with the bathroom sink. With anything in the bathroom, mattter of fact. If you didn;t know, sitting on the toilet while a kitten is trying to investigate what you;re doing there is not very conducive to peacefully going about your business.

Obsidian is the dignified one. But he's also still the mighty hunter. When playing "fish" he dominates the others and growls when they come too close. He remains aloof much of the time but is a total lover when he decides it's time for some lap.

The other cats are clowly adjusting to the invasion. Luna has come to ignore the kittens, as has Dacs (but she still woon;t come down off the pantry for long!) Even Gwion Bach came in twice today while the kids were asleep and wandered around the house. He sat down and had a wash in the living room. That's progress!

Tried to post more pics, but they didn't come out for some reason. Sorry!

worser and worser

sometimes I feel as if I'm clinging to sanity by my fingernails.

today I woke up really early from dreams of forbidden love in Imperial China--don;t ask me where THAT came from--and decided it would be easier to just get up than go back to the intricacies of secret meetings and stolen kisses....I thought I would be okay. But before an hour or two had passed I knew I wasn;t okay. It's the anxiety again. And the decision-making--or lack of the capability for decision making. Everything seems so overwhelming. Do I take a shower first or do Pilates first? Do I do Pilates at all? Do I do the Intermediate workout or stick to the beginners'? Do I get dressed? What do I wear? How do I wear it? Do these jeans still fit? Am I slowly losing weight or actually getting fatter? Can I do a radio show tonight?

The answer to that last question turned out to be "No," but it took a tearful ten minutes on the phone with my husband to determine this, at which time he ordered me to stay home and told me he'd take care of the matter. Once again, I feel like a goon for being so insane right now.

I just can't think of anything without all the thoughts piling up into a vast train wreck in my head and scaring me shitless. If it weren;t for the kittens I'd go totally round the bend, I know I would.

I think I need a nap.

Ever have one of those days...

Every have one of those days when you know right away that getting out of bed is a really bad idea? When you wanke up and just think, "Oh no, not again." Well, I'm having that day. I opened my eyes at 8 and thought, "No way am I getting up yet. This is just a really bad idea." I managed to sleep another hour and then I knew there was no help for it. I had to get up. Because you do, don;t you? I mean, there was that week a couple years ago when I just stayed in bed taking one sleeping pill after another until my husband called my therapist, but that's not the normal course of events. In the normal course of events you get up.

So I did get up even though I knew it was a bad idea. And immediately started having a bad anxiety attack--the kind where you;re convinced you;re going to die there all alone with no one even to hold your hand as you go. So I called my husband and he talked me through it, and I feel like a heel for needing this support but I just did.

I managed to get dressed in what I term my intermediate clothes: sweats that I wouldn't go out of the house in, but feel okay hanging about in, And if I do my PIlates, which I need to do but don;t really feel like doing, then I'm prepared.

The last two hours I have been smoking, cruising the internet and playing computer games. Wha-hoo!

Then there's the kids. Onyx had an "I can;t leave you alone but must be with you always meowing in your ear" moment that lasted about an hour. His nickname, Oni, means Demon in Japanese. He's beginning to show it. Elvira has been content staring out windows and Obi--Obsidian--has been asleep. But he just woke up and Oh My God, how can so much stinky poo come out of one small beast like that??? Reminds me why I'm not having children.

The other cats still aren;t tolerating things too well. GB remains outside all day and can only be lured in by the rattle of the treat jar, after the kids are put to bed for the night. Dacs refuses to come down from the pantry. I'm a little worried about her; she's eating but I haven't seen her take a drink since we brought the small creatures home. Luna is doing the best with it; she lets them get closer on a daily basis but still is stand-offish and hisses a lot when they get too near.

so I wish I could do something else now, like read, but that's a total loss because of the whole confcentratin issue and also because trying to read while minding three wild kittens is like...well, it reminds me when I worked with people with Autism, really.

Ever have one of those days? Oh right....that's my life.

How Are We Today?

It's hard to answer that question. It always has been hard, but it's harder to answer in a blog where potentially anyone iin the world could see the answer.

I feel very sad right now. Like my eyes are full of tears. I did cry a lot at my therapy appt. today. Sometimes things are just so painful. I feel like I'm full of pain that has to come out somehow but I'm so repressed that it won;t come.

I also feel full of rage. I feel like a boil about to pop or like the Yellowstone Super Volcano (due to erupt any time now, and the circle of destruction reaches somewhere down into New Mexico--bet you didn;t know that!) And this frightens me. Sometimes I have very destructive thoughts, sometimes self destructive. I don;t feel depressed, really. Except at night when I realise I've wasted away another day because nothing is interesting to me and the things that might be interesting I can't concentrate on for more than five minutes at a time. I've given up even trying to read, that's how bad it is. I may have written this same blog before for all I know; that's how bad my memory has become.

It frightens me all the more because I see my P-sychiatrist next week and I'm afraid if I tell him these things he will shut me away. ANd the worst thing, is, that doesn't sound too bad right now. If you've read the chapters of Locked on my web page, you'll get an idea just how bad I'm feeling just from that. It doesn't sound too bad to be shut away in a place that's safe, where they might do some testing on me and actually tell me what's going on in words that I can understand. I mean, Bipolar. What the hell does that mean about my feelings? PTSD? the same. I want to know...other things. I want test scores dammit. I was never good in classes that didn't have grades.

Talking to my therapist today, she told me that there is only one hospital in 3 counties that even HAS a Psych ward (I knew this) and that it doesn't matter how bad you are they only keep you for 72 hours (I didn;t know this). So actually I don;t think hospitalisation is a good option under those conditions. I mean, let a person loose just as she's getting into her process? I DON'T think so. So no, I;m not going to be hospitalised,

Sometimes I wish for it though.

I remember this feeling from high school: feeling like I was going to explode and wanting to be safe. Wanting other people to look out for me. Is that so bad a thing to want? All my upbringing says it is; I have to be able to take care of myself always. But the strain of that right now is so heavy. I feel...ruptured, Herniated. Like bits of myself are poking through and I'm afraid, so afraid all the time.

I;m not finished but this blog is done for the moment.

At least I have the kittens for comfort.

The Cute Report

Not easy to write a blog with a lapful of kittens, but I'm going to try...

As the days pass, their personalities come out. At first I thought, Oh my gods, how are we ever goign to tell the boys apart?" But by the end of the first day I could see little variations. Onyx's coat is slightly longer and not quite so shiny. Obsidian's eyes are a little closer together. Things like that.


Now I'm seeing bigger differences. Obsidian is a bit shier, but he also seems to be the "spokeskitten" when it comes to dealing with the older cats. He also is the mighty hunter. He caught his first spider last night and recently discovered the rabbit fur mousie, which he has now thoroughly destroyed. In many activities he is the leader but in socializing he takes his time.

Onyx, I;m afraid to say, seems a little slow. He gets lost in the litterbox and squeals until someone comes to find him. He follows Obi's lead a lot, but is more social initially. He also is fascinated by computers. If he can, he'll sit between the keyboard and the monitor and watch what's happening on the screen. He has been known to delete or add entire forum posts by walking on the keyboards.

Both the boys have little, squeaky voices. In fact, Obi is already master of the Silent Meow. Not so Elvira. For a tiny cat she has a remarkably deep alto mew. She bosses the boys around a lot but often can't be bothered. She likes me best :D. Currently while the boys continue to destroy the fur mousie, she is asleep in my lap.

The older cats still don;t know what to make of this. Luna seems to be adjusting best so far. Day by day she lets the little ones get closer and closer to her. Today she actually looked interested in their play when they were near her. But then when they got too close and invaded what she considers her personal space, she had to go outside for a while.

Dacs is hiding in the linen closet.

GB is out. I think he feels as long as he doesn;t have to see them he can forgive my husband and me for bringing them home but he'll take a long time to accept the situation.


Must go now....kittens needs me!

Kitten Therapy

The last few weeks--okay, months--have been really rough for me. In addition, I've been having a really bad spout of kitten hunger. You know, like some women get baby hunger or grandmother hunger? I get kitten hunger. It was time for more kittens in the house. The problem was, although a lot of my internet friends were finding kittens and infact had houses overflowing with kittens, no kittens were coming my way.

Until the other day. Thursday, I think it was.

One of these Internet friends on the My Cat Hates You board located a pair of twin black kittens at a foster home only two hours from where I live. We called the fosterer and made arrangements to go "see" them Saturday, but I already knew we'd be coming home with them--if the fosterer approved, which it seemed over the phone that she would.

What I didn't bargain for was falling in love. Not with the Purr Boys, as the two black brothers were known--though I do love them dearly--but with a little Tuxedo girl named Elvira. The minute she saw me she came for me purring a deep throaty purr, and I was smitten. She didn;t leave my side the whole time we were at the shelter and I knew we'd have to take her home as well, or I would never be able to leave.


Shot with Canon PowerShot S2 IS at 2007-10-07

So we have three new babies in the house: Obsidian, Onyx and Elvira. The older cats aren't too chuffed about this but I think they'll come around in time. And it's even worth their grief to me to have the babies. To watch them play and to have them snuggle together and with me is just what I needed to start lifting me from this bleak depression I've been labouring under.

"Bring me a box of kittens, Stat!" I wish I could have had them a long time ago, but then maybe I wouldn;t have got the right ones and these kittens are the medicine for me.


Shot with Canon PowerShot S2 IS at 2007-10-07
Onyx


Shot with Canon PowerShot S2 IS at 2007-10-07
Obsidian

Writing a blog when you have nothing to say...

I really want to write a blog and I REALLY have nothing to say. Shall I talk about the weather? It's grim out--alternately cloudy and sunny with spats of rain that make the cats very upset.

Shall I talk about my health? I think it's a migraine day--anyway, I took the migraine medication just in case and I am hanging about in my jammies still, not really feeling up to anything. I think I may also be coming down with bronchitis because I have this dry cough that keeps me up at night. I dreamed all night I was trying to blow my nose and nothing was coming out. What does that signify, Dr. Freud?

Shall I dare to eat a peach? I DID deat a peach, one of the last of the season and it was really good. So take that, Mr. Prufrock. If you can't get up the balls to eat your peaches while they come to you, maybe you don;t deserve to have the mermaids singing to you.

Harshing on a character from a poem.

Mostly I;m spending today waiting for it to be tomorrow. Why? Because we have the opportunity to adopt a couple more kitties! I'm really excited about that. I hope it works out.

These are some of the most random mutterings yet. And I think I'm through with them.

How to Write a Novel

At last, a list of easy steps for writing that novel that is in your heart.

1. Drag self out of bed. Make coffee. Drink coffee while perusing the Internet for at least two hours.

2. Eat breakfast. Think about settling down to write. Decide it's more important to pay your outstanding bills. Pay bills.

3. Smoke. Drink more coffee while playing a computer game.

4. Get dressed. Walk downtown to mail bills you paid previously. Find other spurious errands to run downtown.

5. Sign back on the internet to see if anything has changed there. Shop for shoes.

6. Smoke some more.

7. Open up document containing your novel. Read what you wrote yesterday. Delete half of it.

8. Go pee.

9. Make a nice cup of chamomile tea.

10. Go back to novel. Think it sucks.

11. Go BACK to internet and waste an hour answering posts on the forums you belong to. Search e-bay for shoes you couldn't find earlier.

12. Make another cup of tea.

13. Go back to novel. write three words.

14. Wander aimlessly around the house tearing your hair out while trying to think what happens next.

15. Pee again.

16. Realise it's really late and you need to make lunch befo0re you can do anything. Eat PBJ while perusing the internet some more.

17. Go back to novel. Delete the three words you wrote earlier and write three different words.
18. Stare at the screen.

19. Minimize novel and play a computer game while chain smoking.

20. Get a great idea and write three paragraphs before you begin to think it really stinks and you run out of steam.

21. Go pee.

22. Come back to novel. Read what you've written that day and decide it's probably enough. After all, even Stephen King only writes three pages a day.

23. Make dinner. Eat. Sit around the rest of the evening being haunted by all the great things you had to say that you couldn;t think of while actually sitting at your computer.

24. Go to bed.

25. repeat all steps until novel is completed.

She

I've been thinking a lot about writing poetry again, or at least trying to finish some things I started.

here's something I wrote a long time ago:

There is a woman who stands
behind me sometimes. She stands
behind me days when I wake
cranky and wise, eyes gummed and pregnant as I drag
myself to coffee, a pythia trailing
blankets for robes

She stands behind me.

She stands behind me with her hands
on my shoulders, so close I can feel
her breasts brush
my back just there, between the scapulae
on either side of my spine.
They are not a girl's breasts, firm and upturned,
the proud, first badges of impending womanhood.
Nor yet are they a mother's: ripe, round and full,
puckered about the nipple as navel oranges.
These breasts are empty sacks,
sagging and wrinkled
rinds only, the juice sucked out by greedy mouths
leaving her pulp
and a few tangy drops of memory.

From these breasts I know her.

She is there when my girlfriend comes over to drink
tea, smoke, and tell me her latest problems with her lover.
"Do you want my opinion?" I ask, knowing
she has no choice but to hear it
knowing the opinion is not entirely mine.
"Of course," she replies, so I give it to her.
Her lips tighten and she turns a shade paler.
"I think," she says, inhaling blue reassurance,
"I just need to learn to accept and let go."

She breathes down my neck and I
am suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to yank
my broom down from its shelf and commit an act of violence.
The phrase, "beat some sense into" reverberates through my inner ear
like the echo of chanting in a cave where bats' wings whisper
in the dark

"More tea?" I ask, and get up to put the kettle on.

She is not the smiling grandmother who welcomes
you into a steamy, sweet-smelling kitchen,
a setting hen clucking while she hangs
your wet, snow-encrusted coat over the radiator.
She does not offer you cocoa and cookies
And a large, ample lap in the rocking chair by the fire.

She is the witch who shuts you in the oven
until every excess is burned away.
She loves you like a surgeon's knife
cutting out a tumour.
She hates complacency.
She knows that change is never gentle
but will not accept that as an excuse.
She does what must be done
with a ruthless disregard for sentiment.
Insects die in the first frost; deer struggle and starve in the snow;
Still, winter comes.
She is the black-billed magpie ripping
flesh from the smashed prairie dog at the side of the road.

She can't abide waste.
She has a use for everything.

She knows no anger, only necessity.
She cuts the thread her sister spun
whether she likes you or not.

Talking 'bout the Weather and stuff

It was beautiful this morning--one of those sunny fall days where the sky is the blue of glacial ice and there's just enough breeze to make the leaves on the trees rustle and spin on their way to the ground. (The breeze here has smelled strongly of Skunk all day, but never mind that). Now it's clouding over and there's supposed to be rain in the night. I don't mind. I like rain. I like most kinds of weather, except freezing cold and even that is okay if you know you're going home to a nice fire and a cup of cocoa.

I didn;t manage to get out in it--still suffering intense agoraphobia. I no longer think people are gooing to track me down and kill me--not so much--but I don;t want to go out of the house without a bodyguard, preferably armed. I did my Pilates instead and now I feel better about lots of things. Pilates always makes me feel like a dancer again. I surely miss my old dance classes and my dance teacher. I wonder where she is now. I wonder if she's still alive? I could google her, but I'm afraid of what I might find out. Like when I googled my old boyfriend and found his father's obituary: that was a shock.

Still missing my old friends. This time of year with all its reminders of school, both good and bad, really makes me want to find some of them. The irony is, I'm fairly sure the toxic bitch knows where at least some of them are and there's no way I can ask her. Shite, for all I know she's told them all what a psycho I am.

I don't think I'm a psycho. But then there's the little matter of how many friends I've "lost"--okay, let's be blunt and say "thrown out of my life." My therapist says I needed to do it in all the cases I've told her about...but I can't help but wonder if it's something wrong with ME, something I'm doing wrong that makes my relationships fall apart. Again, my therapist says we tend to attract to ourselves things that we've attracted before--so if you've been abused, you attract abusers, etc. And I guess I've never had a really normal friendship with anyone except maybe my husband.

I get so lonely sometimes, though.

La La La La...I don't really have anything to say and I didn't when I started writing this, which is why I started by talking about the weather. Still, I've been feeling the urge to write and this blog seems to be the only thing I can write with any consistency. There aren't any storied in me yet, but they'll come.

Michael told me the other day that Locked is excellent and should be required reading for anyone going into the field of psychotherapy. I'd like to work on that more but I don't know where it goes from the place I stopped. The problem is, my experience with the psych ward(s) doesn't have a nice happy contained ending. They just set me loose at some point and I spent the following 20 years clinging to life with my fingernails. I'd like to bring it around somehow to my diagnosis, but I think that would have to be in an epilog somewhere. Huh.

I forgot to eat lunch and now I'm hungry but it's too close to dinner to eat anything now...