Anxiety: Something's not right.
Me: What do you mean?
Anxiety: Something's wrong.
Me: Where? How?
Anxiety: DOOM!
Me: Can you at least give me a hint?
Anxiety: Sonething's not right.
Showing posts with label insomnia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label insomnia. Show all posts
May 26, 2017
July 23, 2014
Mugs is a funkfest; someone's talking junk.
One
of my "neighbors" down over the hill is blasting "Jump Around." It's
like 1992 all over again. Which was a good year, incidentally. But
c'mon, WVU students, I still have a couple weeks before I have to deal
with this middle of the night business. Pack it up, pack it in.
July 1, 2014
A tiny, stoic sentry
At the end of every day, when I crawl into bed next to my husband, there is a part of me that stays alert, a little part I save just for my daughters in case they need it -- a tiny, stoic sentry who never sleeps and guards her post alone.
- Kate Rope, The Bittersweet Loneliness of Motherhood
- Kate Rope, The Bittersweet Loneliness of Motherhood
August 12, 2012
The end of an era
On this, my final morning living in San Francisco, I sat outside in the cool air and watched the fog. I wish I could hear the foghorns from here.
September 7, 2011
What it's like
In September of 2008, I was raped on a date. I never told anyone. I mean I never told ANYONE. Not a doctor, or a therapist, or a best friend. No one. I was so embarrassed and ashamed this had happened to me, and I felt so stupid that I had not kept myself safe. I felt like all that money for all those fucking degrees ought to have been good for something, and here I couldn't even take care of myself. Normally so forthcoming and expansive, I kept my mouth shut. I didn't want to be told what to do or who to talk to. I didn't want to be asked any questions. I didn't want to explain. I just wanted to forget. Up until that point I felt like I'd been a fairly healthy woman with a fairly healthy sex life, and I was convinced I could maintain that through sheer will.
By the end of the same month, I had started to completely fall apart.
Anxiety seemed to ooze from my pores. I couldn't relax. I had recently started my first job and bought a car and suddenly I felt like I was losing control of everything. I couldn't sleep. I would be awake for three days straight. Not just awake, really, but AWAKE! I needed to talk, I needed to write, I needed to make things. Things to say were erupting out of me and I was unable to control them. I made greeting cards and little boxes. I started writing. I wrote all over my walls, in fact, and pounded out long missives on my computer in ALL CAPS because I WAS RUNNING OUT OF SPACE INSIDE TO PUT ALL OF THIS SHIT.
The lack of sleep made me wild-eyed and crazed, and the long commute to work (not to mention actual work) because impossible. The panic attacks started in earnest around this time, and they made me feel desperate and doomed and frantic. I had them everywhere--in my office, in my car, alone in my bed, in the shower. No place was safe.
I can remember driving home from work, my fingers clutching the steering wheel for dear life. I rocked back and forth furiously chanting:
"I'm sorry," she said, "I have nothing left to give."
"I'm sorry," she said, "I have nothing left to give."
"I'm sorry," she said, "I have nothing left to give."
One day on the drive home I felt so terrified to go home and be alone that I phoned ahead to Nannette and pleaded for her to let me come over as soon as I was back in the city. She told me I was welcome to come, and I fiercely held onto that as I drove. But by the time I got back to San Francisco, I was frantic again and couldn't bear to be around anyone. To her confusion, I told her I couldn't come.
Some nights she let me sleep on her couch because I didn't want to be alone.
I became obsessed with the Golden Gate Bridge. I needed to look at that bridge! I needed to see it, to drive on it, to read about it, and watch videos of people jumping off of it. I needed to know just how deep it was in the bay underneath. It felt important to know just how far down there was to go. I read, "San Francisco Bay is relatively shallow but reaches depths of 100 feet in some places." I had dreams about it. I dreamed of what it felt like when my feet left the side, and I dreamed of what I saw on the way down. I dreamed of the sound my back made when it broke upon hitting the water, and I dreamed of the light disappearing above me. I decided that the exact point at which I would jump off would be 98 feet deep, and I needed to keep that number in my head constantly. I wrote the number 98. I cut the corners out of books that showed page 98. I made a box I called "98 feet deep."
The awful part about it was that I didn't WANT to jump off. I didn't want to! It terrified and horrified me to think about it. But I was obsessed with it. My brain wouldn't leave it alone.
The days without sleep were punctuated by complete crashes. Depression and sobbing and apathy, days I called off work because I just could not function. After Nannette pleaded with me to see someone, I sent my doctor an email. All I could think to say was, "I'm going down fast." On my 32nd birthday, she had me come in for an appointment.
My doctor is wonderful, and she urged me to apply for disability and to see a psychiatrist as well as a therapist. I was getting in deeper and deeper shit at work, but I insisted to her that I could still work--didn't need the time off. I regret deeply that I didn't take her advice, but I was determined to hold on to the balls I was trying to juggle by the skin of my teeth.
Eventually, I got fired. I lost a lot of friends when they didn't understand what was going on or the decisions I made. I made a mess of relationships. I lost my baby.
These days I struggle with leaving the house, with seeing people. It feels like the only place I can be remotely safe is in my apartment, because the outside world is much too scary and unpredictable. The last time I tried to have brunch with a friend, I had to force myself to go. I threatened and begged and cajoled myself to go, and when I got home, my beloved bird was dead. A voice inside of me whispered, "I knew this would happen." It is a lonely existence.
I am taking medication now--slowly--and I have told exactly four people what happened to me. It honestly didn't occur to me until a couple months ago how all these things might be tied together. I'm sure I've told portions of my story in this venue before as I recounted my struggles with mental illness, but it has never been told in this complete fashion. I feel somewhat horrified as I type these words that now it will be OUT THERE and PEOPLE WILL KNOW and I CAN'T TAKE IT BACK.
But I needed to tell my story.
By the end of the same month, I had started to completely fall apart.
Anxiety seemed to ooze from my pores. I couldn't relax. I had recently started my first job and bought a car and suddenly I felt like I was losing control of everything. I couldn't sleep. I would be awake for three days straight. Not just awake, really, but AWAKE! I needed to talk, I needed to write, I needed to make things. Things to say were erupting out of me and I was unable to control them. I made greeting cards and little boxes. I started writing. I wrote all over my walls, in fact, and pounded out long missives on my computer in ALL CAPS because I WAS RUNNING OUT OF SPACE INSIDE TO PUT ALL OF THIS SHIT.
The lack of sleep made me wild-eyed and crazed, and the long commute to work (not to mention actual work) because impossible. The panic attacks started in earnest around this time, and they made me feel desperate and doomed and frantic. I had them everywhere--in my office, in my car, alone in my bed, in the shower. No place was safe.
I can remember driving home from work, my fingers clutching the steering wheel for dear life. I rocked back and forth furiously chanting:
"I'm sorry," she said, "I have nothing left to give."
"I'm sorry," she said, "I have nothing left to give."
"I'm sorry," she said, "I have nothing left to give."
One day on the drive home I felt so terrified to go home and be alone that I phoned ahead to Nannette and pleaded for her to let me come over as soon as I was back in the city. She told me I was welcome to come, and I fiercely held onto that as I drove. But by the time I got back to San Francisco, I was frantic again and couldn't bear to be around anyone. To her confusion, I told her I couldn't come.
Some nights she let me sleep on her couch because I didn't want to be alone.
I became obsessed with the Golden Gate Bridge. I needed to look at that bridge! I needed to see it, to drive on it, to read about it, and watch videos of people jumping off of it. I needed to know just how deep it was in the bay underneath. It felt important to know just how far down there was to go. I read, "San Francisco Bay is relatively shallow but reaches depths of 100 feet in some places." I had dreams about it. I dreamed of what it felt like when my feet left the side, and I dreamed of what I saw on the way down. I dreamed of the sound my back made when it broke upon hitting the water, and I dreamed of the light disappearing above me. I decided that the exact point at which I would jump off would be 98 feet deep, and I needed to keep that number in my head constantly. I wrote the number 98. I cut the corners out of books that showed page 98. I made a box I called "98 feet deep."
The awful part about it was that I didn't WANT to jump off. I didn't want to! It terrified and horrified me to think about it. But I was obsessed with it. My brain wouldn't leave it alone.
The days without sleep were punctuated by complete crashes. Depression and sobbing and apathy, days I called off work because I just could not function. After Nannette pleaded with me to see someone, I sent my doctor an email. All I could think to say was, "I'm going down fast." On my 32nd birthday, she had me come in for an appointment.
My doctor is wonderful, and she urged me to apply for disability and to see a psychiatrist as well as a therapist. I was getting in deeper and deeper shit at work, but I insisted to her that I could still work--didn't need the time off. I regret deeply that I didn't take her advice, but I was determined to hold on to the balls I was trying to juggle by the skin of my teeth.
Eventually, I got fired. I lost a lot of friends when they didn't understand what was going on or the decisions I made. I made a mess of relationships. I lost my baby.
These days I struggle with leaving the house, with seeing people. It feels like the only place I can be remotely safe is in my apartment, because the outside world is much too scary and unpredictable. The last time I tried to have brunch with a friend, I had to force myself to go. I threatened and begged and cajoled myself to go, and when I got home, my beloved bird was dead. A voice inside of me whispered, "I knew this would happen." It is a lonely existence.
I am taking medication now--slowly--and I have told exactly four people what happened to me. It honestly didn't occur to me until a couple months ago how all these things might be tied together. I'm sure I've told portions of my story in this venue before as I recounted my struggles with mental illness, but it has never been told in this complete fashion. I feel somewhat horrified as I type these words that now it will be OUT THERE and PEOPLE WILL KNOW and I CAN'T TAKE IT BACK.
But I needed to tell my story.
July 2, 2011
Weird confidence-building exercises
Anxiety and finances greatly limit my ability to socialize at present, and today is unfortunately a perfect example of the latter. I don't feel too great at many things lately, but there is one tiny area of my life in which I am improving leaps and bounds.
Not so long ago, I mentioned my recent forays into an online game called Dark Age of Camelot (DAoC). It all started when I would watch Ivan play. I was curious, so I always asked him tons of questions. He patiently answered them all, even when he was in the middle of RvR ("realm versus realm" or player versus player action in which you seek out other players' characters and try to kill them). Admittedly I made fun of him. A lot.
Little cartoon people! Fighting each other! How silly.
At first he let me try my hand with some of his characters. Then I developed a couple of my own. My playing has been irregular over several months, with some during which I never played at all because it felt too stressful. In the last month this has been changing.
I've tried my hand at several characters (or "toons"). I have a bonedancer (Boniemaronie), a shadowblade (Laesette), a warlock (Baettina), a spiritmaster (Lyddiaa), two valkyries (Sarahfinn and Serrafina), a healer (Egiesel), four shaman (Laecuna, Madelyn, Rozzie, and Ivancito), and--my current favorite--a runemaster (Runehillda).
Ridiculous, right?
There is a particular battlegound that I really enjoy for level 20-24 toons (out of 50 possible levels) called Thidranki. And I have started making "friends."
Oh, god. Am I a [*gulp*] gamer?
One evening I was running Runehillda around Thidranki with a group of folks. She is specced (or specializes in) runecarving, so she has some kick-ass purple fiery bolts that she shoots at others from great distances. I have come to really love those things. I bolt sorcerers, friars, vampires, and theurgists with a surprising amount of satisfaction.
Anyway, on this particular evening another player asked me to join his guild, the Knights of Thidranki. I gratefully accepted. Soon I was getting regular invitations to join their RvR groups. Other characters both in my guild and out would wave at me and cheer for me and hug me. We'd make plans to meet up online to play; we'd share tips and resources and character-leveling; we'd ask each other about our progress with various trade skills like spell-crafting and alchemy (I make potions!). We'd talk about where we were from, ask how each others' days had gone, and get advice about our characters and abilities. Quickly I discovered how good it felt.
Other people like me! They seek me out! They ask for my opinion! So what if it's not real!
Plus, I have something to do when I can't sleep. Which is often.
Even if you don't play games yourself, it can be very interesting to learn about the dynamics involved in them. There is a whole new language to learn. There are customs and social norms by which you need to abide (and those that don't are quickly called out). There are stereotypes about other classes and realms. I had to laugh the first time I, as a player for the realm of Midguard, found myself agreeing with statements about "dirty Albs" (players for Albion) and "tree-hugging Hibs" (players for Hibernia).
I play with teenagers, moms, and thirty-something dudes. I play with French people and German people. One lady that I play with was inspired to create her own runemaster after watching Runehillda bolt some fools down mercilessly. Early this morning we were running around together in Thidranki, and she asked me to "drive" (decide where to roam to look for enemy players and to pick and choose our battles). I normally rely on others to do this, so I felt a little apprehensive. I warned her that I hoped she wouldn't regret asking me, and she typed back, "nah...i've seen you play."
I've seen you play.
I got ridiculously emotional at the compliment and by the notion that I can still be good at something. Even if it only involves little cartoons fighting one another.
Maybe I need to get out more. Maybe I'm turning into a complete dork. But I'll take my confidence where I can get it.
Not so long ago, I mentioned my recent forays into an online game called Dark Age of Camelot (DAoC). It all started when I would watch Ivan play. I was curious, so I always asked him tons of questions. He patiently answered them all, even when he was in the middle of RvR ("realm versus realm" or player versus player action in which you seek out other players' characters and try to kill them). Admittedly I made fun of him. A lot.
Little cartoon people! Fighting each other! How silly.
At first he let me try my hand with some of his characters. Then I developed a couple of my own. My playing has been irregular over several months, with some during which I never played at all because it felt too stressful. In the last month this has been changing.
I've tried my hand at several characters (or "toons"). I have a bonedancer (Boniemaronie), a shadowblade (Laesette), a warlock (Baettina), a spiritmaster (Lyddiaa), two valkyries (Sarahfinn and Serrafina), a healer (Egiesel), four shaman (Laecuna, Madelyn, Rozzie, and Ivancito), and--my current favorite--a runemaster (Runehillda).
Ridiculous, right?
There is a particular battlegound that I really enjoy for level 20-24 toons (out of 50 possible levels) called Thidranki. And I have started making "friends."
Oh, god. Am I a [*gulp*] gamer?
One evening I was running Runehillda around Thidranki with a group of folks. She is specced (or specializes in) runecarving, so she has some kick-ass purple fiery bolts that she shoots at others from great distances. I have come to really love those things. I bolt sorcerers, friars, vampires, and theurgists with a surprising amount of satisfaction.
Anyway, on this particular evening another player asked me to join his guild, the Knights of Thidranki. I gratefully accepted. Soon I was getting regular invitations to join their RvR groups. Other characters both in my guild and out would wave at me and cheer for me and hug me. We'd make plans to meet up online to play; we'd share tips and resources and character-leveling; we'd ask each other about our progress with various trade skills like spell-crafting and alchemy (I make potions!). We'd talk about where we were from, ask how each others' days had gone, and get advice about our characters and abilities. Quickly I discovered how good it felt.
Other people like me! They seek me out! They ask for my opinion! So what if it's not real!
Plus, I have something to do when I can't sleep. Which is often.
Even if you don't play games yourself, it can be very interesting to learn about the dynamics involved in them. There is a whole new language to learn. There are customs and social norms by which you need to abide (and those that don't are quickly called out). There are stereotypes about other classes and realms. I had to laugh the first time I, as a player for the realm of Midguard, found myself agreeing with statements about "dirty Albs" (players for Albion) and "tree-hugging Hibs" (players for Hibernia).
I play with teenagers, moms, and thirty-something dudes. I play with French people and German people. One lady that I play with was inspired to create her own runemaster after watching Runehillda bolt some fools down mercilessly. Early this morning we were running around together in Thidranki, and she asked me to "drive" (decide where to roam to look for enemy players and to pick and choose our battles). I normally rely on others to do this, so I felt a little apprehensive. I warned her that I hoped she wouldn't regret asking me, and she typed back, "nah...i've seen you play."
I've seen you play.
I got ridiculously emotional at the compliment and by the notion that I can still be good at something. Even if it only involves little cartoons fighting one another.
Maybe I need to get out more. Maybe I'm turning into a complete dork. But I'll take my confidence where I can get it.
June 1, 2011
Out of sorts
**Warning: If you are one of those people who finds others' dreams boring, you might want to skip this entry.**
I feel incredibly bizarre today. I didn't sleep much last night and--while that is nothing terribly unique--today I felt like I just couldn't recover. My head is in a fog and I am moving in slow motion. I had all these things to accomplish today but by noon I was so exhausted that I knew nothing would ever get done if I didn't lay down and take a nap.
I dreamed I had invited Nannette, Amber, and Suzie over for dinner. I was making a beef stew, even though 2/3 of that crowd is vegetarian. Bob G. texted me and asked why he wasn't invited, and I texted back, "Come on over!"
As I started to chop vegetables, I was suddenly transported to my mother's kitchen. I looked around in confusion. The clock said they were supposed to arrive in an hour and I was already way behind schedule. I figured I'd just better get going and not worry about why I'd suddenly arrived at my mother's.
I quickly realized I didn't have half the ingredients I needed. Plus, I had no wine and nothing for dessert. What kind of hostess was I? I begged my mother to let me borrow her car to run to the store. She was doubtful. "I'm 34 years old!" I cried. "I can be trusted with the car to go to the grocery store!" She reluctantly handed over my keys and said that I could go if I took my brother Keith with me.
We ran to the car. I gave Keith--in childhood form--my grocery list. We hauled ass to the store, but the car would not park. "You have to leave it somewhere flat," my brother informed me, "or else it will roll away."
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" I snapped. "Why does she have this damn car?" But it was urgent. My friends were coming and I had nothing done. We dashed into the store and raced back home. When I arrived, I realized I'd only bought a potato and nothing else. I moaned in desperation. Everything felt so urgent. And nothing was going right.
Meanwhile my mom, who is not the most tech-oriented person in the world, was marveling at my smart phone and playing around with it. As I looked in the refrigerator for more ingredients, an Atlanta number called my phone. My mother handed it to me. A woman's voice said, "Amie? This is Jack-in-the-Box from Atlanta, Georgia. YOU HAVE JUST WON A $5,000 TRIP FOR TWO TO BAJA, MEXICO!"
I started laughing with glee! Holy hell, I could USE a fucking vacation! Then I realized that I don't even go to Jack-in-the-Box. And I hadn't been to Atlanta for years. I don't even think they have the damn things in Atlanta. Christ on a crutch! I thought. This is a dream! I haven't won anything.
With annoyance I slammed the phone shut and then realized: Everyone is coming to my house for dinner in SAN FRANCISCO. I am in WEST VIRGINIA. This will never work!
I tried to text them all that dinner was cancelled as the pot in which I was cooking my stew broke and everything started running down the stove. But my phone would not work right. My mom had messed it up. Every button I pushed led to the wrong function. I looked at that clock, and it was past time for them to arrive. I knew that Suzie and Amber were always late, but Nannette was probably there, waiting outside my door, wondering where I was. I had forgotten about Bob. (Sorry, Bob.)
I stood forlornly watching the sauce drip to the floor in long streaks down the oven, feeling like a failure and an unreliable friend. A text message from my mom woke me up: "What r u doing?" she asked.
Hell's bells.
I feel incredibly bizarre today. I didn't sleep much last night and--while that is nothing terribly unique--today I felt like I just couldn't recover. My head is in a fog and I am moving in slow motion. I had all these things to accomplish today but by noon I was so exhausted that I knew nothing would ever get done if I didn't lay down and take a nap.
I dreamed I had invited Nannette, Amber, and Suzie over for dinner. I was making a beef stew, even though 2/3 of that crowd is vegetarian. Bob G. texted me and asked why he wasn't invited, and I texted back, "Come on over!"
As I started to chop vegetables, I was suddenly transported to my mother's kitchen. I looked around in confusion. The clock said they were supposed to arrive in an hour and I was already way behind schedule. I figured I'd just better get going and not worry about why I'd suddenly arrived at my mother's.
I quickly realized I didn't have half the ingredients I needed. Plus, I had no wine and nothing for dessert. What kind of hostess was I? I begged my mother to let me borrow her car to run to the store. She was doubtful. "I'm 34 years old!" I cried. "I can be trusted with the car to go to the grocery store!" She reluctantly handed over my keys and said that I could go if I took my brother Keith with me.
We ran to the car. I gave Keith--in childhood form--my grocery list. We hauled ass to the store, but the car would not park. "You have to leave it somewhere flat," my brother informed me, "or else it will roll away."
"Oh, for fuck's sake!" I snapped. "Why does she have this damn car?" But it was urgent. My friends were coming and I had nothing done. We dashed into the store and raced back home. When I arrived, I realized I'd only bought a potato and nothing else. I moaned in desperation. Everything felt so urgent. And nothing was going right.
Meanwhile my mom, who is not the most tech-oriented person in the world, was marveling at my smart phone and playing around with it. As I looked in the refrigerator for more ingredients, an Atlanta number called my phone. My mother handed it to me. A woman's voice said, "Amie? This is Jack-in-the-Box from Atlanta, Georgia. YOU HAVE JUST WON A $5,000 TRIP FOR TWO TO BAJA, MEXICO!"
I started laughing with glee! Holy hell, I could USE a fucking vacation! Then I realized that I don't even go to Jack-in-the-Box. And I hadn't been to Atlanta for years. I don't even think they have the damn things in Atlanta. Christ on a crutch! I thought. This is a dream! I haven't won anything.
With annoyance I slammed the phone shut and then realized: Everyone is coming to my house for dinner in SAN FRANCISCO. I am in WEST VIRGINIA. This will never work!
I tried to text them all that dinner was cancelled as the pot in which I was cooking my stew broke and everything started running down the stove. But my phone would not work right. My mom had messed it up. Every button I pushed led to the wrong function. I looked at that clock, and it was past time for them to arrive. I knew that Suzie and Amber were always late, but Nannette was probably there, waiting outside my door, wondering where I was. I had forgotten about Bob. (Sorry, Bob.)
I stood forlornly watching the sauce drip to the floor in long streaks down the oven, feeling like a failure and an unreliable friend. A text message from my mom woke me up: "What r u doing?" she asked.
Hell's bells.
March 25, 2011
In three parts
We took the baby to be cremated yesterday. After a great deal of thought and discussion, we decided that we just could not bear handing her off for lab tests.
It was a miserable day--cold, wind, and heavy rain. We had to take two buses to get to the mortuary in Daly City. While waiting for the 28 along 19th Ave., car after car plowed through the standing water and splashed and soaked us. Some people took up defensive postures with their umbrellas; I just didn't care. Our task at hand overwhelmed me, and I didn't care who saw the tears creeping down my face on the bus.
We completed the paperwork. We reported the date and time of death. We signed off as her mother and father. We named her Marie. Marie Pesic. This was never intended to be her name, but I so often light-heartedly called her "Fetus Marie" after my own middle name that it felt right. We held hands as the kind staff member asked us the necessary questions, and when my voice broke with sadness Ivan took over answering them. We said goodbye before handing her over.
* * * * *
In the nights, I feel panic. I feel lost and alone and the pain and fear are still fresh in my mind. I curl up to Ivan--pressing my body against the length of him, but the darkness engulfs me and the cold creeps into my bones. If I manage to nod off for a bit, my mind places me on a tiny, unstable balcony hundreds of stories above a city at night. I am carelessly leaning far over the edge, looking down. I jerk awake. Over and over again.
* * * * *
People keep referring to the next time I get pregnant, and I have to wrap my sweater tighter around me to keep the cold out. The next time.
It was a miserable day--cold, wind, and heavy rain. We had to take two buses to get to the mortuary in Daly City. While waiting for the 28 along 19th Ave., car after car plowed through the standing water and splashed and soaked us. Some people took up defensive postures with their umbrellas; I just didn't care. Our task at hand overwhelmed me, and I didn't care who saw the tears creeping down my face on the bus.
We completed the paperwork. We reported the date and time of death. We signed off as her mother and father. We named her Marie. Marie Pesic. This was never intended to be her name, but I so often light-heartedly called her "Fetus Marie" after my own middle name that it felt right. We held hands as the kind staff member asked us the necessary questions, and when my voice broke with sadness Ivan took over answering them. We said goodbye before handing her over.
* * * * *
In the nights, I feel panic. I feel lost and alone and the pain and fear are still fresh in my mind. I curl up to Ivan--pressing my body against the length of him, but the darkness engulfs me and the cold creeps into my bones. If I manage to nod off for a bit, my mind places me on a tiny, unstable balcony hundreds of stories above a city at night. I am carelessly leaning far over the edge, looking down. I jerk awake. Over and over again.
* * * * *
People keep referring to the next time I get pregnant, and I have to wrap my sweater tighter around me to keep the cold out. The next time.
March 8, 2011
Wherein I begin what will surely be more regular mentions of my lady-parts
Knowing that boys read this blog, including my father (Hi Pop!), I'll try to go easy on the vagina talk. I'm not trying to give anybody nightmares or anything.
Today I had 1 of 3 doctor appointments this week. This one was with a midwife at my prenatal clinic. Well, actually I saw TWO midwives--one of them was in training. I really, really loved them both. We began by talking forever. Nothing was left out! Every aspect of my body and mind were covered. I had a list of questions and concerns, and we went through each and every one in great detail. We even pondered the nasty head cold I am currently sporting from every angle. Then they proceeded to poke, prod, and examine every square millimeter of my body. Again, nothing was left out. I just finished some antibiotics for a UTI, and now the antibiotics have caused some yucky side effects. Ick. This issue was dicussed and dealt with. Prescriptions were filled. I also had a flu shot and blood work.
What I am REALLY excited about, however, is what is coming up March 18: my first ultrasound. I elected to undergo some optional genetic testing that is no risk to the baby just so I could have an extra ultrasound a few weeks sooner than the first one they are already planning. I can't wait! It will quite possibly be too early to tell the baby's sex, but I don't care. I'm dying to see her swimming around and to glimpse her little heart beating.
I came home exhausted and congested, and was grateful for the hugs and offers to make dinner that I encountered. Ivan also kindly trekked out into the drizzle to Walgreen's to get me tissues and the cold medicine I was given permission to take. What was supposed to be taco night turned into yogurt, bananas, and kiwi for dinner, but the best part came last: armed with cold medicine I slept for *3 1/2* hours! I am hoping for more of this delicious elixir known as sleep in the very near future. Like, in the next 10 minutes.
Today I had 1 of 3 doctor appointments this week. This one was with a midwife at my prenatal clinic. Well, actually I saw TWO midwives--one of them was in training. I really, really loved them both. We began by talking forever. Nothing was left out! Every aspect of my body and mind were covered. I had a list of questions and concerns, and we went through each and every one in great detail. We even pondered the nasty head cold I am currently sporting from every angle. Then they proceeded to poke, prod, and examine every square millimeter of my body. Again, nothing was left out. I just finished some antibiotics for a UTI, and now the antibiotics have caused some yucky side effects. Ick. This issue was dicussed and dealt with. Prescriptions were filled. I also had a flu shot and blood work.
What I am REALLY excited about, however, is what is coming up March 18: my first ultrasound. I elected to undergo some optional genetic testing that is no risk to the baby just so I could have an extra ultrasound a few weeks sooner than the first one they are already planning. I can't wait! It will quite possibly be too early to tell the baby's sex, but I don't care. I'm dying to see her swimming around and to glimpse her little heart beating.
I came home exhausted and congested, and was grateful for the hugs and offers to make dinner that I encountered. Ivan also kindly trekked out into the drizzle to Walgreen's to get me tissues and the cold medicine I was given permission to take. What was supposed to be taco night turned into yogurt, bananas, and kiwi for dinner, but the best part came last: armed with cold medicine I slept for *3 1/2* hours! I am hoping for more of this delicious elixir known as sleep in the very near future. Like, in the next 10 minutes.
March 2, 2011
A few things in no particular order
1. Brooklyn. Huh. I guess I shouldn't be surprised.
2. Lately I have been worrying that I am going to have twins. This is followed by worries that I will have no baby at all. I'd really like to relax about this stuff. I'll be happy with just one healthy one.
3. My friend and her boyfriend are moving to Portland, and I am sad. I haven't gotten to hang out with them for a couple of months, but they're a lot of fun and they live in my neighborhood and I will really miss knowing they're nearby. I was so eager to see them off, apparently, that I showed up for their going away party tonight a total of 10 days early. (Idiot.) Since I was all made up and at the bar, I pulled up a barstool, ordered a cranberry juice, and chatted with a few folks before turning around and going home.
4. At about 1am, I lay in bed thinking about my grandparents. This actually happens quite a lot. I was the first grandchild, and I was remembering how my grandmother always told me that after I'd spent the night with them as a baby, my grandpa would keep my tiny undershirts under his pillow so he could smell me when I was away. I'm not sure anyone has ever loved me so much before or since. I miss my grandparents so intensely that at least once a week I cry for them. I think I might always.
5. On Thursday, I am most likely going to meet Ivan's mother for the first time. I am nervous about this. She was incredibly kind to me when I wrote to her a couple of weeks ago.
6. My erratic sleep habits are really starting to become a problem. I have a doctor appointment later in the week that I really think may help me with that.
2. Lately I have been worrying that I am going to have twins. This is followed by worries that I will have no baby at all. I'd really like to relax about this stuff. I'll be happy with just one healthy one.
3. My friend and her boyfriend are moving to Portland, and I am sad. I haven't gotten to hang out with them for a couple of months, but they're a lot of fun and they live in my neighborhood and I will really miss knowing they're nearby. I was so eager to see them off, apparently, that I showed up for their going away party tonight a total of 10 days early. (Idiot.) Since I was all made up and at the bar, I pulled up a barstool, ordered a cranberry juice, and chatted with a few folks before turning around and going home.
4. At about 1am, I lay in bed thinking about my grandparents. This actually happens quite a lot. I was the first grandchild, and I was remembering how my grandmother always told me that after I'd spent the night with them as a baby, my grandpa would keep my tiny undershirts under his pillow so he could smell me when I was away. I'm not sure anyone has ever loved me so much before or since. I miss my grandparents so intensely that at least once a week I cry for them. I think I might always.
5. On Thursday, I am most likely going to meet Ivan's mother for the first time. I am nervous about this. She was incredibly kind to me when I wrote to her a couple of weeks ago.
6. My erratic sleep habits are really starting to become a problem. I have a doctor appointment later in the week that I really think may help me with that.
February 14, 2011
The remains of the day
All in all, today can suck my left nut. There are a few things worth mentioning, however.
As he does most every weekend, Darius spent the night with us. This morning when he found me crying over an email I had received, he studied my face, reached up and touched a tear that trickled down my cheek, and then hugged me. It is really something to be loved by a child.
This evening, a very thoughtful friend asked to knit a hat for the baby after I'd mentioned how much I enjoy looking at the little owl and hedgehog hats on Etsy.com. She said she couldn't promise it would be without flaws, fit a newborn, or even resemble a woodland creature, but that she was up for the challenge. Her kindness meant so much to me, and I (shocker!) cried again. (I have to meet my hormonal quota of at least 27 cries per day, after all.)
During my recent bouts of insomnia, I have been enjoying listening to music on Playlist.com as I catch up on reading friends' blogs; research pregnancy, health, and nutrition; and generally sit in the dark basking in the glow of the computer. At present I sit here listening to Alice Cooper's "Poison." I am taken back to a very specific summer day around 1990 when I sat in the bathtub shaving my legs ankle to hip and singing along with that song on a mix-tape I'd made off the radio.
I want to love you but I better not touch
I want to hold you but my senses tell me to stop
I want to kiss you but I want it too much
I want to taste you but your lips are venomous poison...
I remember thinking how terribly exciting such sensations sounded to my 13 year old ears, and imagining the the best kind of love was like that: desperate, wild, clinging.
I was so wrong.
It is a partner who knows *exactly* how you like your coffee and makes it for you every morning. It is snuggles and sleepy murmurs of 'I love you' under the covers in the middle of the night. It is someone who always washes the dishes for you. It is the person with whom I can spontaneously burst into singing Kool & the Gang's "Joanna."
This. This is the best kind.
As he does most every weekend, Darius spent the night with us. This morning when he found me crying over an email I had received, he studied my face, reached up and touched a tear that trickled down my cheek, and then hugged me. It is really something to be loved by a child.
This evening, a very thoughtful friend asked to knit a hat for the baby after I'd mentioned how much I enjoy looking at the little owl and hedgehog hats on Etsy.com. She said she couldn't promise it would be without flaws, fit a newborn, or even resemble a woodland creature, but that she was up for the challenge. Her kindness meant so much to me, and I (shocker!) cried again. (I have to meet my hormonal quota of at least 27 cries per day, after all.)
During my recent bouts of insomnia, I have been enjoying listening to music on Playlist.com as I catch up on reading friends' blogs; research pregnancy, health, and nutrition; and generally sit in the dark basking in the glow of the computer. At present I sit here listening to Alice Cooper's "Poison." I am taken back to a very specific summer day around 1990 when I sat in the bathtub shaving my legs ankle to hip and singing along with that song on a mix-tape I'd made off the radio.
I want to love you but I better not touch
I want to hold you but my senses tell me to stop
I want to kiss you but I want it too much
I want to taste you but your lips are venomous poison...
I remember thinking how terribly exciting such sensations sounded to my 13 year old ears, and imagining the the best kind of love was like that: desperate, wild, clinging.
I was so wrong.
It is a partner who knows *exactly* how you like your coffee and makes it for you every morning. It is snuggles and sleepy murmurs of 'I love you' under the covers in the middle of the night. It is someone who always washes the dishes for you. It is the person with whom I can spontaneously burst into singing Kool & the Gang's "Joanna."
This. This is the best kind.
May 1, 2010
Blitzkreig bop
I am still trying to work up the courage to finish my earlier post, but I'm not sure that I ever will completely be able to.
Tonight I am wide awake, and re-reading old posts that characterized the blitzkrieg of insanity (peppered with bits of clarity) that has been my mental health for awhile now. This one still summarizes it well and still moves me.
After a particularly earth-splitting therapy session today I feel scared but also completely optimistic.
I know I am going to be fine. And I love that.
Tonight I am wide awake, and re-reading old posts that characterized the blitzkrieg of insanity (peppered with bits of clarity) that has been my mental health for awhile now. This one still summarizes it well and still moves me.
After a particularly earth-splitting therapy session today I feel scared but also completely optimistic.
I know I am going to be fine. And I love that.
March 30, 2010
On insomnia (part 742)
I dreamed of the Golden Gate Bridge falling on my house.
I dreamed of sipping sweet mango nectar and wondering where it had been all my life.
I dreamed of my brothers when they were little and innocent.
I dreamed of standing in line, waiting to be picked.
I dreamed I was alone and pregnant in an empty house, about to give birth.
Then my dreams stopped, and so did my sleep.
I dreamed of sipping sweet mango nectar and wondering where it had been all my life.
I dreamed of my brothers when they were little and innocent.
I dreamed of standing in line, waiting to be picked.
I dreamed I was alone and pregnant in an empty house, about to give birth.
Then my dreams stopped, and so did my sleep.
February 4, 2010
Mystery that shall remain unsolved
I got a phone call at 5:30am from a 415 number with a voicemail (okay, so I broke down and checked out of curiosity) that say, "Hey, Amie. This is Robert. Give me a call." I don't know any Robert. Especially one that would call at 5:30am.
P.S. I took an ill-advised nap, Shobana, so tonight promises to be a productive one, too!
P.S. I took an ill-advised nap, Shobana, so tonight promises to be a productive one, too!
April 20, 2009
This is ridiculous.
I'm tired of scaring the hell out of myself by nodding off on I-280 before the sun comes up. I think I'm going to have to start traveling with a pillow and blanket in the car at all times.
In other news:
I'm positive my creativity has left. Gone. Shot. My boxes wait unfinished. My new greeting cards wait patiently for captions. Large portions of my bedroom walls remain bare. I have unwritten stories in me yet that haven't figured out how to come out. Even words I love hearing and reading are in short supply. The most interesting creative endeavors I have coming up are an origami paper unicorn centerpiece and a meat-shaped cake. Things have to get better.
I think it may be this whole full-time job nonsense. Note to self: Must put in more nights on the street corner so I can cut back on the 40 hour/week gig.
In other news:
I'm positive my creativity has left. Gone. Shot. My boxes wait unfinished. My new greeting cards wait patiently for captions. Large portions of my bedroom walls remain bare. I have unwritten stories in me yet that haven't figured out how to come out. Even words I love hearing and reading are in short supply. The most interesting creative endeavors I have coming up are an origami paper unicorn centerpiece and a meat-shaped cake. Things have to get better.
I think it may be this whole full-time job nonsense. Note to self: Must put in more nights on the street corner so I can cut back on the 40 hour/week gig.
April 3, 2009
"I have not had any sleep, so I ate Minithins to stay awake..."
"You crash your car right into me, there's two days that I didn't sleep... "
February 25, 2009
Fleeting
Earlier this evening I thought I had finally captured my sanity in a butterfly net and I cheered in triumph. That was premature, as it turns out, because it immediately flitted away. Now I will have to dart around this field of poppies trying to snag it again before the rains come.
Shrimp in a Basket
"…was originally part of an evening called “Shrimp in a Basket.” The show began with me coming out as a sea captain with a cardboard parrot duct-taped to my shoulder. In a rich mixture of English accents, real and imagined, I welcomed the audience and assured them that if what they were about to see became unnecessarily avant-garde Walkmans would automatically drop from the ceiling; I reminded them that they should put on their own headset before assisting anyone else.
Then I scurried off…where I was hot-glued into a giant cardboard lobster outfit. This took about twenty minutes and was one of the quicker costume changes of the evening. I’d persuaded a friend to bring the accordion she’d bought that afternoon and entertain the audience with songs of the sea. By the end of the evening, after five or six sets of at least twenty minutes each, what she was playing was starting to sound pretty good, almost like music.
I reemerged with two women also in crustacean drag. We lip-synched to “It Ain’t the Meat, It’s the Motion,” although the audience couldn’t tell what we were doing because the lobster suits covered out mouths. The…stage was so tiny and the costumes, though exquisite, were so huge and fragile that we couldn’t do much more than just stand there while the taped played on a borrowed boom box. Because the tickets for “Shrimp in a Basket” were only $2.99, I think most of the audience felt it was enough for the three of us to just stand in front of them, being big and pink. Then we exited, and it was time for more songs of the sea."
Holly Hughes (from Clit Notes: A Sapphic Sampler)
Then I scurried off…where I was hot-glued into a giant cardboard lobster outfit. This took about twenty minutes and was one of the quicker costume changes of the evening. I’d persuaded a friend to bring the accordion she’d bought that afternoon and entertain the audience with songs of the sea. By the end of the evening, after five or six sets of at least twenty minutes each, what she was playing was starting to sound pretty good, almost like music.
I reemerged with two women also in crustacean drag. We lip-synched to “It Ain’t the Meat, It’s the Motion,” although the audience couldn’t tell what we were doing because the lobster suits covered out mouths. The…stage was so tiny and the costumes, though exquisite, were so huge and fragile that we couldn’t do much more than just stand there while the taped played on a borrowed boom box. Because the tickets for “Shrimp in a Basket” were only $2.99, I think most of the audience felt it was enough for the three of us to just stand in front of them, being big and pink. Then we exited, and it was time for more songs of the sea."
Holly Hughes (from Clit Notes: A Sapphic Sampler)
December 23, 2008
I want it to be retroactive. Can it be retroactive? Please let it be retroactive.
Well I'd like to spread your perfume around the old apartment
Could we live together and agree on the same wares?
A trapeze is a bird cage even if it's empty and definitely fits the room
And we would, toooo...
And my dear, dear, dear Khalana
I talk too much about you
Their ears are getting tired of me singing all the night through
Let's just talk together
You and me and me and you
And if there's nothing much to say
Well, silence is a bore
I've gotta big, big, big, big heartbeat, yeah
I think you are the sweetest thing
I wear a coat of feelings and they are loud
I've been having good days
Think we are the right age
To start out own peculiar ways
With good friendly homes?
Sometimes you're quiet, and sometimes I'm quiet (Hallelujah)
Sometimes I'm talkative, and sometimes you're not talkative, I know....
Sometimes you hear me when others they can't hear me. (Hallelujah!)
Sometimes I'm naked and, thank god, sometimes you're naked. (Well, hello.....)
Can I tell you that you are the purple in me?
Can I call you just to hear you? Would you care?
When I saw you put your purple finger on me
There's a feelin' in your bottle
Found your bottle, found your heart
Gives a feeling from your bottled little part.
Could we live together and agree on the same wares?
A trapeze is a bird cage even if it's empty and definitely fits the room
And we would, toooo...
And my dear, dear, dear Khalana
I talk too much about you
Their ears are getting tired of me singing all the night through
Let's just talk together
You and me and me and you
And if there's nothing much to say
Well, silence is a bore
I've gotta big, big, big, big heartbeat, yeah
I think you are the sweetest thing
I wear a coat of feelings and they are loud
I've been having good days
Think we are the right age
To start out own peculiar ways
With good friendly homes?
Sometimes you're quiet, and sometimes I'm quiet (Hallelujah)
Sometimes I'm talkative, and sometimes you're not talkative, I know....
Sometimes you hear me when others they can't hear me. (Hallelujah!)
Sometimes I'm naked and, thank god, sometimes you're naked. (Well, hello.....)
Can I tell you that you are the purple in me?
Can I call you just to hear you? Would you care?
When I saw you put your purple finger on me
There's a feelin' in your bottle
Found your bottle, found your heart
Gives a feeling from your bottled little part.
December 22, 2008
Looking for a condom alternative?
One of my friends from high school, Brian R., was in town last night with his fiancee. We went out for dinner and drinks and had a lovely time. I was reminded of why I always thought he was one of the nicest guys I knew in high school.
[As indicated in the previous entry] I tossed and turned fitfully last night and was unable to sleep until about 4am. I did a lot of things during that time, including watching YouTube videos. One of the videos I watched was my favorite scene from Love, Actually:
I also watched all the videos I could find on crows and ravens.
When I woke up this morning, all of my hair was standing straight up in the air in a most dramatic fashion. Seriously. Even my eyebrows were pointing upward. I was exhausted and running late for work and tamed it the best that I could before heading out the door. When I arrived, one of my co-workers said, "Wow. Your hair looks very...lion-like today..." and I burst out laughing.
I am researching opportunities to make money on Craigslist. I found a women's research study where you could make $500 testing out a new diaphragm. Unfortunately, it requires that you have sex once or twice. I asked my Magic 8-ball if this is in my future, and it said, "Not a chance."
[As indicated in the previous entry] I tossed and turned fitfully last night and was unable to sleep until about 4am. I did a lot of things during that time, including watching YouTube videos. One of the videos I watched was my favorite scene from Love, Actually:
I also watched all the videos I could find on crows and ravens.
When I woke up this morning, all of my hair was standing straight up in the air in a most dramatic fashion. Seriously. Even my eyebrows were pointing upward. I was exhausted and running late for work and tamed it the best that I could before heading out the door. When I arrived, one of my co-workers said, "Wow. Your hair looks very...lion-like today..." and I burst out laughing.
I am researching opportunities to make money on Craigslist. I found a women's research study where you could make $500 testing out a new diaphragm. Unfortunately, it requires that you have sex once or twice. I asked my Magic 8-ball if this is in my future, and it said, "Not a chance."
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