Despite what at least one of you may be thinking...

...No, I am not pregnant. There's at least one essential activity that has to be taking place for that to occur and--not that it should be publicized here, but will that stop me? No. No it won't--I've not done that for, what? Years? Seems that way.

Lighten up!

A personal Father's Day wish

Happy Father's Day to my baby daddy.

You really are the best. It's the little things you do that I adore, you know? When you roll down the window before farting in the car, it makes me love you even more. When you lovingly smack me in the face with your penis as I wake up in the morning, I realize how lucky I am to have you in my life.

I can only hope that little Buddy grows up to be half the man that you are. I look forward to watching you teach him how to secretly look up girls' skirts and to see you serve as his role model for shifting your package while noisily belching in public and calling the dog "Lil' Fucker."

Just thinking of these things makes me want to make more babies with you.

All my love!

"There is no Naomi in view..."

"And my emptiness is swollen shut
Always a wretch I have become
So empty
And please, please don't leave me here."

Some of you have been asking where I've been and it warms the cockles of my cold, cold heart to know that I have been missed.

To tell you the truth, I'm doing well. I'm in a period of transition.

I love my new job. I really do. It's not like it's anything spectacular, but it's the normalcy of it that makes me happy. I don't dread getting up in the morning. I don't shake and cringe when my boss calls or stops by. No panic attacks. No tears.

I have been meeting a lot of new people and shedding cracks of light on parts of myself that have been hiding.

I have been taking stock. There are things I'm unhappy with and want to change, and I'm figuring out how to go about that.

I want to purge it all. I want all the weight of the things I've been carrying off of my shoulders.

A perfect example: In the closet of my office I have a bag of stuffed animals that I have been collecting since I was 16 years old. They're animals given to me by Chris or ones that we acquired together. I've loved them dearly for so many reasons--because they represented young love and hope and innocence to name a few. I haven't been able to look at them, but I haven't been able to get rid of them either.

The past is weighing me down.

When Nannette gently suggested it might be time to get rid of them, I welled up immediately. I think it's time for them to go.

I'm looking around all the signs of light and hope in my bedroom--a room which I've adorned with the things I love: lanterns, paper cranes, collage, words--and trying to pull out inspiration and the forms in which it comes.

I have two definitions written on my wall. One is for the word "desiderium": a yearning, specifically for a thing one once had, but has no more. The other is for the word "balter": to dance clumsily.

I'm ready for less desiderium and more balter.

Not so long ago, I mourned to a friend that the people who have loved me most and best are gone, and I don't know how to be. If I continue to lament this and to live in the past, then it will always be this way.

Part of the reason I stayed away from blogging, also, is because some of my thoughts on the things I need to let go of have the capacity to hurt other people--the last thing I want to do. As much as I love having readers, sometimes it's also a curse to have them. I've chosen to keep my thoughts private.

"She comes and goes most afternoons
One billion lovers wave and lover her now
They could love her now
And so could I..."

It's disappointing and disheartening....

but what can I do?

He was well-read, calm, and awkward.

He would run every morning, but only for a mile, which was all he needed to clear his mind. He admired the intricacy of origami. He would write about spaceships on weeknights. He would eat a large breakfast each day, with ice water and herbs. He didn't believe in foreign travel so much as foreign living. He wore jeans everywhere, except weddings, because protocol matters. He smiled easily. He would go to zoos to be sure the animals were taken good care of. He would spend his days golfing with his ideas, sending them into the water, the woods, and the far off sands.

Jail doesn't sound that bad.

You're in your room from 11pm - 8am each day (which I already am). Showers, free meals, and hour and a half outside. Visitors for an hour. Hell. This is a better day than I normally have.

I guess I could deal with being somebody's bitch.

Back to UCSF

I got me a new job.

Obviously this is good news for financial reasons. Also? It means the living hell of a job I have been in for the last 21 months is over. My god that place made me so unhappy. I miss my co-workers terribly already, though. They made it bearable.

The pay is less than what I was making before, but I was able to negotiate it up a bit. And I won't be paying for gas and all the wear and tear on my car.

But seriously. I am really proud of getting this job because the competition was fierce. On Monday I move into my new office. I will have a Mac desktop and a Macbook laptop and I am a little nervous about figuring out how to use them.

But I am feeling incredibly optimistic.

I am looking forward to morning walks to work--it's about 2.4 miles. No more 2 hours of commuting! I should be able to lose some of the weight I gained during my misery at my last job. In the meantime I am enjoying my week off.

Maybe 2010 is my year after all.

For some reason...

...a growing number of men seem to want to have coffee with me. Is there something about me that screams, "I love coffee?" 'Cause I do.

Novacain Stain

Remember her sounds
Remember her smells
Remember her colors
Remember through towns
With fear and fascination
of what was here
And what's replacing 'em now...

All the best

I hear you got married.

I actually found out a few days ago, but had to mull over my response before writing this. I'm still not positive what to say. Let me tell you a few things I do know for sure.

I am mad at you for being so selfish and hurting your mother. It did hurt her, you know. Maybe she didn't tell you. Probably she didn't tell you.

I always thought that if I had a major life event like, oh, moving across the country, getting married, having a baby...that I would tell you. You know why I would tell you directly? Because I wouldn't want you to hear it from anyone but me. It seems that you do not feel that obligation, and though it hurts me it seems it is something I have to live with.

At first I was really mad at you for marrying Anna from Canada when you had carried on with her before I was gone; when you had brought her into my apartment; when you had (bizarrely) kept our pictures side by side. I guess she got you over me in short order. I suppose that is good.

And now I am left with all my other thoughts. They vary from anger to bitterness to hurt to resignation, depending on when you ask me. I do wonder this, though: do you ever miss those two kids? The two who were so young and naive that they thought their love could and would overcome anything? The ones who wanted nothing more than to sit beside each other on the bus to Florida? Because that's who I think of when I think of you. I think of the shy, long-haired boy to whom I told all my secrets and for whom I saved the best of myself. I prefer to think of us that way than as two people who grew up and further apart.

I guess everyone has a first love. Someone whom they fall in love with with reckless abandonment because they have never been hurt and don't know any better. I know that I can never get that back again because time and years and pain have made me more cautious, more protective. I still like to think of myself as someone who can love freely and openly and without pretext, but there are places in me that I'm not even sure I have access to anymore. I want to give them to someone else again. I am working on it.

I have plenty of ridiculous, irrational thoughts, too. I wonder if you thought of me on your wedding day. I know that is selfish. I wonder on what points you compare she and I, and on which ones she wins and on which ones I do, if any. I wonder if you ever regret not spending some time alone to find yourself the way I did, or if you're happy you had her before you even lost me. I wonder if it feels strange to you that your family still considers me a part of them.

I guess it is natural to wonder these things about the person who consumed half of your life.

Though you love someone else, and though I love someone else, I imagine that I will never again in this life lay eyes on you, and that is a strange feeling. The face that was once more familiar to me than my own. I imagine it is something you have already successfully come to terms with.

I don't know what else I can tell you except for this: I hope you have found what you are looking for. I hope you are happy. I hope you don't dream about me anymore.

1 2 3 I love you

I seem to be developing a nervous disorder. Every now and then I'll be overcome by the irresistable urge to squeeze my eyes shut - as hard as they'll squeeze. I feel so much calmer after I do it, but each time I do it my students seem to flinch a little - like they're wondering if this is the moment when I'm going to choose to snap. I want say "No my pretties. I've snapped a long, long time ago. What you need to fear is the moment when I can no longer mask my turmoil."

"Hello, beautiful!"

Alright. I admit it, okay? I bought a pack of cigarettes today. The stress and transition of last couple of weeks have done my months of hard work in--temporarily, I would like to emphasize--and I broke down. So this morning on my way to work I stopped at the old tobacco shop that I used to frequent in order to purchase them.

Some of you already know part of this story.

There is a 60 year old Indian man (no idea what his name is) who owns the place and--for years now and for unfathomable reasons--has seemed to really like me. I would walk into his shop and he would cry out, "Hello, beautiful!" For a long time I have assumed he does this to many female customers, as he is a bit of a flirt. He would always ask me if I had a boyfriend and why did he never see me with him? Then he started asking me out for coffee.

I had learned bits and pieces about him over my years of visiting his store. He commutes to and from Vacaville, has two college-age sons, likes to play soccer with his friends on the weekends and (are you ready?) is single. His interest in taking me on a date began to get uncomfortable, so when I moved further away from his shop I didn't bother stopping there anymore.

When I came in this morning he was so surprised. He ran out to hug me and kiss my cheek and ask me where I had been? How was I doing? Where was I working now? He renewed his request to take me out for coffee and I laughed to put him off. Getting very serious, he said, "No, really. When are you going to let me take you out?"

Apparently I need to continue to stay away.

If I weren't 99.9% sure that he had romantic intentions, I might consider having coffee with this strange man, but I have no interest in encouraging him further. I can't even begin to imagine what we would talk about. I have a few ideas about where he would like to take the conversation and it creeps me out to think about it.

Adventures in psychotherapy

Today two interesting things happened.

1. I was invited for another interview at UCSF (for a different job than the first interview). This is tremendously good news. The interview is Monday. Enough said.

2. I had my first psychotherapy appointment with Dr. J, and she was lovely. Her office was warm and inviting, with a big cushy couch and throw pillows and blankets and windows filled with sunlight.

I always find the first therapy appointment to be a little awkward, because a) you're meeting a stranger for the purpose of telling him/her the most intimate details of your life and thoughts and behaviors, and b) I never know how to begin. Do I start with the junk in my mind today? Do I immediately go way back to the beginning with, "So I was born..." or Do I offer a simple, "I'm fucked in the head. Please help?" I try to be up front about this uncertainty by admitting my discomfort to the therapist. Dr. J. was lovely and guided me by starting with simple and then increasingly deeper questions.

What is it about telling my story that makes me ball like a baby immediately? I mean, I've told it before. I'm years removed from these events. I'm in a safe place in the middle of the day. But I gush like a dam burst in me.

Dr. J. is more spiritual than what I'm used to, and I have to work actively to keep an open mind. I mean, I'm here for the purpose of eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR) therapy, which sounds kooky enough as it is--so I might as well go with the flow. We didn't start any EMDR today, as she said we needed to get to know each other and develop some trust between us first. That makes sense. We spent some time having me connect with different parts of my body mentally and physically, and feeling my "soul space." (I know how it sounds, but I'm willing to try.) I realized from this experience that I'm incredibly out of touch with my body and my mind is way too analytical. I need to relax and loosen up more. I could use some help with that in so many ways.

Whether it was the crying or the compassionate ear or the soul space, I felt relaxed and much more peaceful when I left.

My homework assignments are these:

1. Practice hugging myself. Literally.

2. Rub my chest to take the positive energy out of my heart and then rub my bellybutton to transfer it to the source of my sadness.

3. Brace my hands against the back of my head and feel the force of my inner strength to survive anything I encounter.

4. Do a few sweet things for myself, such as rubbing luxurious cream on my body.

Stop laughing.

Know when to hold 'em; know when to fold 'em

(Know when to walk away, and know when to run...)

I'm cleaning out my office today. Damn it feels good to be a gangsta.

Haves and have nots

Have:

- professional clothes
- kick-ass resume
- clean laundry
- ice cream fix
- pocket full o' kryptonite
- 42 exams to grade


Need:

- new job
- toilet paper
- batteries

Want:

- trip to a tropical destination
- hugs and kisses
- scooter

Incredibly optimistic

I am quite excited about my interview tomorrow--I feel so optimistic. Maybe I'm getting a little ahead of myself in my head (planning walks to work, searching for recipes for healthy lunches to pack) but I can't help it. I am such a great fit for this position.

Maybe Thursday, May 13 should be known as Amie's Independence Day.

Maybe this is the beginning of great things.

Maybe a little weekend trip is warranted in the near future.

Maybe I am not a lost cause.

Maybe the things I want can happen for me.

The theraputic process

A: Oh. Know what else I do?

Dr. T: What's that?

A: I file things in my head for him for later. Sort of like a chest that I store things in that I'll tell him someday. It's like, "Remember that time you were asking me what you stopped and I felt like I couldn't tell you? Well, this is what I meant..." Stuff like that.

Dr. T: So, you mean that you file stuff away that you want to tell him when you allow him to know you?

A: [pauses] Yeah. I guess so. For when I feel more secure that he won't just bail from a simple comment that I make.

Dr. T: But what are you doing in the meantime? Until then?

A: You mean until I let him know me well enough that I can tell him these things?

Dr. T: Yes.

A: I guess...not letting him know me...

Dr. T: And who does that hurt?

A: I don't know. Me. Him. Both of us.

Looks like...

...I need to find that new job a lot sooner than I thought.

What made my day today.

My friend P. just returned from a hiking trip on top of Mt. Shasta, and today she tentatively knocked on my office door and asked me if I had a second. "Sure," I said, "what's going on?" (I was nervous, you see, because work hasn't exactly been a source of good news lately.) She was cupping something in her hand, and looked a little shy.

She said, "I brought something back from my trip for you because I wanted you to know I was thinking about you. I was thinking about the people that lift me up every day, and I wanted you to know that you do that for me. So, from 10,000 feet up on the mountain, I brought you some snow melt so that you would know I took you with me and I'm grateful for you." She handed me a small, clear vial of water.

My eyes stung immediately. I hugged her and thanked her profusely for thinking of me, because she is someone who lifts me up each day, as well. She made this day a lot brighter.

A little rain never hurt no one.

I had a major disappointment today. It crushed me and I cried at work. I knew it was a distinct possibility. I received sweet support from Dave, Ruben, and Tamara and I am so grateful. I'm trying really hard to keep my chin up and stay hopeful.

I have no other choice.

Thus, I am drinking champagne and celebrating small things.

What's the best way?

Counting weeks? Or months?

:(

Today can only get worse if I am bludgeoned to death on my way to the parking lot. I am trying not to spend the day in tears.

For the love of god!

Today I messed around briefly on MySpace. I changed my profile picture and updated my status, and immediately got a message from "Moses":

you look so sexy and hella beautiful, sorry but im very curious! do you give head or no?

Small

YOU don't care because you can't remember
But I do
You don't want to hear, but
I'll fill you in on the things she can't or won't
These are the things I go back to
in my mind and
I want you to understand what it's like
to feel worthless until
he gives you permission not to.

A tiny patchwork quilt

I sit and listen and wait in vain
Wondering
What have I done? (What haven't I done?)
I don't seem to have the courage to ask
But the difference is marked
I can't help but wonder
Is this the point that I'll later look at as
The moment things began to unravel?

Jealousy (cubed)

My female parent has been visiting the past few days. While we've had a surprisingly nice visit, I've come to really loathe her boyfriend. He is insecure and jealous and can be rather vicious. He calls while the two of us are hanging around in my apartment and says things like, "Who's there with you? Do you have guys there?" While we were spending Mother's Day in wine country, he would call and text constantly. She wanted to get off the phone so we could continue our day, and he assumed she was in the middle of fucking someone and wanted to finish. The rest of our day was spent getting phone calls and text messages from him saying, "What the hell's going on out there? You've been out there for days. Who are you seeing?"

She defends him at every turn: "He has a good heart." This afternoon I officially got fed up and I'm spending a couple hours in my room so I don't have to listen to her reassure him over and over that she's not fucking anyone while she's here visiting me.

On one hand, I am jealous that she has someone who seems to miss her. But that's exactly where that ends. I am exhausted from dealing with him vicariously through her, and don't know how she can stand his constant accusations. My insistence that she deserves better--someone who can trust her for more than 5 minutes at a time, at least--falls on deaf ears.

Poised

I love those moments when you're poised on the brink of something, not knowing which way things will go. Sometimes the moments when your life is about to change feel mundane and ordinary, with no clue in sight. At other times they feel heady with meaning.

I guess I'm somewhere in between right now. Of course, it may or may not be about to change.

I feel lucky to have had the recent changes that I've had and, no matter what happens, I will continue to pursue new ones. There are only so many tomorrows. I'm grabbing them.

Hush, hush. (I thought I heard you calling my name...)

Zip, zip, zip!

Quiet, quiet, quiet!

Maybe nothing, maybe something...I don't know...

I do know that 2010 is my year. I already made a new friend and also met my Dave. I hope for many more changes to come...

My bodywash smells like hope.

I am abuzz and aflutter. Exciting things. Hopeful things.

I am exhausted and have an alarming amount of work to do in a very short period of time, but I am still quivering with excitement.

You didn't.

Thank you for not stopping.

Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?

Courage

Okay. Let's get this over with fast. While I'm ready.

So my therapist was trying to tease apart all the things that are wrapped up in me, and she said, "This is how I would describe you. You're prone to intensity--attracted to it, in fact, tend to think in black or white, all or nothing, alternate between feelings of closeness with people and feeling abandoned by them, have a lot of self-loathing and struggle with finding your identity internally versus externally."

I cried softly and said, "What is that?"

She gently told me she feels that--mixed up in all that is me--are some traits of borderline. She stressed that it was NOT THE FULL DISORDER, just tendencies and traits. She said it was very common for people with significant early trauma to experience these traits because they'd never had a stable sense of self.

As a result, and in addition to her former recommendation that I seek EMDR therapy, she suggested that I have some dialectical behavioral therapy in conjunction with it in order to seek a more stable sense of self.

That's it. That's all. It was just scary to talk about because there is a lot of stigma associated with borderline.

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.

Foggy brain

I dreamed of Maple Lake and popsicles and Isuzu Troopers. And my grandpa.

You stopped.

Why'd you stop?

"...over the borderline..."

I want to write about this while it's still fresh in my mind, even though I have 1,000 things to accomplish.

There are days when I feel fragile enough that it seems like if I were to say what's really on my mind without censoring it--to really put it out there in the open--I might shatter into hundreds of tiny pieces on the floor. Today started out as one of those days, likely because I had an appointment with my psychiatrist and I haven't had one in a few weeks. It was overdue.

I love my doctor for many reasons, but one is because she is really putting effort into a finer-grained diagnosis than my others in the past have done. She agrees with my bipolar diagnosis. But she was the first person to put a name to some of the problems I was having that never occurred to me to share as symptoms of PTSD. And today she was the first person to mention that there might be shades of something else tied up in all those layers.

Before I get into that, let me describe part of how she summarized me today. I've never had someone describe me so completely before in their assessment of me, and it brought tears of recognition to my eyes...

fuck. i don't have the courage to do this. i thought i did. maybe later.

Naked

Oh the clever
things I should say to you
They got stuck somewhere
Stuck between me and you
Oh I'm nervous
I don't know what to do...

Message in binary code

01001001 00100000 01101100
01101111 01110110 01100101
00100000 01111001 01101111
01110101 00001101 00001010

(I love you)

When you're around I don't know how to hide my feelings. I count in binary in my head: zero, one, one, zero, one, one. And you count clouds.

Progress

I used to take pride in oceans as if they were mine for pockets of coats/shirts. We wanted a kitchen with checkerboard floors when we were small enough not to know better. Now: I distance myself from visual depression. I only care about feeling overwhelmed. The sea means nothing more than boredom. I prefer gas stations. I prefer the freeway bridge. Butterflies left a long time ago. Now I just flap my wings. I only like linoleum. Progress. Using time up. You took me to the barbeque place with the bad lighting. I preferred it
to dining by the water.

- Molly Prentiss

Today I feel nostalgic for things like this.

I can haz repetition?

I can be kind of all or nothing about things. I'm either all about it or could care less. When I find something I like, I LOVE it passionately, dearly. If it's a song I discover, I need to hear it 1,000 times on repeat (S.T. suggests this is symptomatic of the aforementioned need for medication). If it's a meal I enjoyed, I want to have it every day for two weeks straight. A movie I love? I need to watch it over and over, read about it, get the soundtrack, watch the trailer on YouTube.

I recognize that this extends to larger issues in my life, too. Taking this one step further (but stopping short of laying down ALL of my neuroses for you), I am attracted to similar intensity in others. I have been criticized for this, but is it something I can really change?

I don't know how to find the middle ground. It feels so...mundane.

First day of my life

This is the first day of my life,
I swear I was born right in the door way.
I went out in the rain,
suddenly everything changed,
they're spreading blankets on the beach.

Yours was the first face that I saw.
I swear I was blind before I met you.
I don't know where I am,
I don't know where I've been, but I,
Know where I want to go.

And so I thought I'd let you know,
these things take forever,
I especially am slow.
But I realized that I need you,
and I wondered if I could come home.

Edit the sad parts

Sometimes all I really wanna feel is love
Sometimes I'm angry that I feel so angry
Sometimes my feelings get in the way
Of what I really feel I needed to say.

Lack of color

Naomi

Alternative title: What I crave right now

Your prettiness is seeping through
Out from the dress I took from you, so pretty
My emptiness is swollen shut
Always a wretch i have become
So empty
Please, Please don't leave me.

I'm watching Naomi, full bloom
I hope that she will soon explode
Into one billion tastes and tunes
One billion angels come and hold her down
They could hold her down until she cries

I'm tasting Naomi's perfume
It tastes like shit and I must say
She comes and goes most afternoons
One billion lovers wave and love her now
They could love her now and so could I

There is no Naomi in view
She walks through Cambridge stocks and strolls
And if she only really knew
One billion angels could come and save her soul
They could save her soul until she shines.

Until she Shines
Until she shines
Until she shines
Until she shines

So pretty
So pretty
So pretty
So pretty

Please, Please don't leave me.

Nobody knows I have delicate toes...

(...but please don't watch me dancing...)

I won't tell, I won't tell, I won't tell.
I can hide it sufficiently under self-deprecation and colorful banter
No one in my life wants to know these things
And the part of me that needs medication
Goes on and on and on
And the hysteria rises
And no one can (or will)
Say anything to make it stop.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.

Monday morning quarterback

AKA: Texting with Scott

ST: [quoting Modest Mouse] This is the part of me that needs medication this is the part of me that believes in heaven this is the part of me that thinks outer space is all dead

AA: The part of me that needs medication is beating the other part of me's ass.

ST: That's a pretty big part of you, second only to the boobs part.

AA: You eat boogers.

ST: Well, evidently I just got served. If I were six.

Post #700

Alternative title to this blog entry: You should probably not ask for the cucumbers in your salad...

"O" is for the only one I see.

I'm talking to you now.

I'm resisting.

I'm being good.

I know this much is true.

I take requests.

I'm kind of excited.

My blog has been getting HUNDREDS of hits per day--more than ever--and I'd like to celebrate. I want to write something for you.

Let me know what you'd like. It can be a writing on a topic of your choice, something written for your eyes only, or anything else that your pretty little head can dream up. Let me know what you want in a comment or in a personal email (amieashcraft@hotmail.com) and I'll make it happen.

You. All of you.

Thanks for reading.

"Let me hold it close and keep it here..."

If only I lived in or around Massachusettes, I could go see a performance of Neutral Milk Hotel's "In the Aeroplane Over the Sea" on ukelele.

How wonderful!

50 things you can control

“Why worry about things you can’t control when you can keep yourself busy controlling the things that depend on you?” ~Unknown

I am a worrier. I fret and pace and ruminate and wonder "what if?" I worry about things that haven't happened in order to keep them at bay. I worry about things that have happened to keep them from getting any worse or happening again.

This week I have been in overdrive.

So when I found this list of "50 things you can control" I was intrigued. Some of them kind of make me want to barf (i.e., #1 feels a little too much like blowing sunshine up one's arse). Others really resonate with me (see the ones with the asterisks), because I have been bad at them of late. Take #13, for example. At least 3 times in the last week I have exited a conversation prematurely because I felt hurt or rejected, and I didn't know how to continue. At least once it led to confusion on the part of the other person, and then I agonized over what an idiot I was.

Then there is #3 and #29 which--for me--go together like peas in a pod. I tend to run on the "too honest" side--telling people things they don't even want to know. Telling people things that they may, in fact, be better not knowing. This week I have been struggling with that, too. My tongue has twisted; my thoughts got choked in my mouth; I have kept silent. It hasn't felt good.

I have faltered on giving the benefit of a doubt (#8). I interpreted every situation in the most negative way possible (#9). I have been hideous to myself in my head (#14). I stopped saying "I love you," because it felt unwelcome (#49).

Wow. I'm not very good at all this.

1. How many times you smile today.
2. How much effort you exert at work.
*3. Your level of honesty.
4. How well you prepare.
5. How you act on your feelings.
6. How often you say “thank you.”
7. When you pull out your wallet for luxuries.
*8. Whether or not you give someone the benefit of the doubt.
*9. How you interpret situations.
10. Whether or not you compete with people around you.
11. How often you notice and appreciate small acts of kindness—they’re everywhere!
12. Whether you listen or wait to talk.
*13. When you walk away from a conversation.
*14. How nice you are to yourself in your head.
15. Whether you think positive or negative thoughts.
16. Whether or not you form expectations of people.
17. The type of food you eat.
18. When you answer someone’s question—or email or call.
19. How much time you spend worrying.
*20. How many new things you try.
21. How much exercise you get.
22. How many times you swear in traffic.
23. Whether or not you plan for the weather.
24. How much time you spend trying to convince people you’re right.
*25. How often you think about your past.
26. How many negative articles you read.
27. The attention you give to your loved ones when you see them.
28. How much you enjoy the things you have right now.
*29. Whether or not you communicate something that’s on your mind.
30. How clean or uncluttered you keep your space.
31. What books you read.
32. How well you network at social events.
33. How deeply you breathe when you experience stress.
34. How many times you admit you don’t know something—and then learn something new.
35. How often you use your influence to help people instead of focusing on building your influence.
36. When you ask for help.
37. Which commitments you keep and cancel.
38. How many risks you take.
39. How creative/innovative you are in your thinking.
*40. How clear you are when you explain your thoughts.
41. Whether you formulate a new plan or act on your existing one.
42. How much information you get before you make a decision.
43. How much information you share with people.
44. Whether you smoke or drink (unless you’re an alcoholic, in which case I am not qualified to offer you advice.)
45. Whether or not you judge other people.
46. Whether you smell good or bad (unless you have some strange resistance to soap and deodorant).
47. How much of what other people say you believe.
48. How quickly you try again after you fall.
*49. How many times you say “I love you.”
50. How much rest you get at night.

Future-oriented

I keep telling myself: one day we'll look back on this period--at the things I did and thought out of insecurity--and laugh.

How could I?

Shyness is nice and
Shyness can stop you
From doing all the things in life
You'd like to

So, if there's something you'd like to try
If there's something you'd like to try
Ask me I wont say no, how could I?

Do you like fire? Are you free Saturday night?

So last night, my friend Roberta and I were talking before going to bed and were making plans to do something this weekend. She likes dance clubs (I hate them); I like bars (not really her deal). So I was throwing out ideas for activities on which we might be able to agree:

Bowling!
Roller skating!
Ice skating!
Bonfire!

At the mention of "bonfire," she said, "Oooh!" From the time I first learned of people having bonfires at Ocean Beach I have wanted to do this. We're each inviting friends. She's taking care of s'mores supplies, and I'm working on the fire bit. (A little bit daunting!)

I don't actually care who shows up--nothing sounds nicer than a fire on the beach under the stars.

It will also help occupy my restless, wandering brain that is my curse these days.

A reason to visit Portland

My beloved friend Dave with whom I went to grad school in Richmond is moving west, and it's the best news I've heard all fucking week. I told him I mention him more often than he realizes to my friends here and it's true. I love that crazy boy to pieces. Here's him passing along the news of his move:

I realized I've slept with everyone in Richmond, so it's time to head out west. Fugitive or refugee, I can't decide. That's what the court is for. I'm going to move to Portland, Oregon, in the next month or two. We must catch up. I get the sense that your life has changed dramatically since the last time we talked in person. I would love to get to know you again. It was loads of fun the first time. How are the birdies? (Does that date me with you?)

My tongue you're tearing out

Your teeth believe
That teeth are for tearing
Tear into me
The scent of you sweating
Smells good to me
As long as we keep in our clothes

Where is my mind?

"Thank you for calling Nerves R Us. For generalized anxieties, press 1. For suspenseful waiting, press 2. For skeptical analyses, press 3. For futilities, press 11."

We were made of gold

When I woke I took the back door to my mind
And then I spoke
I counted all the good things you are
And that list of charms was longer
Thank my chain of broken hearts
And when the days was done
I figured I had already lost
From the start, from the start

I was gonna love you til the end of all daytime
And I was gonna keep all our secrets and our lullabies
I was made to believe that our love would grow old
We were gonna live in a tree house and make babies
And we were gonna bury our ex-lovers and their ghosts
Baby we were made of gold...

They are not the same.

"It's different," he assured her. "Nothing at all like that other situation you had." She sniffed tearfully, hopefully.

Busting out of this joint

I have started a habit I hope to continue. I have been applying for at least one job a day first thing in the morning after arriving at work. It helps me stay hopeful, helps to make more bearable the rest of the day at a place that makes me so incredibly unhappy.

R. and I promised each other. We're getting out.

Message from a friend tonight

don't let anxiety sabotage your love! i'm trying hard not to freak out too. two days after he tells me he loves me to pieces, i find out he can't come back to this country anytime soon.i'm in pieces allright. and he's gone completely off the air...not answering phone, text, email. i feel marooned, left for dead. i want him to know how i feel. i send letters into a void. why do i trust, i wonder? why do i love? THEY don't care. what is the point?
i feel your pain. i'm sorry. i love much too quickly and with too pure a heart. i never learn that the world is hard and dangerous. it is still trying to kill me and i will not learn. i want to believe that people are good, that life is beautiful, that love is the answer, that happy marriage is not an oxymoron. i am a fool apparently.

On anxiety

Three years ago I fell for someone I met online after talking for a few months. He visited once. I never saw him again. Then we planned to move to Barcelona together, and soon I stopped hearing from him again, too.

I got burned badly. I was devastated. I cried for nearly two years. My anxiety over a repeat situation is almost unbearable.

So that is what is going on with me. I should have told you sooner. And perhaps not in this forum.

Vocabulary

fear - a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling or condition of being afraid.

trepidation - tremulous fear, alarm, or agitation; perturbation.

anxiety - distress or uneasiness of mind caused by fear of danger or misfortune

Cuidate (reimagined)

For years she’d listened to them--those who would have her believe that her way of loving was naïve and that her head was in the clouds. Those who warned that she would end up alone because of her unrealistic expectations. She listened and nodded quietly, but stubbornly refused to give up. She refused to come ‘round to more realistic ways of thinking. She often gave up, and regularly fell to utter despair, but she continued to carefully cultivate her dream.

Vindication comes in the strangest forms.

There was the night she sat blindfolded and tentatively touched him—learned the shapes, tastes, and textures with which she wanted to be so intimately familiar. She was a good girl. She didn’t even give it all away—didn’t let it all go. But she privately lived a thousand lives in the quiet moments of those few days.

She drank greedily from his well and filled up all of her spare reservoirs for the long days of drought that surely lay ahead. She languished at the source of the river, putting out of her mind the questions that could so quickly make her terror rise. She waited and gave and received and listened and spoke and loved and—God! Oh, God!—had never been so well-loved and probably never would again. In the quiet moments she found her voice: in those where he kissed her hands, brushed back her hair, or parted her legs. Those were everything that there had never been but that she’d always known existed.

How had people kept these things secrets? How had they never let on that it could be this way? All this time she had been taking care and biding her time when—really—she should have been running headlong into these moments. For it was these that made it all worthwhile; it was these that had begun to be impossible to imagine living without.

And the lights from the TV running parallel to you...

I am trying to think of just the right words. I tried to think of them at the airport, too. It appears I don't have them. All I can think of are other people's words.

I can say that I feel like I'm coming down of a multi-day heroin binge.

I can also say that I keep sniffing myself for hints of you, of me, of we. My lotion reminds me of walking home with you in the dark.

Right now

You are sleeping in my bed.

I am so happy.

Today, today.

I will remember today for the rest of my life.

One day

Alternative titles to this blog:
On anticipation
The hands that wrote this letter sweep the pillow clean
I'm so tired of playing with this bow and arrow

A thousand flowers could bloom
Move over, and give us some room...
Give me a reason to love you...
For this is the beginning of forever and ever
Its time to move over...

Confidential message to D.

I am writing you letters.

I know you'll never get them in time, but I am overflowing with words to you, for you, and about you.

It has begun.

I am officially a wreck. Two. Days. How am I supposed to get through this?

You're just too good to be true
Can't take my eyes off you...
Now that I've found you stay
And let me love you, baby,
Let me love you...

Someone to throw the waffle back

I related this story to Dave earlier today in trying to convey to him some of the reasons I loved him, and it seemed worth mentioning here.

I know. All of my posts are about love these days, right? Deal with it. There's plenty of angst from the last four years to tie you over.

Anyway: I caught onto the show "Friends" several years later than everyone else. I thought it was a pretty cute show once I got into it. There was one episode that always stayed with me.

Monica decided to break off her relationship with a guy to whom she was engaged, and her friends were incredulous about why she would take such a drastic action. In trying to explain her reasoning, she relayed a story from a recent morning at breakfast. She was making waffles, and her fiancé was reading the paper. In a moment of playfulness she threw a waffle at him. He wasn't particularly pleased with her childishness, and went back to reading the paper. Monica pointed to that incident as an analogy for their relationship: "I want someone who would throw the waffle back," she said.

That struck a chord in me and stayed with me for years.

I want someone who would throw the waffle back. I want someone who would dance in the kitchen. I want someone who will sing off key and make silly faces and impersonate animals. I want someone joyfully and unabashedly ridiculous and comfortable being such. I want a fool who can turn around and make me feel naughty and sexy one minute later.

Hell yeah.

Holy blog hits, Batman!

So my interview about this blog is posted here, and my blog hits have shot way up. How exciting! Maybe soon I'll reach SPACE. Although I'm not exactly sure how that would work.

It should be noted that they messed up a comment I made at the bottom. It should say "a little wit" instead of "a lit." This is really bugging me, as my words will be messed up for posterity.

Better get my autograph while you still can...

Totally punk rock

On Wednesday, Amber is coming from Richmond, VA to visit. For three fun-filled days. NEXT Wednesday, Dave is coming from Dallas, TX to visit. For four luxurious and blissful days.

I can barely think of anything else, which is unfortunate, since I have a grant to write and a class to teach and an apartment to clean.

He knows about my history. He knows about my bipolar. And yet he doesn't seem phased. When shall I tell him about my serial killer past?

I am happier than I have been in many years. If I could just get my professional life up to speed with my personal life, things would be nearly perfect.

"I laugh along but inside I know: being in love is totally punk rock."

Everything I've got

I feel like I am in a state of suspended animation--perched on the brink of big things, holding my breath and waiting. The wait is killing me.

I'd give you everything I've got for a little peace of mind...

A face with a view

We are well into our third week together, and it feels like I have loved you forever.

Today can only get better.

My boss is on the rampage again. And today I am her whipping boy (girl). Kill me now. Please. Thank you.

Two week anniversary

How can your life change so much in two weeks? How wonderful to celebrate each week--each day, for that matter. I can't remember what I was like before.

Humbled

My humble blog was selected as a reader favorite, and I was asked to be interviewed as "the person behind the blog." Oh good! More people can read about the train wreck of my life! When the interview is put up on Blog Interviewer's website, I will link to it here so you can read my words of wit and wisdom and tales of personal angst.

It's gonna be great!

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.

On the alignment of stars

You may remember that a few weeks ago I wrote about advertising on Craigslist for new friends. I was so pleased that I did actually get a friend out of the deal--my new friend R. She is interesting and quirky and spontaneous and good-hearted. We started hanging out regularly immediately.

I was so happy I'd taken a chance and gone out on a limb a bit, despite some ribbing from existing friends.

You may also remember that I spent a couple years attempting (and generally failing) online dating. I'm not even linking to any of those posts here because I want to think of them as little as possible.

On the day before my birthday this year, Jan. 21, 2010, I gave up. I had the 2nd worst date ever and ended up in tears in my car on the phone with the lovely M.S.P. I took down my account and stopped, and prepared myself for a life of singledom. I cried, I mourned, I slept, and I became annoyingly apathetic again. My friends said, "You'll meet someone when you least expect it!" I scoffed at this, because I LEAST expected it at that moment.

Then I met Dave.

Dave and I met through R's Facebook page--by commenting on each other's comments--and now we are inseparable. Unfortunately, he is currently in Dallas. That makes being inseparable a little challenging and frustrating. He is coming here to see me in a couple of weeks, and I couldn't be more thrilled.

Isn't it funny the chains of events that take place to bring people into our lives? Isn't it funny how easily we could have missed each other had I changed my mind about posting my ad, had R. not responded, had we not gotten our schedules together to meet up, had I not left a comment on her Facebook page.

It's enough to make one believe in fate.

On love

Alternative title for this blog: Should I be alarmed that this is post #666?

I haven't felt this way since 1992.

I am giddy and excited and happy and floating. I can't sleep. I keep forgetting to eat. I make wrong turns when I'm driving because my head is in the clouds. I giggle and blush like a shy little 8 year old girl.

We talk for hours. I can't wait to hear his voice. When an email from him appears in my inbox, I am absolutely ecstatic. Even if he just wrote 5 minutes before. Especially if he just wrote 5 minutes before.

How can it only take a week for your world to turn upside down?

For the first time in a long time...

...I am ridiculously happy.

Giddy

Let the words "I love you" surround you forever. I command everything that surrounds you to repeat this phrase endlessly. A thousand kisses I plant on your lips. Kisses hot as fire, kisses which thrill your body, kisses which make you surrender and promise you eternal bliss. Goodbye, love of my life. I would send you a whole volume, but a letter that large would only attract attention.

Alexandre Dumas
(To a married lady friend)

This morning I dreamed I was showing you my temple.

I dreamed about you. I dreamed that I went to meet you at the airport, and that when I saw you coming I ran up to you and we grabbed each other and held on. Other arriving passengers pulled their suitcases around us in irritation and the airport security staff nearby rolled their eyes in boredom--they had seen a thousand and one greetings before ours. I walked you back to my car and--once we put your suitcase in the trunk--we got in and held on to each other for the longest time. I knew it would be so much better when I got you home and we could do this in complete privacy, but I couldn't resist. Eventually we pulled ourselves apart and I did, in fact, take you home. We left your suitcase in the living room and climbed directly in my bed, all our clothes still on for the time being, and wrapped our arms around each other.

It was lovely.

Let it breakthrough

So. Today I had my first appointment with my new psychiatrist, Dr. T. I love her. Love, love, love her.

Of course the first appointment is pretty intense. You have to establish why you're there and the life experiences that led you down this particular path. Even when she asked me the most minor questions I burst into tears and barely got my words out.

Now I am emotionally exhausted.

She and I are adjusting my meds a bit, and we're going to explore some different types of therapy other than just the standard cognitive-behavioral therapy that was not enough in the past. She is interested in having me consider psychodynamic therapy and EMDR as a way to treat symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

I am willing to try.

I am happy to be back in treatment.

*sigh*

I would love to hear your voice again.

On surprise, 2

Friday night I got home from drinks at El Rio with friends. While messing around on Facebook before falling asleep, I got an instant message from a former SFSU student I had a little over a year ago in class, M. At first we chatted about what we'd been up to since our class, and then he asked me out. I laughed and joked that I was 8 years older than him and why would he want to go out with an old lady? He got serious and said I didn't give myself enough credit. He said, "You can use me at your discretion."

My goodness.

"Our love is rice and beans and horses' lard."

I live cement.
I hate this street.
Give dirt to me.
I bite lament.

* * * * *

Gouge away, you can gouge away
Stay all day if you want to.

* * * * *

Sittin' here wishing on a cement floor
Just wishin' that I had just something you wore

Once there was a girl

This has been a long time coming. I just didn't have the courage to tell the story before.

*********************

Once there was a girl who didn’t think she was worth very much.

She was a shy, introspective, and melancholy girl by nature, and probably destined to have self-esteem problems even without the things that happened to her. She had a very young, single mom. Her mom was lost and lonely and didn’t think she was worth very much, either. So she did things to make herself feel worth something—all the things that made her feel worth something involved men and drugs. The girl’s mom loved her very much, but when she was on drugs she didn’t care what her daughter witnessed. Even when it involved men. And more drugs.

When our girl was five, her mom got married. This is when the girl’s problems began in earnest.

Her shiny new stepfather tarnished very quickly. (If you ever want a nice case study of brainwashing and pure, unadulterated physical and psychological torture, you should study this man. He still remains the cruelest human being the girl has ever personally known.)

The girl and her mom were stuck. They were broke. They were powerless against him. Other people knew he was not a nice man. No one ever knew the things they went through. He was very creative and sly.

The girl wanted to ask for help, but she didn’t know the right words. She didn’t know how to say:

“My stepfather makes me feed myself cat shit while he watches and laughs.”

Or what about, “He grabs me by the hair and beats my head against the wall if I don’t pick everything up off the floor. And even when I pick everything up off the floor, he pretends it’s still there laying in front of me and beats my head against the wall because I say I don’t see anything there. So I pretend to see what he sees, and gather up imaginary pieces of what he sees in my arms while looking at him, hoping I have pleased him.”

How was she to explain that he made it a game to see how hard of a hit she could take without falling down? She was only a little girl, and it was impossible to withstand the full force of a grown man. So she was destined to be knocked down. And to get back up. Over and over again.

When you are little, it’s not easy to tell people your stepfather held a gun to your head while the police surrounded the house and your mother screamed. He wanted to be sure she wouldn’t leave, you see. Sometimes he even hurt their pets in front of them. (This was especially hard for the girl. She loved all creatures. Except locusts. Their sounds and shells terrorized her.)

The girl and her mother were required to recite specific sentences regularly in order to ensure their powerlessness: “I am a bitch. I am a whore. I am ugly. I am stupid. I am fat. No one loves me. No one will help me. I am a bitch. I am a whore….” When the girl started off saying these things, she knew in her heart that they weren’t true and that she was just saying them to appease him. But after saying them regularly, over and over, these words started floating through her head even when she was not being forced to say them.

The girl did the only things she could think of to cope. In kindergarten, she went to school with bruises under her clothes and locked herself in the bathroom and screamed hysterically when it was time to go home. She escaped to her grandparents’ houses whenever she could. She played outside from morning to night with the neighborhood kids as often as she could. When the neighborhood kids weren’t around, she found places to hide and explore with imaginary friends created for that very occasion. She took long rides on her bicycle and ate green apples from other people's yards. She gave names and personalities to everything around her—the trees, the flowers, the animals, the broom—to make her feel surrounded by familiar faces and friends.

Unfortunately, her stepfather was not the only one who made the girl think she wasn’t worth very much. There was more than one man, in her family and otherwise, who were more than willing to let her know she was only good for one thing.

One of them was an uncle who had his own cross to bear. He did things that no little girl should ever have to experience. She was five. She wore Care-Bear pajamas. While it happened, sometimes she would stare at a picture of the devil whose iridescent paint gleamed at her in the moonlight; other times she stared out the window and directly at the moon itself. The girl felt so dirty and was so ashamed that she wanted to curl up and die.

But she did not.

She got really good at picking up the pieces of love and acceptance she could find and curling herself around them like a cat.

Years later, when the girl and her mom (and now two brand new baby brothers) finally got away from the stepfather by going into hiding for awhile, the girl’s mother fell apart. And rightfully so. But then the girl’s one constant ally through those times, her mother, felt more than ever like she wasn’t worth very much. And she tried to make the girl and her brothers feel as bad as she felt because she didn’t have anything else left to give them.

…Fast forward…

Our girl is 15. Her physical situation is much more stable now, but she is confused, hurting, and lonely inside. She is mortally self-conscious and shy and terrified of every move she makes—what if she makes someone mad? She gets better at hiding these things and at doing the things a normal girl should. She is positive, however, that if anyone really knew all of the things that made her up they would be horrified and disgusted and not want to be around her. They would discover for themselves what she’d always felt inside—that she wasn’t worth very much.

At that young age the girl fell in love with a shy, introspective, and melancholy boy. He didn’t have the deep, dark secrets that she had, but he listened to her secrets and didn’t make her feel ashamed. This boy gave her the courage to try for things she never thought she could do. She left home when she was 16 and set about trying to make those things happen.

She actually did some cool things.

She went to college and she was very, very serious. Others around her had the liberty to fuck around, but the girl knew she had one shot and she had to make it happen. She didn’t fuck around at all—not even one little bit.

She started to explore the world. Every chance she got to do so, she took it.

She didn’t know what she wanted to do when she got out of school, so she went to school some more. She wanted to know things and to feel she had some power and control over her life. She used to laugh when she thought of herself with any kind of high-falutin' graduate degree. It seemed terrifying and unattainable and ridiculous to her. So she decided to shoot for it. She eventually pulled it off.

The boy was there through it all--even when she tried to test him by pushing him away. (She was still very afraid, you see, of everything and everyone.) She warned the boy, “If you ever lay a hand on me, I will set you on fire.” She was pretty sure he wouldn’t hurt her, but she also knew a thing or two about self-preservation.

When the girl was 24, she started to honestly look around at her life for the first time. She started to look deep inside herself, too. She started to realize that she needed more—that what she had was not enough. She even started to admit to herself that the boy was not enough. This was terrifying to her. He had loved her and given her strength and courage when she needed it most.

She realized she had been in survival mode for a very long time.

Upon these realizations, she felt lost and lonely inside. She knew what her instincts told her but she hadn’t yet really learned to trust them. She was uncertain of who she was, what she needed, and how to go about finding out either of those things. (It was a tough time.)

Once again, she didn’t know the right words. She was now an adult and had a much wider vocabulary at her disposal, but she didn’t know how to tell the boy, “Thank you for loving me even when I couldn’t love myself. Now I need to move beyond these fences we’ve built; they are pinning me in and I am dying inside. You loved me as a child, and now, should I be lucky enough to love and be loved back again, it needs to be as the woman I am.”

When she was 28, the girl did another thing she never imagined she could do and that was very terrifying to her. She left everything and everyone she loved behind and moved far, far away to try to make a completely different kind of life for herself. It was very painful. It actually took her a couple of years to make it all come together, but she made it happen. At the last minute, the boy decided he wanted to come, too. The girl thought it wasn’t the right thing, but she felt like it was worth one last try. (She was still afraid, you see.)

It was a disaster from the start. The girl knew that living with anyone would never be easy, but this move proved to her once and for all that she loved him, but her relationship with him was not enough. She was honest with him from a very early point that it wasn’t working for her. He kept trying. It broke her heart, but it wasn’t enough. The girl finally told the boy she was moving out, that it might take some time to put the pieces in place, but that it was going to happen and he needed to make plans for himself. It was terrible, of course, and still continues to be very, very difficult. Her friends, both near and far, have helped her find the courage to move forward.

It took a very long time and seemed like a simple lesson to learn, but she finally started to realize that she is worth something. She also realized that she deserves something more. (The girl’s mother has not yet put these pieces together for herself. The girl has no idea how to help her.)

There are days, of course, when the doubts creep in and when “moving forward” seems to be at a glacial pace, but there it is.

This was that girl, a long time ago:



And this was the first postcard secret she sent out in the world to try to be set free:



(She still has work to do, but she has been fighting for years now with everything she has. She will make it.)

THE END

Clit Notes

Alternative title to this blog: Why I want to dress like a lobster


"…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 (“Clit Notes: A Sapphic Sampler”)

On surprise

Every once in awhile it's nice to remember that I still can be surprised. I was surprised last night, and it was a beautiful feeling.

Sex dice

XKCD

The waiting...

...is the hardest part.

Tonight I am going through and adding tags to my oldest blog posts. I recently added a couple of new categories that I thought were worthy of their own.

I can't believe the last four fucking years!

And...I fucking love my blog.

Pie

I'm proud of my pie crust. I don't know why, but I seem to have pretty good luck with them. Maybe it's because I researched the shit out of them before the first time I made a pie. The fillings--particularly apple pie for some reason--have been a little more mixed. But this strawberry raspberry pie is one of my favorites that I've made.

Spring is coming.

I have NEWS.

Sperm donation is less expensive than I realized. Now I just have to decide at what age that becomes the plan.

I am making light, but it really was a relief to find out.

Does this get filed under sex? Or lack thereof?

"You're not listening or I'm not saying it right."

Damn. I have been a hot mess! I have tried to limit my blog posts during this time and it's probably a good thing.

I'm having one of those days where the fog lifts and I feel normal. I want to run around and make up for the past few days of being in the toilet. I want to get back to the goals I was working on full steam ahead. I want to make decisions and take actions and make plans before the sun starts to set again.

Last night I had to teach class even though I didn't feel well. As I was sitting in the front of the room waiting for time to start, I glanced over at one female student just as she was saying something to her friend about me. I smiled and said, "What?" She flushed a little and said, "I was just saying that you didn't look very happy and we should try to cheer you up." I was really touched.

I am fighting the urge right now to look for apartments and jobs in RVA. I have other stuff to focus on--namely, my well-being. There's plenty of time for the other stuff if I decide to do it.

Hanging

I have been starting to suspect that I have attention deficit...if not disorder, then problems. It started occurring to me recently as I thought about my problems functioning on a day to day basis, and I've been doing some reading on the link between bipolar and ADD.

I don't see my new doctor for nearly 3 weeks and I'm so impatient. I'm not quite sure how I'm going to last that long. I feel like I'm hanging on by the skin of my teeth as it is, and it depresses everyone around me to try and talk to them about it. My aunt doesn't really want to talk to me like this. Nannette doesn't call back. I feel really alone.

My future daughter

I had the most beautiful dream last night. I had taken medicine because I wasn't feeling well, and it gave me vivid, lucid dreams. I dreamed I was pregnant with a little girl, and I was getting ready for her arrival. I was preparing myself for her entire childhood and not just for the arrival of an infant. I filled a trunk with clothes for her to play dress up. I had visions of her and a friend digging through the trunk, adorning themselves with whatever they fancied. I went from thrift store to thrift store buying old ball gowns, colorful scarves, pillbox hats, and costume jewelry. I was thrilled with her imminent arrival and so looking forward to the person I would be meeting soon.

It was lovely.