Overheard in Rowhouse basement: "This is how lucky this toon is. He has five out of six stats plus three tomes."
Whatever that means. Apparently he acquired some rare magical article last night.
It is no picnic living with Gandalf.
::magically zapping out of blog::
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
update
it's the filling in tooth 13 that has apparently given up the ghost.
it will be replaced on july 11 at 10 am.
see, i knew i wasn't crazy.
tooth 3 is a problem as well, but that's for another day.
woo hoo woo hoo i get to go to the dentist for the billionth time this year!!!
mags, you're right, i should just tell them to pull them all out and start over -- i think i'll do something understated. porcelain? bakelite? my crowns were 700 bucks each and they claim they're some sort of "precious metal" underneath. perhaps when i die s can have them melted down.
so how much have i spent on my teeth in the past six or so years?? not counting little stuff like replacement fillings. let's do a brief tally, shall we?
crown x 2 on bottom molar = $1,400 (first one broke on the bottom of a "drumstick" ice cream cone)
crown x 2 on loathsome tooth 14 (top left) = $1,400 (first one came out embedded in a cherry now 'n' later)
crown on that one near the front = $700
root canals (4 total) = $ 3,600
root canal surgery (on loathsome tooth 14) $1,600
my collective suffering $market
jesus. i could've put a deposit down on a condo downtown.
of course insurance paid for SOME of this. the operative word being SOME. i suppose it's worth it. i am after all smiling more at the world in general, and using my teeth to smile at my favorite people.
off to the pool. if i don't resurface by tomorrow morning, alert the coast guard.
it will be replaced on july 11 at 10 am.
see, i knew i wasn't crazy.
tooth 3 is a problem as well, but that's for another day.
woo hoo woo hoo i get to go to the dentist for the billionth time this year!!!
mags, you're right, i should just tell them to pull them all out and start over -- i think i'll do something understated. porcelain? bakelite? my crowns were 700 bucks each and they claim they're some sort of "precious metal" underneath. perhaps when i die s can have them melted down.
so how much have i spent on my teeth in the past six or so years?? not counting little stuff like replacement fillings. let's do a brief tally, shall we?
crown x 2 on bottom molar = $1,400 (first one broke on the bottom of a "drumstick" ice cream cone)
crown x 2 on loathsome tooth 14 (top left) = $1,400 (first one came out embedded in a cherry now 'n' later)
crown on that one near the front = $700
root canals (4 total) = $ 3,600
root canal surgery (on loathsome tooth 14) $1,600
my collective suffering $market
jesus. i could've put a deposit down on a condo downtown.
of course insurance paid for SOME of this. the operative word being SOME. i suppose it's worth it. i am after all smiling more at the world in general, and using my teeth to smile at my favorite people.
off to the pool. if i don't resurface by tomorrow morning, alert the coast guard.
verklempt.
i have too much to do today.
i get so angsty when the day has too many faces. this morning i will eat my bowl of cookie crisp then drive p to Highly Expensive But Worth It Faux Pocono Day Camp, then go to work and be all businessy until noon, then go to the dentist, then go BACK out from Rowhouseland to the burbs, going around trashtrucks with their meandering personnel and various other types of heavy equipment along the way, then go all the way up to Past The Turnpike to p's stomach doctor, who she decided she needed to start seeing again a couple of months ago, and you know they always need to see you more than once, it's a thing.
i've been fobbing most of her appointments off on s lately, he doesn't mind driving anywhere, unlike me who needs to prepare for days mentally. but he took so much time off to cover the endless spate of HalfDays from St. Babka that the man has run through all his time.
then i'll come home, go swimming, and come home again. i'm exhausted already and i keep trying to do the zen thing like, "a moment at a time ..." bullshit. in 2002 i said something like, "one day i'm just going to lie around in the sun for a WHOLE ENTIRE DAY." it has never happened. i am always going at 500 miles an hour. the only time i ever let myself relax is if i'm sick or depressed or both.
i mean, it's not such a hardship usually, i get bored in like two seconds and am happy to be busy, it's just the driving that has me rattled today.
i did this ride a million times when she was a baby and wasn't eating. but it was a Thing, i went at off times, and it took up my whole day in the planning and execution. now i have to go worry about work for several hours, and when the time comes they won't want me to leave because we'll be in the middle of something, as we always are, and it just doesn't feel like the usual half sick day freedom with TWO appointments smashed into it.
but i can't cancel the dentist because tooth 14 is sending me subliminal messages again. i think this might be it for it. if something screwed up with crown #2 and root canal #3 on this tooth, the next stop is the wonderful world of extraction and replacement.
i just went to the root canal dude by the way, in may. the desk lady was such a cow, i didn't want to fill out the paperwork again because NOTHING had changed, and she said "it's state law" and i was in a mood so i asked to see the actual legislation on file. in the end, the midwestern endodontist calmed me down. he asked me which lady was horrid, i didn't want to say that every office in the world has one, and i just happened to cross her path that day. it didn't even matter that it was her personally. she was part of that FORCE of evil desk ladies i've been telling off since i was 12.
now you know why that one surgeon wrote "a challenging patient" in that file i wasn't supposed to be looking in.
i bitched on and on to the midwestern endodontist and he said, "ANYway," and moved on. i told him he was nice -- there was no way he could be a philadelphian. he hesitated, since i was getting personal, but told me he was actually from michigan. i knew it. it wasn't just the twang. it was the kindness.
despite my sturm und drang i intend to smile at everyone today. they can't know that my stomach has four knots in it, owing to all the places i have to be. inevitably, and by the grace of god, i'll be at the pool by 6 pm basking in the butterfly spray of mrs michael phelps in the adjacent lane while i tend to the four hundred asthma attacks i'm sure to have.
"perhaps," said my father yesterday, whom i actually went and saw, and had a good time with -- he got a new kitten! which i wanted to steal -- i told p to create a distraction so i could make off with the kitty -- "you are not breathing right in the pool."
he may have a point. tonight i intend to breathe as i have never breathed before.
i get so angsty when the day has too many faces. this morning i will eat my bowl of cookie crisp then drive p to Highly Expensive But Worth It Faux Pocono Day Camp, then go to work and be all businessy until noon, then go to the dentist, then go BACK out from Rowhouseland to the burbs, going around trashtrucks with their meandering personnel and various other types of heavy equipment along the way, then go all the way up to Past The Turnpike to p's stomach doctor, who she decided she needed to start seeing again a couple of months ago, and you know they always need to see you more than once, it's a thing.
i've been fobbing most of her appointments off on s lately, he doesn't mind driving anywhere, unlike me who needs to prepare for days mentally. but he took so much time off to cover the endless spate of HalfDays from St. Babka that the man has run through all his time.
then i'll come home, go swimming, and come home again. i'm exhausted already and i keep trying to do the zen thing like, "a moment at a time ..." bullshit. in 2002 i said something like, "one day i'm just going to lie around in the sun for a WHOLE ENTIRE DAY." it has never happened. i am always going at 500 miles an hour. the only time i ever let myself relax is if i'm sick or depressed or both.
i mean, it's not such a hardship usually, i get bored in like two seconds and am happy to be busy, it's just the driving that has me rattled today.
i did this ride a million times when she was a baby and wasn't eating. but it was a Thing, i went at off times, and it took up my whole day in the planning and execution. now i have to go worry about work for several hours, and when the time comes they won't want me to leave because we'll be in the middle of something, as we always are, and it just doesn't feel like the usual half sick day freedom with TWO appointments smashed into it.
but i can't cancel the dentist because tooth 14 is sending me subliminal messages again. i think this might be it for it. if something screwed up with crown #2 and root canal #3 on this tooth, the next stop is the wonderful world of extraction and replacement.
i just went to the root canal dude by the way, in may. the desk lady was such a cow, i didn't want to fill out the paperwork again because NOTHING had changed, and she said "it's state law" and i was in a mood so i asked to see the actual legislation on file. in the end, the midwestern endodontist calmed me down. he asked me which lady was horrid, i didn't want to say that every office in the world has one, and i just happened to cross her path that day. it didn't even matter that it was her personally. she was part of that FORCE of evil desk ladies i've been telling off since i was 12.
now you know why that one surgeon wrote "a challenging patient" in that file i wasn't supposed to be looking in.
i bitched on and on to the midwestern endodontist and he said, "ANYway," and moved on. i told him he was nice -- there was no way he could be a philadelphian. he hesitated, since i was getting personal, but told me he was actually from michigan. i knew it. it wasn't just the twang. it was the kindness.
despite my sturm und drang i intend to smile at everyone today. they can't know that my stomach has four knots in it, owing to all the places i have to be. inevitably, and by the grace of god, i'll be at the pool by 6 pm basking in the butterfly spray of mrs michael phelps in the adjacent lane while i tend to the four hundred asthma attacks i'm sure to have.
"perhaps," said my father yesterday, whom i actually went and saw, and had a good time with -- he got a new kitten! which i wanted to steal -- i told p to create a distraction so i could make off with the kitty -- "you are not breathing right in the pool."
he may have a point. tonight i intend to breathe as i have never breathed before.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
smile!
so, i've been doing a "kindness experiment" in the world when i'm on the bike and even at other times. i smile at EVERYONE. no matter how dour or decrepit or murderous- looking, i smile at them. i do a close-mouthed smile, it's more polite, flashing the whole teeth thing is very chimpanzee in a way and reserved for people with whom you make an actual connection.
(over the years, many men have misinterpreted my regular toothsome smile as if it were indicating that i had something to sell -- i don't know where they got that idea. i don't keep fruit or contraband watches secreted away in my bra, though they could probably fit in there, along with the family of feisty weasels, the pepperidge farm crumbs and my w-2 from '94.)
anyway, i realized that when i'm down the shore i just like the friendliness and this city is like the antithesis of friendly, so i've decided to become a one-woman advocate for kum-buy-yah.
::pause for subtle campfire guitar strumming::
i've decided basically also that i'm a miserable bitch, and i add to the quality of my life by smiling i.e. what you put out there is what you get back.
it's interesting.
people are so leery though. you need to learn to take the rejection of Those Who Are Too Cool to Smile Back.
but more people smile than not. is it politeness? relief that humankind can actually be courteous? i find it so fascinating from an aquarian perspective. and, i realized, when you appear friendly, people ask you crap constantly. two people on the trail today said to me, seriously, identical question: "does this go around in a circle?"
i had assumed everyone in there was totally too cool for school and knew every inch of the trail.
no, i said, it's a straight line, so turn back if you think you're going the wrong way, unless you fancy a really long stroll.
last night a guy on the dancefloor (drunk? criminally insane? recently paroled? all three?) said, "how do you make that move?"
"i don't know what i'm doing," i shouted over the michael jackson tribute, "what move?"
i was really zoned out. if i had been feeling sassy i would've pointed out that i was dancing like a zombie because thriller was on, but i wasn't particularly clever. i was just dancing.
"that move," he said.
"i don't know," i said. "it's my 'me' time. i just feel the music."
and i do. the beat goes through the floor, which transfers up through my body, and though i probably resemble elaine benes more than anyone, it's not conscious, i just do whatever the music says to do.
"it's probably because of your big hips," he said.
someone's stupid, lord, kum-buy-yah.
i smiled and danced away.
(over the years, many men have misinterpreted my regular toothsome smile as if it were indicating that i had something to sell -- i don't know where they got that idea. i don't keep fruit or contraband watches secreted away in my bra, though they could probably fit in there, along with the family of feisty weasels, the pepperidge farm crumbs and my w-2 from '94.)
anyway, i realized that when i'm down the shore i just like the friendliness and this city is like the antithesis of friendly, so i've decided to become a one-woman advocate for kum-buy-yah.
::pause for subtle campfire guitar strumming::
i've decided basically also that i'm a miserable bitch, and i add to the quality of my life by smiling i.e. what you put out there is what you get back.
it's interesting.
people are so leery though. you need to learn to take the rejection of Those Who Are Too Cool to Smile Back.
but more people smile than not. is it politeness? relief that humankind can actually be courteous? i find it so fascinating from an aquarian perspective. and, i realized, when you appear friendly, people ask you crap constantly. two people on the trail today said to me, seriously, identical question: "does this go around in a circle?"
i had assumed everyone in there was totally too cool for school and knew every inch of the trail.
no, i said, it's a straight line, so turn back if you think you're going the wrong way, unless you fancy a really long stroll.
last night a guy on the dancefloor (drunk? criminally insane? recently paroled? all three?) said, "how do you make that move?"
"i don't know what i'm doing," i shouted over the michael jackson tribute, "what move?"
i was really zoned out. if i had been feeling sassy i would've pointed out that i was dancing like a zombie because thriller was on, but i wasn't particularly clever. i was just dancing.
"that move," he said.
"i don't know," i said. "it's my 'me' time. i just feel the music."
and i do. the beat goes through the floor, which transfers up through my body, and though i probably resemble elaine benes more than anyone, it's not conscious, i just do whatever the music says to do.
"it's probably because of your big hips," he said.
someone's stupid, lord, kum-buy-yah.
i smiled and danced away.
now don't you wish that you were a fish with nothing else to do
just got home from being out, can't sleep, this is why god made the internet. what did people do before? watch infomercials? work the butter churn? hang out in stonehenge?
so but i'm pretty tired as it is. i'll just say, i've started a new sport. as i start new sports, always -- badly and without guidance; totally flying by the seat of my pants; and looking ridiculous. but doggedly so.
i am swimming.
yes, at the local high school pool; yes, in a lane, like a lap swimmer; yes, with other people and their sweaty, hairy bodies contained within the same expanse of water; yes, rather ridiculously, but doggedly so.
the hours are quite limited.
it started at the shore a couple of weeks ago as these things do (you'll remember the bike began this way in '05.) p wanted to swim in the hotel pool and as it was raining a good part of the time but the pool was heated, i said why not and found i really liked sort of propelling myself across it in a forward fashion while she gadded about in the shallow end. it kept me busy and was a workout for my arms.
now my legs are strong from biking but my arms are pretty weak but i'm not very coordinated so i'm kind of kicking my way across but using my arms for a lot of it. also i can't put my head in the pool because i get water in my ears really easily and then they crackle and get sore. so but i did like 50 laps that day but the pool was not huge.
then i got home and sought out the high school pool.
i've only gone twice. and both times i ended up in lanes between mr and mrs michael phelps practically, but i did manage to stop mrs michael phelps and tell her she was a sight to see, what with the flipping underwater and butterflying across the pool again and again without stopping.
she smiled. i told her i was a biker, really. she said she was a triathlete and biking was her weakest aspect. she asked if i were training for a triathlon.
i said no, i was trying to find alternate cardio options that weren't hopping in front of the tv to the damn Wii.
she said swimming was all about technique and i said i wasn't so much "swimming" as "treading water in a forward trajectory" and she advised me to keep it up and wished me good luck.
so i'll keep going. and we'll see.
so but i'm pretty tired as it is. i'll just say, i've started a new sport. as i start new sports, always -- badly and without guidance; totally flying by the seat of my pants; and looking ridiculous. but doggedly so.
i am swimming.
yes, at the local high school pool; yes, in a lane, like a lap swimmer; yes, with other people and their sweaty, hairy bodies contained within the same expanse of water; yes, rather ridiculously, but doggedly so.
the hours are quite limited.
it started at the shore a couple of weeks ago as these things do (you'll remember the bike began this way in '05.) p wanted to swim in the hotel pool and as it was raining a good part of the time but the pool was heated, i said why not and found i really liked sort of propelling myself across it in a forward fashion while she gadded about in the shallow end. it kept me busy and was a workout for my arms.
now my legs are strong from biking but my arms are pretty weak but i'm not very coordinated so i'm kind of kicking my way across but using my arms for a lot of it. also i can't put my head in the pool because i get water in my ears really easily and then they crackle and get sore. so but i did like 50 laps that day but the pool was not huge.
then i got home and sought out the high school pool.
i've only gone twice. and both times i ended up in lanes between mr and mrs michael phelps practically, but i did manage to stop mrs michael phelps and tell her she was a sight to see, what with the flipping underwater and butterflying across the pool again and again without stopping.
she smiled. i told her i was a biker, really. she said she was a triathlete and biking was her weakest aspect. she asked if i were training for a triathlon.
i said no, i was trying to find alternate cardio options that weren't hopping in front of the tv to the damn Wii.
she said swimming was all about technique and i said i wasn't so much "swimming" as "treading water in a forward trajectory" and she advised me to keep it up and wished me good luck.
so i'll keep going. and we'll see.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
don't know why there's no sun up in the sky
you all know about my serious fear of lightning which began when i was in college. before that, i would pretty much run around in it, etc. i recall going out during a hailstorm with a cookie sheet over my head. one time, there was a really BAD storm -- i'll never forget it -- my mom was alive and working at a place across the street from our house, conveniently enough, and i was running around outside, and i heard the phone ringing in the house, and i ran inside the get the phone and oddly enough, it was her telling me to get the hell in the house and stay there.
this was before cell phones, obviously. though even if they WERE out then, i wouldn't've had one. we barely went to mcdonald's. the big deal was pizza on friday night, and that was only for about five years.
i remember that day a little boy on his bike got electrocuted by a live wire in a puddle. a guy tried to save him, and he got electrocuted too. it was a bad storm. i have never forgotten how tragic that was.
and when i was a freshman a guy got killed by lightning in the woods next to school. and that really affected me. at that time, my college was really small, so everyone pretty much knew everyone. it was the saddest thing ever. there were more details to it but i don't feel like sharing them right now.
so, pretty much since then i've been totally phobic. the past few years, i've been functional with it if not entirely accepting -- i don't hide under the bed anymore, for example (and i couldn't anyway, because we have crap under all the beds). but they still give me pause, i don't like driving in storms, and i especially don't like running between my car and wherever else during storms. they give me panic.
so this morning there was a giant storm which came right through at school time. so little kids were out walking around in it. p's school conveniently discontinued aftercare early last week, and then started on halfdays, so we've been scrambling to cover her pick up times (s is taking most of the brunt of this). but this morning was my day. what it means is that i can't drop her off at 7 and get to work by 8 and leave at 4 to pick her up. it means i have to drop her off at 8:10 and get in at 9 and work till 5:30, which is a big adjustment. i don't like time in the morning: i'm a morning person and don't need extra time. but i do like it in the evening.
anyway, here's a time lapse video of the storm, taken downtown today.
so i DROVE in this. i drove p to school. the lightning by the time i got there was continuous. she is a slowpoke, so i said to her, if there's one time in your life you must move fast, let it be now. we rushed in. i kissed her fifty times goodbye.
then i had to run back to my car a block, then drive away. i nearly got in an accident on my way home pulling out of the spot, because someone came up in my blindspot and didn't stop.
i was just going to drive to work but i saw this bolt of lightning hit like a mile away and this big silvery streak from heaven to ground just pulsed for like ten seconds. i said, "oh, shit," drove home, and waited it out (after feeling sorry for the crossing guards, the schoolkids, and myself again).
i had to run from my car to the door in continuous lightning once more.
but i waited. i didn't want to have a tree fall on me -- i pass 60,000,000 trees on my circuitous route to work in the country. and it was only twenty minutes more, and it didn't clear up but it least the lightning stopped.
it was a bit of behavior mod but i still hate lightning.
this was before cell phones, obviously. though even if they WERE out then, i wouldn't've had one. we barely went to mcdonald's. the big deal was pizza on friday night, and that was only for about five years.
i remember that day a little boy on his bike got electrocuted by a live wire in a puddle. a guy tried to save him, and he got electrocuted too. it was a bad storm. i have never forgotten how tragic that was.
and when i was a freshman a guy got killed by lightning in the woods next to school. and that really affected me. at that time, my college was really small, so everyone pretty much knew everyone. it was the saddest thing ever. there were more details to it but i don't feel like sharing them right now.
so, pretty much since then i've been totally phobic. the past few years, i've been functional with it if not entirely accepting -- i don't hide under the bed anymore, for example (and i couldn't anyway, because we have crap under all the beds). but they still give me pause, i don't like driving in storms, and i especially don't like running between my car and wherever else during storms. they give me panic.
so this morning there was a giant storm which came right through at school time. so little kids were out walking around in it. p's school conveniently discontinued aftercare early last week, and then started on halfdays, so we've been scrambling to cover her pick up times (s is taking most of the brunt of this). but this morning was my day. what it means is that i can't drop her off at 7 and get to work by 8 and leave at 4 to pick her up. it means i have to drop her off at 8:10 and get in at 9 and work till 5:30, which is a big adjustment. i don't like time in the morning: i'm a morning person and don't need extra time. but i do like it in the evening.
anyway, here's a time lapse video of the storm, taken downtown today.
so i DROVE in this. i drove p to school. the lightning by the time i got there was continuous. she is a slowpoke, so i said to her, if there's one time in your life you must move fast, let it be now. we rushed in. i kissed her fifty times goodbye.
then i had to run back to my car a block, then drive away. i nearly got in an accident on my way home pulling out of the spot, because someone came up in my blindspot and didn't stop.
i was just going to drive to work but i saw this bolt of lightning hit like a mile away and this big silvery streak from heaven to ground just pulsed for like ten seconds. i said, "oh, shit," drove home, and waited it out (after feeling sorry for the crossing guards, the schoolkids, and myself again).
i had to run from my car to the door in continuous lightning once more.
but i waited. i didn't want to have a tree fall on me -- i pass 60,000,000 trees on my circuitous route to work in the country. and it was only twenty minutes more, and it didn't clear up but it least the lightning stopped.
it was a bit of behavior mod but i still hate lightning.
Monday, June 8, 2009
bikes, etc.
see this is what happens, now it's monday and i'm scrambling to get something written. where does the time go! i really have no sense of how i spend my time. if i go back it all adds up, but my experience of being in it is one of wasting.
no matter. i don't care about wasting time anymore.
so, i did ride my bike twice this weekend on the trail, etc. the first day i encountered:
i only rode a mile and a half in the park as s pointed out that it would be wet and therefore slippery (i know he worries, but he's always a party pooper.) so i did the quick mile and a half run that ends up at The Oldest Bridge in the United States of America (i'm not kidding, click the link) and then went up a one-way street along Yet More Property Owned By the Mighty Roman Catholic Church, which was a major hill in itself and i got so sweaty i practically had to wring out my clothes. altogether it was probably 10 miles, i usually do 12 or 15 but there's only so far you can go without having to cross the Giant Street with the Two Worst Intersections in the Nation.
if you don't stay in the park, that is.
that was saturday. sunday i did an hour, the same mile and a half, etc., later in the day; this time i encountered:
tonight i took a walk with p. we went to kmart. i got a shirt. she got some coconut marshmallows. apparently they're a seasonal item. interestingly, i've only ever found them at kmart.
no matter. i don't care about wasting time anymore.
so, i did ride my bike twice this weekend on the trail, etc. the first day i encountered:
- three dead birds
- a pile of diarrhea of unknown origin alongside the funeral home
- tons of broken glass
- a dead bunny (mummified)
- several dozen walkers
- sun sparkling on the water
- the water rushing in a lovely way
i only rode a mile and a half in the park as s pointed out that it would be wet and therefore slippery (i know he worries, but he's always a party pooper.) so i did the quick mile and a half run that ends up at The Oldest Bridge in the United States of America (i'm not kidding, click the link) and then went up a one-way street along Yet More Property Owned By the Mighty Roman Catholic Church, which was a major hill in itself and i got so sweaty i practically had to wring out my clothes. altogether it was probably 10 miles, i usually do 12 or 15 but there's only so far you can go without having to cross the Giant Street with the Two Worst Intersections in the Nation.
if you don't stay in the park, that is.
that was saturday. sunday i did an hour, the same mile and a half, etc., later in the day; this time i encountered:
- eighty two little unleashed dogs
- their meandering, cooler-hoisting handlers
- various fisherman
- people swimming under the "NO SWIMMING" signs in the creek
- tons of other leisure bikers
- a dead bird
- a crazy squirrel
- little babies toddling along precariously
- several pointy wooden knobs that damn near popped my tires
- sun sparkling on the water
tonight i took a walk with p. we went to kmart. i got a shirt. she got some coconut marshmallows. apparently they're a seasonal item. interestingly, i've only ever found them at kmart.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
procrastination, or, how to sit forever and avoiding getting your butt on a bike
i have to ride.
of course is it june outside???? no. it's not. it's april. it's cold and dreary and allegedly, purportedly and ostensibly supposed to "clear," you look at the radar and "the system has moved out to sea," yet my immediate experience of the physical environment is one of abject february misery.
i ordered sun, for the love of god, but god STILL hasn't acknowledged the cheese tray i sent Him last christmas. it's an ongoing thing.
i have to get on my bike -- i could sit here reconfiguring the blog for hours, but that's just stupid. i sit in front of a computer all week at work with no hope of escape.
anyway, last night i realized how deeply connected my sense of personal confidence and will to live are to buying new clothes. yes, yes, i've tried to take the lofty lao-tzu zazen road to needing nothing so that i am sufficient unto the day, blah blah, but that ain't cuttin it. i'm superficial and unevolved and spending $157.48 on 10 new things last night gave me the same burst of confidence and personal accomplishment last night at 8:38 pm that visiting a shrine, contemplating my bad habits, etc. etc. for days and nights on endless end normally would.
i have come to the conclusion that there is no personal progress in the world, that i need my addictions be they spending or dancing or excess consumption of haribo gummi cola bottles and i don't care if i end up a shriveled almost-corpse in a gutter and no one loves me, i really DO NOT care, as for the week i had at work and the last three weeks i've had of my life, where sanity has been a much-longed-for, yet seldom-achieved goal, thank you very much little perfectionist self-help gurus but i'll take my codependency and denial and immorality and everything else bad and wrong about me that gets me up in the damn morning ...
... and i will march my sweet little fanny down to the emporium of my choice and slap down a card containing money i don't have to spend and get a dress i've been eyeing for weeks at 40 off. with a crinoline.
and yes i need to work on my defense mechanisms too, but on second thought... no, i don't.
do i sound angry? well, isn't depression anger turned inward? i am angry. i'm angry at myself for being so hard on myself, and i'm angry at the world for venturing their unsolicited opinion on every breath i take. i will do and spend whatever i damn well please. within limits of course, but those limits are mine to determine.
other people can have enlightenment and Life's Great Lessons. they can have their Process and Procedure. they can have their Secret and their Law of Attraction and their rules of engagement and roles of comportment. by the time i was fourteen i had about as much of life as any person should reasonably have to handle. since then, it's pretty much been an exercise in postmodern confusion. is it an excuse? no. but it's a reason. i think deeply about stuff forever and ever but none of it ever gets fixed. so why fix? why not just let it go? does it sound immature? okay, i'm immature. most importantly, i want eggnog now. and silver eyeliner. and wedge slingbacks.
of course is it june outside???? no. it's not. it's april. it's cold and dreary and allegedly, purportedly and ostensibly supposed to "clear," you look at the radar and "the system has moved out to sea," yet my immediate experience of the physical environment is one of abject february misery.
i ordered sun, for the love of god, but god STILL hasn't acknowledged the cheese tray i sent Him last christmas. it's an ongoing thing.
i have to get on my bike -- i could sit here reconfiguring the blog for hours, but that's just stupid. i sit in front of a computer all week at work with no hope of escape.
anyway, last night i realized how deeply connected my sense of personal confidence and will to live are to buying new clothes. yes, yes, i've tried to take the lofty lao-tzu zazen road to needing nothing so that i am sufficient unto the day, blah blah, but that ain't cuttin it. i'm superficial and unevolved and spending $157.48 on 10 new things last night gave me the same burst of confidence and personal accomplishment last night at 8:38 pm that visiting a shrine, contemplating my bad habits, etc. etc. for days and nights on endless end normally would.
i have come to the conclusion that there is no personal progress in the world, that i need my addictions be they spending or dancing or excess consumption of haribo gummi cola bottles and i don't care if i end up a shriveled almost-corpse in a gutter and no one loves me, i really DO NOT care, as for the week i had at work and the last three weeks i've had of my life, where sanity has been a much-longed-for, yet seldom-achieved goal, thank you very much little perfectionist self-help gurus but i'll take my codependency and denial and immorality and everything else bad and wrong about me that gets me up in the damn morning ...
... and i will march my sweet little fanny down to the emporium of my choice and slap down a card containing money i don't have to spend and get a dress i've been eyeing for weeks at 40 off. with a crinoline.
and yes i need to work on my defense mechanisms too, but on second thought... no, i don't.
do i sound angry? well, isn't depression anger turned inward? i am angry. i'm angry at myself for being so hard on myself, and i'm angry at the world for venturing their unsolicited opinion on every breath i take. i will do and spend whatever i damn well please. within limits of course, but those limits are mine to determine.
other people can have enlightenment and Life's Great Lessons. they can have their Process and Procedure. they can have their Secret and their Law of Attraction and their rules of engagement and roles of comportment. by the time i was fourteen i had about as much of life as any person should reasonably have to handle. since then, it's pretty much been an exercise in postmodern confusion. is it an excuse? no. but it's a reason. i think deeply about stuff forever and ever but none of it ever gets fixed. so why fix? why not just let it go? does it sound immature? okay, i'm immature. most importantly, i want eggnog now. and silver eyeliner. and wedge slingbacks.
Friday, June 5, 2009
rowhouse greatest hits
editor's note: i didn't feel like writing tonight. it's june and the weather is a pile of march crap. i'm sitting here in a threadbare peach polyester peignoir i got at my wedding shower in 1991, feeling decidedly underwhelmed. so i found this post looking for something else, and it's funny and good and was written back when i could write, and life hadn't squeezed out all my joie de vivre like nectar from an apricot, in august 2004. recycling? perhaps. but necessary sometimes.
Rowhouse Pantry
A Special Note for My Gentle Readers:
This entry was way better before, but Blogger ate it and forgot to burp. Sorry for the milquetoasty residue. I do try.
I remain & c., &c.,
Just Rose
I have always had a strange relationship with grocery shopping.
In part it is because it is yet another thing that I have had full responsibility for far too long. After my dad left and my mom came back, and then my mom left and my dad came back (while all their children remained in the Cape Cod), my dad used to drop me off with a blank check at the supermarket and have me call him on the payphone when I was done.
Earlier memories of grocery shopping are even more richly textured. My mother, her brow furrowed and her manner curt, piloting one cart, sometimes two, loaded with paper towels, ground beef, dog food, sanitary napkins, the three mischievous malcontents and magical me.
My brother M was famous for stealing flagrantly from the loose candy display. He would flick the honor box in lieu of inserting a nickel. His cheeks were perpetually stuffed with square caramels.
The malcontents took advantage of my sweet and gullible sensibilities to dupe me on these little excursions. They would offer me Crisco, insisting it was icing. I would take a big fingerful joyfully . . . and discover that it most assuredly was not icing.
They are still delighted by my need to sniff my food for wholesomeness, so it took me a very long time during my childhood to realize that when they said something, for example pizza, did not smell good, I didn't have to believe them. I usually just got a faceful of pizza.
Among my mother's many talents was her skill at cooking, and my dad still pines about her recipes. Apparently she made really good meatballs and gravy, but I don't remember eating them too often. "Hey Rosie, look over there!" usually was followed by my glancing back at my plate, with its nest of tomato-tinged noodles, the meatball now on one of my brothers' forks.
When I go shopping now, it's to Much Cheaper near P's school for the bigger orders. Much Cheaper is a random store, vaguely organized. I need to go into a sort of zen mode in there, strolling, strolling, strolling. I do like going. I prefer to go alone.
Today I noted the following points of interest at Much Cheaper:
1. A half aisle devoted entirely to Depends undergarments and related accessories. Who knew that many people in Rowhouseland were afflicted with incontinence?
2. A hardback copy of Madonna's first childrens' book, The English Roses, abandoned in the candy section. This filled me with a strange sense of satisfaction.
Rowhouse Pantry
A Special Note for My Gentle Readers:
This entry was way better before, but Blogger ate it and forgot to burp. Sorry for the milquetoasty residue. I do try.
I remain & c., &c.,
Just Rose
I have always had a strange relationship with grocery shopping.
In part it is because it is yet another thing that I have had full responsibility for far too long. After my dad left and my mom came back, and then my mom left and my dad came back (while all their children remained in the Cape Cod), my dad used to drop me off with a blank check at the supermarket and have me call him on the payphone when I was done.
Earlier memories of grocery shopping are even more richly textured. My mother, her brow furrowed and her manner curt, piloting one cart, sometimes two, loaded with paper towels, ground beef, dog food, sanitary napkins, the three mischievous malcontents and magical me.
My brother M was famous for stealing flagrantly from the loose candy display. He would flick the honor box in lieu of inserting a nickel. His cheeks were perpetually stuffed with square caramels.
The malcontents took advantage of my sweet and gullible sensibilities to dupe me on these little excursions. They would offer me Crisco, insisting it was icing. I would take a big fingerful joyfully . . . and discover that it most assuredly was not icing.
They are still delighted by my need to sniff my food for wholesomeness, so it took me a very long time during my childhood to realize that when they said something, for example pizza, did not smell good, I didn't have to believe them. I usually just got a faceful of pizza.
Among my mother's many talents was her skill at cooking, and my dad still pines about her recipes. Apparently she made really good meatballs and gravy, but I don't remember eating them too often. "Hey Rosie, look over there!" usually was followed by my glancing back at my plate, with its nest of tomato-tinged noodles, the meatball now on one of my brothers' forks.
When I go shopping now, it's to Much Cheaper near P's school for the bigger orders. Much Cheaper is a random store, vaguely organized. I need to go into a sort of zen mode in there, strolling, strolling, strolling. I do like going. I prefer to go alone.
Today I noted the following points of interest at Much Cheaper:
1. A half aisle devoted entirely to Depends undergarments and related accessories. Who knew that many people in Rowhouseland were afflicted with incontinence?
2. A hardback copy of Madonna's first childrens' book, The English Roses, abandoned in the candy section. This filled me with a strange sense of satisfaction.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
duermete
kind of a crappy day. it just was. and that happens quite often and then i feel guilty coming in here complaining. i haven't worked out all week, blah blah blah.
the main thing about my life now is trying to sleep. every night i have gotten this extreme anxiety that i won't sleep at all -- that's what an impact the 3 nights of 2 hours each had on me. i overthink the complexity of actually letting go enough to doze off. but like anything you overthink (eating from a fork, going pee, getting married, etc.) the more you think about it, the weirder it becomes and then you feel like you've never ever done it before in your life and how will you trick yourself into doing it this time?
i know it's strange.
i had a professor once who said he freaked everyone out by asking them to think about their tongue sitting in their mouth. think about it. it's total weirdness to consider this thing is sitting there all day doing whatever. sometimes i get the same creepy feeling when i think about fingers -- could hands be weirder? i don't care how cool they looked when escher drew them. same with your brain in your head -- ew! ew! there's this BLOB sitting there in your head THINKING. then there's the fact that i just feel like a MIND, a CONSCIOUSNESS, roaming around then i look in the mirror and i either
1. see my mother and go "agh!"
2. think "oh my god i am alive!" and go "agh!"
it's either one or the other. what i look like on the outside does not match in any way whatsoever what i feel like on the inside.
this is why i want to come back as a snail in my next life.
and then there was this OTHER professor of psychology my roommate had and HE said once, "sometimes when i touch my own back i don't know it's me doing it -- what does that say about the human brain??!?" and after she told me that (like 20 years ago) i never again touched my own back without feeling like it was some sort of demon hand groping at me.
so, the sleep thing. i'm still not really happy and i'm eating everything too fast. i want to be like one of those "slow food" people that chews everything fifty times per bite but i'm more like a labrador retriever helping itself to a cake cooling on the counter while my master is out retrieving the mail. (i realize dogs are the ones who are supposed to retrieve the mail, but in my world the master gets it and i get to eat the cooling cake. what can i say, i'm a cat person.)
so, i take my giant brain sitting in my head and weird tongue sitting in my mouth and my funky fingers attached to my arms, all part of a body i don't even recognize in the mirror (unless i see my mother), and try to quietly ever so quietly lure myself to bed each evening with a sort of wispy half-dream out-of-the-corner-of-my-eye thing going on, and then engage in the 42 separate tiny rituals i do before i get in bed (delicacy and time constraints prevent me from detailing them all), and i try to fall asleep by accident before the brain that's sitting in my head all day wakes up and starts thinking about how it actually happens.
what this means overall is that i can't work out at night right now and i need to feel a little fat because of it, despite my starvation diet weight loss of several weeks ago.
it also means that, as part of the 42 tiny rituals i make what i call my floornest which is a series of stacked comforters on the floor where i will repair if i can't sleep. it feels safer, somehow, and like i don't have to sleep if i don't feel like it, i can just lie there.
and i usually end up falling asleep there if i can't shut my brain up enough to do it anywhere else.
i realize the above sound like the rantings of a hallucinating insomniac. but i've managed to trick myself a bunch lately.
try not to think about your tongue.
the main thing about my life now is trying to sleep. every night i have gotten this extreme anxiety that i won't sleep at all -- that's what an impact the 3 nights of 2 hours each had on me. i overthink the complexity of actually letting go enough to doze off. but like anything you overthink (eating from a fork, going pee, getting married, etc.) the more you think about it, the weirder it becomes and then you feel like you've never ever done it before in your life and how will you trick yourself into doing it this time?
i know it's strange.
i had a professor once who said he freaked everyone out by asking them to think about their tongue sitting in their mouth. think about it. it's total weirdness to consider this thing is sitting there all day doing whatever. sometimes i get the same creepy feeling when i think about fingers -- could hands be weirder? i don't care how cool they looked when escher drew them. same with your brain in your head -- ew! ew! there's this BLOB sitting there in your head THINKING. then there's the fact that i just feel like a MIND, a CONSCIOUSNESS, roaming around then i look in the mirror and i either
1. see my mother and go "agh!"
2. think "oh my god i am alive!" and go "agh!"
it's either one or the other. what i look like on the outside does not match in any way whatsoever what i feel like on the inside.
this is why i want to come back as a snail in my next life.
and then there was this OTHER professor of psychology my roommate had and HE said once, "sometimes when i touch my own back i don't know it's me doing it -- what does that say about the human brain??!?" and after she told me that (like 20 years ago) i never again touched my own back without feeling like it was some sort of demon hand groping at me.
so, the sleep thing. i'm still not really happy and i'm eating everything too fast. i want to be like one of those "slow food" people that chews everything fifty times per bite but i'm more like a labrador retriever helping itself to a cake cooling on the counter while my master is out retrieving the mail. (i realize dogs are the ones who are supposed to retrieve the mail, but in my world the master gets it and i get to eat the cooling cake. what can i say, i'm a cat person.)
so, i take my giant brain sitting in my head and weird tongue sitting in my mouth and my funky fingers attached to my arms, all part of a body i don't even recognize in the mirror (unless i see my mother), and try to quietly ever so quietly lure myself to bed each evening with a sort of wispy half-dream out-of-the-corner-of-my-eye thing going on, and then engage in the 42 separate tiny rituals i do before i get in bed (delicacy and time constraints prevent me from detailing them all), and i try to fall asleep by accident before the brain that's sitting in my head all day wakes up and starts thinking about how it actually happens.
what this means overall is that i can't work out at night right now and i need to feel a little fat because of it, despite my starvation diet weight loss of several weeks ago.
it also means that, as part of the 42 tiny rituals i make what i call my floornest which is a series of stacked comforters on the floor where i will repair if i can't sleep. it feels safer, somehow, and like i don't have to sleep if i don't feel like it, i can just lie there.
and i usually end up falling asleep there if i can't shut my brain up enough to do it anywhere else.
i realize the above sound like the rantings of a hallucinating insomniac. but i've managed to trick myself a bunch lately.
try not to think about your tongue.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
strawberry moon
that's what the moon's called in june, or so says michael lutin. i looked it up in an almanac. it could be called "rose moon," too.
i got s to plant a rose in the yard. it's a radrazz knockout rose, which is disease resistant, and it was no mean feat. s deeply resented our previous garden at the first rowhouse because i forced him to plant everything and then neglected it utterly, leaving him to dust it for blackspot and prune it, etc.
not so with this garden. i had a cold while he was digging the bed (at the height of the swine flu hysteria -- it figures -- as a practicing medical hobbyist i was spending hours each day on the WHO website and then i got sick on top of it. the secret, in practice? discuss.) but i still went out there and planted everything. p is garden crazy, she supervised all the planting. she'll end up working in management if she's not careful.
the point is, i love my garden incredibly. possibly more than my cats. i am constantly deadheading every single plant and fussing over it like a mother hen. i am adding a container of this and a container of that. i am making s put lime on the hydrangea (which is in a container -- i couldn't convince him to dig another hole.) the only reason why we have a bed in the first place this year, though, is because p wanted it. i could have a limb hanging by a thread and if p wanted s to cross a minefield to obtain a small shriveled balloon for her, well, i hate to say this but i would shuffle off this mortal coil waiting for him to return. it's nice to know she's daddy's little girl.
so my garden kicks ass. of course, this is rowhouseland, so like an entire mcdonald's bag of refuse will blow down from the street and lodge itself between the snapdragons and the kale, but it makes it more authentic somehow. all the trash in the neighborhood lands on my lawn regardless of whether there is wind or not and it remains there until i remove it (or get s to do it for me -- i dislike touching trash, it gives me OCD.) and planted amidst the dianthus and lavender are now nine garden gnomes engaged in various pastoral occupations.
i LOVE gnomes. various people in my life could vouch for this. ala saw a magnet at spencers of all places that reminded her of me which read: "hangin with my gnomies." i think they're alive. it's not just hallucination. my newest one which i got from kmart for mother's day is riding a snail. i do not know where he is going on the snail but for right now he's on the bottom step on the flight by the door and it will likely take him the rest of the summer to get to the railing by the sidewalk.
here is the welcome mat i purchased several weeks ago:
no one gets it, or if they have, no one commented. one guy still tried to sell us an alarm system. actually, he said it was free but the monitoring was $49.99 a month.
i noticed my neighbors went beyond the usual marigolds this year and planted some color, perhaps inspired by my rococo assortment of vegetation all crammed in one little bed and 29 containers (plus the rose area). peer pressure? possibly. because you know i haven't buckled and gotten the animatronic disney yuletide figures that can be seen flinging their little lamps from space.
i got s to plant a rose in the yard. it's a radrazz knockout rose, which is disease resistant, and it was no mean feat. s deeply resented our previous garden at the first rowhouse because i forced him to plant everything and then neglected it utterly, leaving him to dust it for blackspot and prune it, etc.
not so with this garden. i had a cold while he was digging the bed (at the height of the swine flu hysteria -- it figures -- as a practicing medical hobbyist i was spending hours each day on the WHO website and then i got sick on top of it. the secret, in practice? discuss.) but i still went out there and planted everything. p is garden crazy, she supervised all the planting. she'll end up working in management if she's not careful.
the point is, i love my garden incredibly. possibly more than my cats. i am constantly deadheading every single plant and fussing over it like a mother hen. i am adding a container of this and a container of that. i am making s put lime on the hydrangea (which is in a container -- i couldn't convince him to dig another hole.) the only reason why we have a bed in the first place this year, though, is because p wanted it. i could have a limb hanging by a thread and if p wanted s to cross a minefield to obtain a small shriveled balloon for her, well, i hate to say this but i would shuffle off this mortal coil waiting for him to return. it's nice to know she's daddy's little girl.
so my garden kicks ass. of course, this is rowhouseland, so like an entire mcdonald's bag of refuse will blow down from the street and lodge itself between the snapdragons and the kale, but it makes it more authentic somehow. all the trash in the neighborhood lands on my lawn regardless of whether there is wind or not and it remains there until i remove it (or get s to do it for me -- i dislike touching trash, it gives me OCD.) and planted amidst the dianthus and lavender are now nine garden gnomes engaged in various pastoral occupations.
i LOVE gnomes. various people in my life could vouch for this. ala saw a magnet at spencers of all places that reminded her of me which read: "hangin with my gnomies." i think they're alive. it's not just hallucination. my newest one which i got from kmart for mother's day is riding a snail. i do not know where he is going on the snail but for right now he's on the bottom step on the flight by the door and it will likely take him the rest of the summer to get to the railing by the sidewalk.
here is the welcome mat i purchased several weeks ago:
no one gets it, or if they have, no one commented. one guy still tried to sell us an alarm system. actually, he said it was free but the monitoring was $49.99 a month.
i noticed my neighbors went beyond the usual marigolds this year and planted some color, perhaps inspired by my rococo assortment of vegetation all crammed in one little bed and 29 containers (plus the rose area). peer pressure? possibly. because you know i haven't buckled and gotten the animatronic disney yuletide figures that can be seen flinging their little lamps from space.
doctors warn 'skinny jeans' can lead to thigh nerve syndrome
so this is what it's come to. the very first headline i saw this morning.
the rowhouse has been stripped several times down to nothing, like the altar at maundy thursday services, and each time i ditch it i think, "that was the last time! SEE YA!"
except it never really is.
the problem i have with this thing (while we're talking problems, like thigh nerve syndrome, etc. -- what the hell is that?) is that i can't talk about a goddamn thing on here. i can't curse (even though i just did twice), i can't risk it being found by my job so i therefore can't even say what my job IS, and i can't write about my TRUE, deepest feelings, whatever they might be because if i sit here for too long i'll end up with thigh nerve syndrome.
so it's a question of time, which really i have a lot more of than i let on. if s is doing his share and i'm not compulsing my days away by "having" to ride my bike an hour a day or make sure that every particle of ... god, i don't even want to think about what it might be ... is removed from my ancient, perpetually-crapping cat, then i actually DO have time to write the blog.
facebook -- facebook is a morass. so i didn't unfriend any of you, i just went on hiatus, none of you have offended me that deeply and frankly i'm surprised you even like me at all. (it's like that, i'm on a low self esteem kick. again). and occasionally i'm like, wow, what a quick way to say hi to him and her and her and him, and then i'm in love with it. but most of the time it's a giant time waster and even though i write things pithily in bite-sized chunks, i am sick of the facebookification of the universe. i have to talk about this stuff all day at work.
if only you knew what that was.
so, i'll probably go back there eventually too, but one thing at a time.
so, what's the good word? well, you know, a little clinical depression never hurt anyone. this one was particularly heinous because i COULDN'T eat and i COULDN'T sleep and even AMBIEN wasn't working (though ambien makes every part of your body feel puffed up for a spell like you're a giant honey smack kernel). that sucked, because most of my depressions are like, "wow! veal parm!" or whatever isn't nailed down and i could pretty much fashion a bed on a park bench, with or without a hobo to share it with. not this time, mr. magoo!
i lay there thinking for three straight nights (which contained a collective six hours' of sleep), "god, i cannot BEAR to listen to my stupid head for yet another second." then i wondered why i was walking around the world hallucinating, and i looked up how many calories you have to eat to run your body, just like, metabolically, and apparently it's 1,200. who knew? so i figured, here i am eating like 600 calories a day because everything tastes like cardboard, and pretty soon my stomach's going to eat itself and no wonder i think my garden gnomes are alive.
in s's words, "eat something, for christ's sake."
so i did. and now i can't stop because there are andes candies in the house. why, why do they stuff so many of those delectable little mint surprises in each little tray? because you can pretty much plow through that box in about 45 minutes without even chewing continuously. right after i finish this i think i'll go up and eat some more. yum. i wonder what would happen if you put one in milk? experiment time.
so anyway, what else is going on?
1. the cats are still alive, though the little, evil, puking one tried to escape last week. marlon brando: the autumn years is now on arthritis injections.
2. p is changing schools. wait till i tell you about the bullying thing -- ja vol. we're going to the friends now. she did a sample day last week and it was absolutely amazing. i haven't seen her that happy in ages.
3. she has a glockenspiel concert tonight. i am already bracing myself for the inevitable tears for when she misses a b-flat. however, i plan to give her a standing ovation.
4. i lost a number of pounds from the starvation diet, and they're staying off despite my sporadic bike riding and honey smacks consumption.
5.
hope you're all well.
the rowhouse has been stripped several times down to nothing, like the altar at maundy thursday services, and each time i ditch it i think, "that was the last time! SEE YA!"
except it never really is.
the problem i have with this thing (while we're talking problems, like thigh nerve syndrome, etc. -- what the hell is that?) is that i can't talk about a goddamn thing on here. i can't curse (even though i just did twice), i can't risk it being found by my job so i therefore can't even say what my job IS, and i can't write about my TRUE, deepest feelings, whatever they might be because if i sit here for too long i'll end up with thigh nerve syndrome.
so it's a question of time, which really i have a lot more of than i let on. if s is doing his share and i'm not compulsing my days away by "having" to ride my bike an hour a day or make sure that every particle of ... god, i don't even want to think about what it might be ... is removed from my ancient, perpetually-crapping cat, then i actually DO have time to write the blog.
facebook -- facebook is a morass. so i didn't unfriend any of you, i just went on hiatus, none of you have offended me that deeply and frankly i'm surprised you even like me at all. (it's like that, i'm on a low self esteem kick. again). and occasionally i'm like, wow, what a quick way to say hi to him and her and her and him, and then i'm in love with it. but most of the time it's a giant time waster and even though i write things pithily in bite-sized chunks, i am sick of the facebookification of the universe. i have to talk about this stuff all day at work.
if only you knew what that was.
so, i'll probably go back there eventually too, but one thing at a time.
so, what's the good word? well, you know, a little clinical depression never hurt anyone. this one was particularly heinous because i COULDN'T eat and i COULDN'T sleep and even AMBIEN wasn't working (though ambien makes every part of your body feel puffed up for a spell like you're a giant honey smack kernel). that sucked, because most of my depressions are like, "wow! veal parm!" or whatever isn't nailed down and i could pretty much fashion a bed on a park bench, with or without a hobo to share it with. not this time, mr. magoo!
i lay there thinking for three straight nights (which contained a collective six hours' of sleep), "god, i cannot BEAR to listen to my stupid head for yet another second." then i wondered why i was walking around the world hallucinating, and i looked up how many calories you have to eat to run your body, just like, metabolically, and apparently it's 1,200. who knew? so i figured, here i am eating like 600 calories a day because everything tastes like cardboard, and pretty soon my stomach's going to eat itself and no wonder i think my garden gnomes are alive.
in s's words, "eat something, for christ's sake."
so i did. and now i can't stop because there are andes candies in the house. why, why do they stuff so many of those delectable little mint surprises in each little tray? because you can pretty much plow through that box in about 45 minutes without even chewing continuously. right after i finish this i think i'll go up and eat some more. yum. i wonder what would happen if you put one in milk? experiment time.
so anyway, what else is going on?
1. the cats are still alive, though the little, evil, puking one tried to escape last week. marlon brando: the autumn years is now on arthritis injections.
2. p is changing schools. wait till i tell you about the bullying thing -- ja vol. we're going to the friends now. she did a sample day last week and it was absolutely amazing. i haven't seen her that happy in ages.
3. she has a glockenspiel concert tonight. i am already bracing myself for the inevitable tears for when she misses a b-flat. however, i plan to give her a standing ovation.
4. i lost a number of pounds from the starvation diet, and they're staying off despite my sporadic bike riding and honey smacks consumption.
5.
hope you're all well.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
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